by G. R. Carter
“So they were overwhelmed?”
Ruff nodded again. “They ran out of ammunition. And then, in the hand-to-hand combat at Tower Hill, they ran out of men, too. Most of the Rhino drivers were killed or wounded by satchel bombs. The explosion didn’t penetrate the armor, but the blast sent concussive shock waves through the driver’s compartment.”
Hopkins gave a look of acknowledgement. “Armor is vulnerable if there is no infantry to support it. Even the toughest shell can be cracked given enough time.”
He suddenly had a quizzical look. “I’ve never heard of one of your Fortress Farms being overwhelmed. May I ask what happened to the one at Tower Hill? That was Sheriff Olsen’s personal farm, right? From what I hear, it was impressive to say the least. I understand if you don’t want to divulge too much.”
“No secret weapon this time. Nothing to hide, really. It was just literally a question of numbers. There were so many Ditchmen attacking that they finally got over the walls. Once they did that they started taking out our firing positions and it just snowballed from there,” she replied.
“Couldn’t they have retreated back into the main towers? I thought those were nearly impenetrable?” he asked.
“Maybe, looking back now. But we’ve always stood and fought. Of course those who weren’t able to fight retreated back there to the towers. But the GangStars had obviously been planning this with Walsh’s help for a while. They were going to do anything they could to break us. And they had those explosives that we hadn’t faced before.”
“By the time Tower Hill fell, it was too late for Alex to reinforce them?” he asked.
“Right. Now he was faced with an overwhelming force in front of him…we figure he was outnumbered something like ten to one…and a break out behind him headed straight for our city walls. His only choice was to break off contact and try to slow the group coming down Route 116, then get back behind the walls to try to save Philippi,” Ruff said.
“Amazing that the young man could think that quickly on his feet,” Hopkins said, impressed.
Ruff simply nodded, a mixture of pride and sorrow building inside her. “That was truly a gift,” she replied. “Without that thinking, no one in the city would have survived. Remember, he was facing the emotions of knowing that if they broke through at Tower Hill, there was a low likelihood of any survivors there.”
“Didn't anyone question him sending the reserve force to invade New America instead of reinforcing Tower Hill and the capital?” Hopkins asked.
“Sure. Alex never demanded blind obedience. But there was no way of knowing how big the GangStar force was. Maybe a thousand men on each side face each other in big battles these days. And even a force twice that size could have been held off with what they had assembled. It would have been a tough fight for sure, but the right move was to try to hold off the unknown and finish what he considered the real threat.”
“And that threat was New America?”
Ruff nodded. “Of course. After all, do you think the GangStars would have attacked us like this without Walsh putting them up to it?”
“No, I doubt they would have. Though clearly it was a problem you’d have to face at some point.”
“Hindsight is truly 20/20. I know we both have things left to get accomplished today. Would you like me to finish the story later?” Ruff asked hopefully.
“Let’s finish if it now if you can. The end is probably the most important part, is it not?”
“I suppose. Alex rallied what remained of the field force and hit the GangStars in the flank, then pivoted and dug in at the base of the city walls. The GangStars paused briefly, then regrouped and came at the capital gates with everything they had. They must have been saving their own vehicles all this time, or maybe Walsh gave them some to use. But they hit Alex’s force and the walls like a hammer…”
Another hour passed as General Hopkins sat quietly, processing the detailed story presented to him by Julia. He rolled the bottom edge of his glass around on the table, a cross between a smirk and a frown framing his face. “You know, Senator, every day I think I can’t be surprised by this crazy nightmare we’re living in. Were things that messed up before the Reset and we didn’t even know it? Or was the Reset brought on because we allowed our world to be run by the crazies?”
“I wish I knew, General. This is all like a bad dream to me, also. But the younger generation…this is now the life they know. We old coots with the messed-up memories owe it to them to try to fix our mistakes. Don’t you think?” Ruff asked earnestly.
“Yes. I do think that. Better that we suffer and they flourish. Please, finish the story. It’s not just for my entertainment. I have to gain more insight on whatever groups might still exist out there. We as civilized people, even if we don’t end up allies…” The general paused, allowing Ruff to gather his inference, “…We can at least count on knowing there’s some principled culture that we all hold to. And defeating this Continuity has to be common ground for us.”
“The Republic leadership agrees, General. So it turns out that the GangStars were much more powerful and organized than we ever expected. Our western frontier Fortress Farms held them at bay while their bandit groups focused on the wild lands out toward the Blackhawk Confederation. We never took the Blackhawk warnings seriously, but we should have.”
Ruff settled in to finish the history lesson for the General. “Turns out Colonel Walsh had a good idea of what the GangStars were capable of, and figured that the only thing worse than Ditchmen and Rateaters and gangbangers and religious nuts were Red Hawks. So he devised a plan to unleash all of them on us.”
Julia finished explaining how the coordinated attacks nearly defeated the Republic’s forces, and how Martin Fredericks still managed to complete the capture of New America’s capital.
“Hmm. That’s very impressive for a man like Fredericks to have pulled off so critical an operation. And he did so without any central command and control? Just the kind of man who might be a good candidate to take over leadership. So is he who’s in charge of your Republic now? Has a new Founder been hailed?” The General realized the insensitivity of the question the moment he asked it. Oh well, he thought. Subtlety was never my strong point.
The steely Julia Ruff returned, once again the consummate professional negotiator. “Alex is still alive, General Hopkins. He was severely wounded, but he’s recuperating and will return to the Founder’s Chair soon.”
“I keep hearing that, Senator, yet no one outside of your inner circle have claimed to see him since the battle. Most outsiders think you are trying to hold the Republic together until an internal power struggle is resolved. Then you’ll announce ‘The Founder is dead, long live the Founder!’” the man said as he made an uncharacteristically dramatic waving motion with his arms. “How do I know that what we negotiate here today will stand the change in leadership?” Hopkins concluded, ready to get to the bottom of the story and get this over with, one way or the other.
“I assure you, General, Alex is quite alive and he will meet with you soon. But I’m authorized to make a deal with you under reasonable terms. We have formed an Executive Council to help until Alex can resume his full duties. I was asked to sit down with you today since relations with Vincennes are a top priority for the Republic,” Ruff said sternly.
The General shook his head. “There’s always one person in charge, ultimately, Senator. It was true in the old world and it’s certainly true in the world since the Reset. So I’m asking you, who’s in charge?”
Chapter Eigh t– Red Hawk Rising
Fortress Farm Aronia Point
New Home of Founder Alex and Rebekah Hamilton
Two Weeks after the New America/GangStar Invasion
Alex’s eyes opened slowly, blinking rapidly as the sun burned through the fog hanging over his brain. He began to make out shapes in the room and finally recognized Rebekah reclining in a chair, book folded back where she dropped it. Taking in the sight, she felt his stare and
opened her own eyes with a small smile.
“Hey, beautiful,” he rasped, suddenly aware of the desert-like conditions in his mouth.
“Hey. Glad to see you awake again. How do you feel?” his wife asked with concern.
“Terrible.”
“That’s actually good. We’ve…well, Doc…had you numbed and pretty much in a light coma for a few days. He said if you started complaining, you were probably healing,” she said.
“Then I guess we’re on the right track. How are you feeling?” he said trying to point to the slight baby bump just starting to show.
“Pretty good. I think he’s felt my stress, so neither of us have rested well,” she said, patting the bump on her abdomen where their third child now slept.
“He?”
“Just a feeling. No way of knowing for sure these days. Maybe ARK has an ultrasound in their hospital, but I doubt it. We’ll just have to wait and see,” she smiled back.
“Doesn’t matter either way. I’m happy. At least I think I’m happy, my head is still ringing,” Alex said as he reached up to his face. He touched the bandages around his left eye, and looked over at Rebekah with sudden concern. “Is something wrong with my eye, Bek?”
The young woman’s blue eyes were suddenly framed by red as tears welled up. Unable to speak without sobbing, she simply nodded her head.
Alex’s mood darkened and challenged her with a simple, “What else?”
“Doc says you’ve got serious damage to your left shoulder. That you’ll be in a sling for a long time. He’s afraid that the explosion tore up too much in the socket for him to fix. And he’s scared to do surgery because it may do more harm than good right now. Maybe later, or if he can get you to ARK’s hospital. Supposedly they’re using the supercomputer to restart some medical devices,” she said. Rebekah maintained her resolve. Father Steve warned her that young athletic men didn’t take it well when they found out life couldn’t be wrestled to the ground anymore.
She took a deep breath and continued: “You’re probably going to need some sort of support for your knee also.”
“You mean I’ll need a cane to walk?”
“Maybe. Doc hopes over time, with some physical therapy, your body will heal itself.”
Alex tried to make sense of what he was hearing. So many bad spots and I got out of all of them in one piece, he told himself. Now I have to wait and see how many pieces still work. Self-pity crept in…until he remembered the events of the day he was injured. The bigger picture of being Founder of the Republic filled his mind, along with the maps and terrain that occupied each corner of his brain.
“I’m assuming I’m in much better shape than Uncle Clark,” he stammered.
Rebekah skipped the painful details, moving right to the heart of the question. “Alex, they found him in the assembly yard of Tower Hill. Supposedly there were like twenty dead Ditchmen around him. He was a gentle giant, but a hard man to bring down, I guess,” Rebekah said with some pride. Over the years, Sheriff Clark Olsen became a father figure to her as well as Alex. Now the man who helped Phillip Hamilton create the Red Hawk Republic was gone.
Rebekah knew nothing she could say would prevent her husband from second-guessing his decisions during the battle. Perhaps time and peace following victory might make the loss more bearable.
“Sam? Martin? Eric?” he asked hopefully.
“All fine. They got to Lincoln City with no real resistance. Took the Grays completely by surprise just like you planned. Nearly every Gray soldier gave up and headed east as soon as they figured out what happened. Well, what was left of them. Had to be 60 or 70% casualties.”
“Where’s Walsh?”
Rebekah hesitated, knowing the next batch of news would cause the pain of Olsen’s death to intensify.
“He escaped, Alex. We think he’s reorganizing somewhere near the northern ruins of Indianapolis. He fled pretty quickly once he realized you completely outflanked him. We couldn’t catch up and Martin thought it best not to overextend the SDF with a chase into American territory. Especially once he found out how bad it was back home,” she explained.
Alex didn’t speak, just closed his good eye and shook his head back and forth on the pillow. “That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Without Walsh, New America would have folded. Now we just have more territory, but still the threat. Plus we have to worry about him organizing resistance fighters in his old capital.”
He paused, as though the details of his master battle plan were still filling back in. “How did he get around Eric’s force? Eric should have been right there to catch him in the trap. How did Walsh not run right into him?” he asked, pleading to figure out what went wrong.
“Eric made a judgment call on the way there. Our Fortress Farms were getting really beat up. Near collapse in a lot of them. We’ve lost a lot of Land Lords, Tenants and most of the vehicles based in the farms. The Grays really hit them hard,” she answered.
Confusion and anger mixed in the two thirds of Alex’s face left uncovered by medical bandages. “Those were not my orders. The whole idea was to get Walsh and end this war. How could Eric have been so irresponsible? I want to see him immediately.”
“Alex, please remember he’s lost his father. Martin already ripped him a new one in front of everyone after this all happened,” she said, moving closer and holding his hand. “Eric’s a different guy now than he was before the attack. Distant and kind of cold. You guys were like brothers, please remember that.”
Alex felt a cold chill in his soul. A real brother would have trusted me and did what I asked, he thought bitterly. Sam was able to do it, and so was Fredericks. But Eric always has to have his way.
He looked back to Rebekah, stone-faced and wanting to change the subject. He’d deal with Eric when he had a moment to think it through. “When does Doc say I can get up?”
“As soon as you can stand, he wants you to move around a little. He’s pretty sure there are no major internal injuries, so he doesn’t want atrophy or pulmonary problems to set in with you lying in a bed.”
“Alright, tell everyone I want them here tomorrow. I mean everyone, Bek. Both our moms, Fredericks, Sam, and I want the Ten Vets here also. I want a full debrief from every front. And get a message to Eric…I want him here two hours earlier than everyone else. We have some things to hash out before the meeting starts,” Alex said. “Nothing formal, we’ll just meet in the Great Hall.”
Bek nodded and grabbed Alex’s hand with both of hers. “We thought we lost you. I thought I lost you. Don’t fall into a funk because of these injuries, AJ. This is a new world and we all have scars. If not external than certainly internal,” she assured him. “Your plan worked perfectly, and even if Walsh is still alive you’ve destroyed his ability to threaten us. Look, we withstood a huge attack from an adversary we didn’t even know existed. You have to believe that the Creator had a hand in this. Hold true to the plan He has for you.”
Alex allowed himself a slight smirk. “You’re stealing Father Steve’s material, sweetheart,” he said.
“Actually, that line was from Pastor Hart,” she laughed. “Sounds a lot more convincing coming from him, right?”
He smiled at his wife. “I appreciate the thought. But I’ll be fine once I get back in the saddle. In fact, would you mind bringing me my map books? And any other reports you think would be helpful to me before the meeting tomorrow? Oh, and please send a message to ARK, see if Tony or Nicole can meet with us as soon as possible. I want to thank them for saving our bacon. Without their reinforcements…”
“Sure thing,” she cut him off and left unsaid the consequences of his statement. She kissed his forehead and walked towards the door. “I’ll get Phax and Ali back from your mom, too. I know you’re anxious to see them.”
The thought of his two small children made Alex smile for real this time. He lay back down and stared up at the ceiling of his room, trying to focus his eye and his mind.
“Okay, Walsh. You’re mad, em
barrassed, and feeling naked with no capital and only half your army. What will you do now?” Alex murmured out loud. “What can you do now?”
*****
New America Temporary Headquarters
Two Weeks after New America/GangStar Invasion
The glare of fire kept Darian Walsh’s eyes transfixed on crackling logs. He was numb. The morphine in his veins left his body like putty to the touch. The wounds of defeat, physical and mental, seemed a little more distant…though even now he knew his agony would return soon. Another dose would be required, pulling him further and further into the grasp of dependency.
A constant draft chilled him to the bone.
Just a little something to kill the pain. Dull but constant throbbing first introduced by wounds in his great victory in Lafayette. That seemed a lifetime ago. So much success in his attempt to reunify and reconstruct America. Yet the one victory that eluded him was the one that should have been the easiest; how could a group of small-town farmers defeat the most highly-trained fighting force in this insane world they lived in? His Legions had been victorious everywhere save for those stupid armor-plated trucks and a ragged collection of farms and tractors.
How could this have happened again? He demanded in his mind. I had the perfect plan. Not only was he denied the chance to hang his hated antagonist from their capital walls, he lost his own capital in the process. New America still had thousands of square miles under Reconstruction, but the heart and soul was Lincoln City, a name he picked out himself when they took over the former Illinois University campus.
What can I do? he wondered. He played his trump card with the Rateaters out west, promising them all of the Red Hawk territory and old St. Louis as well. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about lying to the fools anymore; hard to tell what vengeance the Red Hawks had in store for them.
