EMP Retaliation (Dark New World, Book 6) - An EMP Survival Story

by J. J. Holden

  Ethan said, “You know they weren’t planning on going to go get snacks, right?”

  Frank shrugged. “I figured they were just trying to be polite. I’ve been looking for you for a little while now.”

  “What can I do for you, my friend?” Ethan asked. “Glad to see you joining the fun. It started with the snacks, as always.”

  Ethan’s words echoed Frank’s earlier thoughts. Frank chuckled and said, “Yeah. Well, someone’s gotta drink all that hard cider. And if there’s any more drones around, let them get a good look at how the Clan parties, right? Psychological warfare at its finest—the best revenge is a good life, they say.”

  Ethan snorted. “I hope those bastards really miss the drone Michael shot down.”

  Frank noticed that Ethan made no mention of the poor girl who had died right in front of him when the drone attacked, nor of the fact that the drone had proved there was a nearby agent at the time. Frank knew from other conversations that Ethan was still shaken up about the teen girl’s death, and he had no intention of ruining Ethan’s night.

  Frank sat in silence for half a minute, enjoying the view of people having a good time. Finally, he decided it was time to get to the real point of this conversation. He let out a long breath, as though it could blow the tension right out of him, then said, “Speaking of that drone, what did you learn about it? Tell me everything.”

  Ethan looked irritated—this was a spontaneous party, after all—but instead of arguing, he said, “Definitely from the Mountain. It’s one of the 20s drones. I confirmed that easily enough by virtue of it having a small Gatling-gun rocket system. Who else would have something like that? No one that we’ve seen. And the parts are labeled in English.”

  Frank felt a flash of anger at General Houle and the 20s for murdering that sweet young girl. He also felt a flash of fear. “Give me the truth. Do you think they might send another drone after us?”

  “Well,” Ethan said tentatively, “I think drones are irreplaceable. NORAD has a big stockpile of them, no doubt, but they’ll still be hoarded for just the critical missions. I think it’s more likely that they would send a Predator loaded with Hellfires. I’m sure they have more missiles than drones, and they can get the Predator back, unlike the smaller drones.”

  Frank shuddered as an image of a Predator drone strike crossed his mind. He would have to ask Michael later about the operational range of a Predator drone. Could one go all the way from Colorado to Pennsylvania, or would they need to be launched from a bomber much closer? But that was curiosity, not really relevant, and he had a more urgent curiosity to satisfy. “Why’d they send those drones then, Ethan? It seems like it must have taken a lot of effort to get two little drones all the way out here.”

  Frank peered at Ethan intently, observing his body language. Ethan looked tense.

  “As I said before, it was a retaliation. A warning to me.”

  “Ethan, you’re a smart guy, and I know you must have put a lot of thought into this. You’ve already said they wanted you to sabotage us, and you didn’t follow their orders. I get that. Not a person here is blaming you for being loyal to the Clan. And we paid the consequences of your decision, but it was still the right choice.”

  When Ethan nodded, he looked a bit more relaxed and Frank continued, “What I meant to ask is, why did they send a fatal warning? It must be very important to them to take out our gear, but why do you think they’d waste so many resources on warning you? It was a rather elaborate show of strength, which puzzles me.”

  Ethan looked like he was thinking hard about how to answer, then finally replied, “They’re on a timeline. I think that must be it.”

  Frank felt his heart rate speeding up. He couldn’t think of one scenario that ended well for the Clan if there was a timeline involved. “What the hell for? If you know something, you had better spill it.”

  “At first, I thought it was just a sort of guideline on just how disabled they wanted things, so I didn’t mention it while I tried to figure things out.”

  Frank let out a long, frustrated breath. Typical Ethan—he would view it as an intellectual challenge, a mystery, not thinking to say anything until he had cracked it open.

  Frank said, “I’m giving you a direct order now so there can be no confusion later. If you talk to the 20s, I want a full report on what was said. That very day, no matter the time of day. You need to do this every single time they contact you. Do you understand me? I can’t make informed decisions when my Intelligence Chief isn’t being intelligent.”

  Ethan nodded. Frank was Ethan’s friend, and the poor guy had very few of those. He was a loner by nature. Ass-chewing him must have felt like a kick in the teeth.

  Frank put his hand on Ethan’s shoulder and then said, “Good.”

  “I’m sorry, Frank. I swear it won’t happen again.”

  “I know. We’re square, okay? I’m off to get some grub.”

  “Okay,” Ethan said.

  Frank hopped up, and Ethan handed him his crutch. He waved with his other hand and then hobbled toward the outdoor kitchen for snacks and regular ol’ apple cider. He had a lot to think about, so he’d be leaving the hard cider alone tonight.

  * * *

  0530 HOURS - ZERO DAY +350

  Carl felt the engine rumble through the steering wheel as the Lizzie Borden raced along, and nine other battlecars from several Bands trailed behind him. They streaked along I-76 westbound, heading toward the mountains. The Empire had pushed the rebel Free Republic forces out of the pass, threatening to spill out into the lowlands. That would put Carlisle in jeopardy, and the rebellion had passed word that they needed help. If Carlisle fell, the Empire would again threaten Harrisburg, forcing the Confederation to divert much-needed forces.

  Carl shuddered to think of what Mary Ann had done to the enemy survivors in Harrisburg when the town fell. Those bastards had raided, killed, raped, and pillaged almost since the first month after the EMPs, and so they were Liz Town’s most hated enemies. Harrisburg had never offered mercy on their raids, and they could expect none from Mary Ann. The battle he was racing toward was good timing, as far as Carl was concerned—he’d much rather go into battle than deal with the gruesome aftermath of the victory at Harrisburg.

  On the horizon, he saw a bright flash of light in the dim predawn. It had come from a mortar, probably, though of course, he couldn’t tell which side’s. Probably the Empire’s, since mortars were heavy and the rebels were falling back almost as fast as they could run. The thought of enemy mortars was sobering, yet it made him grin. Taking out mortar crews behind the main fighting lines was a perfect use for his mobile, armored battlecars.

  He wiped a bit of grime off his goggles, then put his foot into the gas pedal and felt the buggy-like Lizzie Borden surge forward. He’d be fighting again in only a couple minutes, and his heart began to race in anticipation. If all went well, he’d soon have the rebels rallying and the Empire fleeing for their lives back over the pass. It was enough to make any good Lizzie’s heart sing.

  * * *

  General Ree nodded to the messenger, who bowed low before leaving. Ree knelt upon a pillow, hands on his knees. He felt serene as he reached down to the wax-sealed note, picked it up and opened it. The note was from one of his officers—now vassals—reporting great success in liberating supplies from one of Taggart’s nearby defensive stations. The officer had seized the supplies and withdrawn to safety with only minimal casualties.

  Ree smiled faintly. Nearly two weeks ago, he had cut rations to his vassals. The last time one had seized new territory, Ree had given it to the man’s neighbor. Those two events combined to achieve the result he wanted, and now he was seeing his plan bear fruit. Why take territory, with all those hassles, when Ree might just give it to your nearest rival? But when they seized only supplies, Ree only took a cut and left the spoils with the victor. The colonels were beginning to aggressively hit into Taggart’s territory, seizing everything of value and retreating. Every troop
Taggart used in response to reinforce his front lines was a trooper unavailable elsewhere. Besides, it disrupted Taggart’s operations in general, which was “all good,” as the Americans said.

  Except that everything else wasn’t all good. Production had slowed down all over the city. Not just in gathering, processing, and distribution of food, but also among the textiles workers who sewed and repaired clothing. And the munitions section, making homemade mortars, mortar rounds, and reloading spent small arms shells. And the fishing people. Just about everything, in fact, had slowed noticeably.

  Maddeningly, it wasn’t caused by anything he could put his finger on. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just slow workers. That, he could fix. It was small, simple things that added up. Straps and belts were giving out three times more often than they had only a month ago. Tools somehow broke or disappeared, in between shifts. Wagon wheels that had been securely bolted were mysteriously falling off. Important supplies vanished overnight, or even in broad daylight. When mundane goods were moved from station to station, or to warehousing, the shipments came in missing an item or two.

  No one thing was huge, but it all added up to a noticeable slowdown and was beginning to affect his operations. If this went unchecked, it could grow into something terminal. A cancer. Ree knew he’d have to cut that cancer out before it spread too far, but where to begin? All the problems couldn’t be traced to any one person or cause. They just… happened.

  The only solution he saw was to increase the guards on most of those things, and put spies to watch everything as best they could. If he could capture one responsible person, he might get more names out of them. His ISNA interrogators were excellent. As far as Ree was concerned, torture was the only thing the sand-eaters were actually good for. He amended that—they were also good as cover. They caught bullets in battle so his own Koreans were hit less often.

  Ree raised one finger on his right hand, and his servant shuffled forward, head bowed. Ree didn’t look at him, but closed his eyes and said, “Fetch Major Kim. He and I must discuss operations.”

  The servant shuffled backwards through the exit, and Ree smiled at the thought of the delicious tea his servant would bring for him to share with Kim. Delighting Kim with his generosity and exquisite teas pleased Ree for some reason. The Americans had lots of wonderful teas from every corner of the globe, and Ree felt that he was becoming quite an accomplished connoisseur of fine teas and their qualities. He loved the fine teas. The death of the old electronic world didn’t mean he must recede into barbarism with it, did it?

  He would leave the barbarism to his disgusting sand-eaters. Arabs would only waste good tea by getting their unseemly facial hair in it. Hah, the image amused him. Those ISNA were worse than Americans when it came to having far too much ugly facial hair. Unlike Yankees, however, his ISNA animals knew their place in the grand scheme of things—at the bottom rung, along with everyone else who wasn’t North Korean.

  * * *

  Frank sat atop his horse, fitted with a special saddle. His left foot stump had been strapped into the custom stirrup, and now he awaited the inbound Liz Town messengers. He had grown used to the strange stirrup, and it no longer chafed the stub where his left foot had been removed.

  Why had the Lizzies asked to meet him at Clanholme’s north food forest instead of simply riding into the settlement? It was odd.

  He tried not to feel irritated at the inconvenient process of getting to his horse, strapping in, and riding down there. The damn straps meant that even though Michael had been in the fields, he beat Frank to the rendezvous point.

  Right after Frank trotted up beside Michael, the Liz Town messengers rode into view. The narrow gravel and dirt road, which ran from the main road all the way into Clanholme proper, doglegged within the food forest to prevent anyone seeing in from the outside. It had been one of Cassy’s pre-war privacy decisions that had turned out to be useful now. One of many such preparations she had made.

  Frank looked them over and saw that the lead messenger’s head was lightly bandaged. Her companion had no shirt beneath his Timber Wolf-painted war jacket, and his ribs were wrapped tightly. They must be coming from the battle at Harrisburg, where Liz Town had assaulted the residents to put an end to their threat once and for all. Frank peered at the messengers’ faces and saw their expressions were pained and tired, but surprisingly cheerful. That was promising.

  “Welcome to Clanholme. I’m Frank Conzet, leader of the Clan. I hope all is well in Liz Town?”

  The riders stopped their horses and smiled. The woman dismounted and said, “I’m Reject, of the Timber Wolf Band. Nice to meet you, Mr. Conzet.”

  Frank realized she had used his proper name to show that she knew of him, and he felt amused. Before he had taken over as the Clan leader, few people knew his last name. “Do you need some water, Reject?”

  She nodded and her companion shook his head. Michael motioned to one of the Clan outriders, who gave Reject a water bottle. She guzzled it greedily, wiped her face on her sleeve, and handed the empty bottle back. Water was one of the few things it was polite to accept as a guest, since it was plentiful.

  “Much obliged,” Reject said with a relieved expression. “My Alpha didn’t want this broadcasted over the radio, so he sent me directly. We’ve taken Harrisburg, first of all.”

  Frank felt a grin forming. “Good. I hope those bastards got all the mercy they deserve.”

  Reject nodded, eyes glinting merrily. “Oh yes. So that’s the first thing.”

  Michael cocked his head to the side. “There’s more?”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir. At the end of the battle, the remaining Hairyburgers had fallen back to positions on just this side of the bridge. We were preparing to launch the final assault on Harrisburg and expected high casualties, but then another force streamed across the bridge. We figured it was the Empire, come to save their allies.”

  Michael said, “I take it they weren’t?”

  “No, sir,” Reject replied, and then she laughed. “They were once Empire, but now they’re independent. The Free Republic, they call themselves. It turns out those Confed supply runs to the guerrillas worked better than we had hoped. Practically the Empire’s whole eastern territory has broken away, dealt with their loyalist traitors however they chose”—she curled her upper lip into a snarl as she said that—“and then came to help us deal with the enemy in their rear. They hate Harrisburg as much as we do, and when Harrisburg joined the Empire, it didn’t sit well with their former victims who were then supposed to welcome them with open arms. I guess it was the final straw for many people.”

  Frank nodded slowly. He knew that it was fantastic news since they wouldn’t have to deal with the Empire directly any more, now that the Free Republic was between the Mountain and the Confederation. “I’ll let the Chancellor know right away. We’ll want to send Confed envoys.”

  “Yes, sir. But there’s one more thing.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow expectantly. Reject dug into her saddlebags and withdrew a small box and a long cardboard tube. She handed them to him and said, “These are maps, documents, and other trinkets we captured from a hidden radio room in Harrisburg.”

  “Oh? Hidden, you say.” Frank felt a childlike desire to know what was in the tube and box.

  “They’re from the King Under the Mountain. It seems NORAD had an outpost in Harrisburg.”

  Frank’s jaw dropped. Analyzing the documents would be of the highest priority… “Michael, get those. You and Ethan have them analyzed, would you?”

  “You got it.” Michael waved to the Outrider, took the items, and turned his mount to ride off toward the HQ.

  Once Michael had left, Frank said, “Very well done. We are always grateful for the Liz Town contributions to the Confederation and to all our safety. With the fall of Harrisburg, the loss of a Mountain outpost, and the developments in the Empire, today is a damn good day for the Good Guys.”

  “You bet,” Reject said. “We’ll have a funeral fo
r our people tomorrow, if you want to send someone.”

  Frank nodded, shifting in his saddle to get comfortable. “Yes, we’ll definitely send someone. Please let Carl know that we’d like an update on Lizzie casualties so we can bring something appropriate to the funeral.”

  Reject eyed Frank for a moment. Maybe his response had surprised her. Then she nodded and threw a sloppy salute-and-grin combination at Frank before she, her companion, and the Clan outriders turned their mounts and galloped away, heading back the way they had come.

  Frank was left with both joy at the news and a nagging fear about what the Mountain’s involvement at Harrisburg meant for the future. His conversation with Ethan—four months, Ethan had said—came back to him. Surely this was connected.

  Frank decided it was time to let the Clan Council know the details and get their advice. He’d also have to inform Cassy. He turned his horse back toward the lower stable, near the HQ. Definitely a good day. So long, Harrisburg… They would not be missed.

  - 8 -

  1200 HOURS - ZERO DAY +365

  ETHAN GRINNED AND clicked “save as” on the computer, thus completing version 1.0 of his latest magnificent programming gem. He copied the program to an external hard drive and a USB token, just in case—one couldn’t be too careful or have too many backups, these days. “How ironic,” he muttered.

  Amber sat across from him on the loveseat as she munched on her lunch. “What’s that?” she said over a mouthful of food, raising her hand to cover her mouth.

  Ethan snorted. Amber was not the most delicate flower out there, but she was everything he had wanted in a woman. Smart, funny with a biting wit, a bit tomboyish, and as happy in sweatpants and a tee shirt as she was in a dress. She didn’t have a pretentious bone in her amazing body.