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

by J. J. Holden

  “Absolutely. No one could fix these up the way you do. So what have you figured out?”

  Dean grumbled and took a step toward the wreck. He took a deep breath. Then, in the same voice one might use to explain to a child why you shouldn’t stick a knife in a power outlet, he said, “Okay. First, the gasfrier got breached. I got to cut and weld with some scraps if we’re gonna fix it. Worse, the copper pipes are all bent up like Ma’s spaghetti. I need new pipes, so you send out some of them worthless teenagers to strip another house. Be good for ’em to do something besides looking at plants all day.”

  Cassy nodded. Dean didn’t understand permaculture, and didn’t want to. “Done. New pipes for the gasifier. What else?”

  “Both cars, the radiator we put between the gasfrier and the pipes to the engine are messed up worse than your face. We need new ones. That ought to be easy, even for you.”

  Cassy sighed. “Yes, Dean. My face has scars. Thanks for pointing that out.” Well, turnabout was fair play, she figured. She continued, “I’ll make sure you get the radiators.”

  Dean ignored her jab. “The rest of it’s easy enough. Patch up the truck bed, weld on some new horse-wire fencing over the back window. Repairing my gasfriers is gonna take a couple weeks for the two of ’em, though. These aren’t the amateur rigs you paid too much for from Falconry, you know. These are works of art. I won’t be bolting crap onto them like Frankenstein.”

  Frankenstein’s monster, Cassy mentally corrected him, but left it alone. “Of course, Dean. No one does work like you do. Thanks for the update, and I’ll get the things you need. But, I need them done in a week, not two.”

  Dean grunted and leaned into the open engine compartment with a socket wrench. She heard the tzzk, tzzk noise of the wrench turning, and smiled. He was probably just making noise with it to get her to go away. He didn’t care much for small talk with anyone but Frank and sometimes the kids.

  As she walked away, she smiled again at the thought of how lucky they were to have Dean in the Clan even if most of the adults couldn’t stand him. But she knew he liked it that way.

  * * *

  Carl wiped his tired eyes with his palms. “Ugh. Sunshine, this can’t go on forever. We’re tired, and there’s just more and more of them every day. It’s like fending off Harrisburg and Hershey right after the EMPs, all over again.”

  Sunshine smirked, but he noted her eyes were as red-rimmed as his felt. She said, “I told you we should have recruited that first group.”

  “If they would have fired on their fellow refugees who arrived later, and if they wouldn’t have turned on us anyway. If, if, if. Things are what they are. How many do you figure we’ve killed?” Carl’s expression fell as he said it. He’d have nightmares for years to come, he was certain.

  “At least a couple hundred. They’d have been better off standing and fighting against the Mountain instead of us.”

  “Yes. But they didn’t know that when they fled from Houle.”

  “You trying to get me to sympathize with them? We’re killing them, Carl. I prefer not to feel sympathy for them, thanks.”

  “Roger that. I got word this morning that Liz Town is beginning to take fire. A few rounds here and there, for now. But it means some of the refugees found another crossing point.”

  Sunshine nodded. “Of course they have. They’re flowing like water, hitting one obstacle and going around. But Liz Town can hold its own.”

  “Yeah. But here we are wasting time, ammo, food… We need to solve this.”

  “Good luck, mighty Alpha of the Timber Wolf Band.” She said it like it was an insult.

  Carl took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I think maybe you were right. It’s time for Plan B—your Plan A.”

  Sunshines eyes widened slightly. “Recruit them? After we just spent two days shooting at them?”

  “Yeah. What else is there? We had already sent word throughout the Confederation anyway. Supplies are coming, and a lot of them. We can do this. They can do this. Fight for their homes, in exchange for promises of their families’ welfare.”

  “About time. We can’t fight off the entire population of the Free Republic, not forever. And even then, we’d still have to face the Mountain and the Empire. Best to send these people to die against our mutual enemy than by wasting our own ‘friendly’ bullets.”

  “I’ll send an envoy to talk at them. If they don’t skin him alive, we may be in business.” Carl frowned. That was a real possibility, he realized.

  “Big ‘if’ considering how many of them we’ve killed.”

  Carl knew she was right, but they just had to make this work. Otherwise, he would win here, but then they’d all lose at the hands of the Mountain King and his Empire goons in the coming days or weeks.

  “Better pray we make it work, Sunshine. It’s the only hope for all of us, in the long run.”

  * * *

  0700 HOURS - ZERO DAY +377

  Frank waited at the Clanholme entry in the north food forest. Behind him was an array of people ranging from paramedics to stablehands, ready to take in Michael’s exhausted mounts and his wounded. He had called in twenty minutes ago via radio, and now Clanholme was buzzing with workers and rumors.

  Michael and his unit streamed around the corner, horses walking slowly, panting. Of the twenty men and five women he had left with, Frank counted only twelve men and Michael, now. They hadn’t returned with any wounded, or even bodies. The lost were Clanners, and now there would be yet another mass memorial.

  “Welcome home, Michael. Sitrep?”

  Michael dismounted, and took a long swig from his water bottle, emptying the last of it. “Mission accomplished. Heavy losses. I’ll tell you more when my people are taken care of.”

  Frank nodded, and for the next fifteen minutes, he mostly stayed out of the way. Few of the returning Clanners were uninjured, and a couple of the horses had nasty wounds that would probably be terminal. He let the paramedics do their jobs. Finally, Michael finished going from man to man, talking to them briefly, then moving to the next.

  He walked up to Frank, and it was terrible how exhausted the man looked. Mentally as well as physically, he looked tired to the core. “So, we found our guys on day one, but they had intel that led us to a second group. There was a hell ride, their last stand, our people died. But so did theirs, to the last one. They all had that military look. Probably some variety of special forces. In the end, my battle plan was better than theirs. They were good, Frank. Trained almost as well as me. Almost.”

  Frank frowned. If the Mountain was sending SpecOps into the Confederation, it meant they thought they’d be attacking a lot sooner than the Clan had imagined. “At least you got them before they did any more damage.”

  Michael stared at Frank, but finally he nodded, ever so slightly. “It seems that way. But we don’t know what else they were up to before they announced their presence with explosions. We don’t know if there’s more of them out there. I had twenty-five people. We killed about that many of them. Where’s the other dozen? We need to be on high alert from now on, Frank.”

  “Of course, you got it. We’ll do that. What other dozen?”

  “A big op like that would use more troops, that’s all.”

  “Oh. We can’t do anything about that right now. How are our people?”

  Michael glanced over his shoulder at the impromptu aid station buzzing behind him. “Of the twelve who made it back, two won’t last the night. Two more are probably dead within a few days. Can’t treat abdominal gunshot wounds out here, not in these conditions. We’ll give them antibiotics and morphine, though, to give them their best shot at life. If they don’t make it, at least the morphine will make their passing easier.”

  Frank reached out with his left hand and grabbed Michael’s shoulder. “You did good, Michael. Those people were truly dangerous. We lost good people, but how many of us will live because of their sacrifice?”

  Michael nodded. He rubbed his eyes again wit
h grimy hands. “All of us. All of us will live, if I have anything to say about it.”

  “Of course. We’re in the best hands possible with you. Now go get cleaned up, fed, and get some rack time. You need sleep or you’re no good to anyone. I’ll fill Cassy in on what you told me, and your official report can wait.”

  Michael grunted, nodding. But instead of heading into the Complex to get rest, he returned to the people he had come home with, sat next to a man with a chest wound, and began talking to him with an easy smile on his face.

  Frank hobbled up beside Michael and bent down to whisper, “Michael, you need sleep, man. You don’t do anyone any good if you drop out from exhaustion.”

  Michael waved his hand toward Frank as though waving off a mosquito, and kept talking to the wounded fighter.

  Frank frowned, but turned away to go find Cassy. He’d leave Michael alone with his men, doing what a good officer did. He wouldn’t rest until the wounded did, no matter what Frank told him to do.

  * * *

  General Ree knelt on silken pillows, on a hardwood floor dominated by a thick Persian rug that would once have cost a fortune even in Iran. He and Major Pak Kim, now his most trusted right-hand man, sipped at the finest tea in New York City, completely irreplaceable. That tea was Ree’s one vice, his one true luxury. Soft living made for soft soldiers, he mused, but what harm could come of drinking tea that few others could even fully appreciate?

  “How do you find the tea?” Ree asked, and knew he was wrong for owning something that belonged to all. The Great Leader would have said so, but this was America, not North Korea. The Great Leader here was Ree.

  “Excellent, my leader,” Major Kim replied. He held the cup to his nose, breathing in the tea’s aroma, with his eyes closed to fully enjoy it.

  Ree understood the sentiment well. This was the finest tea he had ever had, certainly. “So tell me, little brother, what progress has been made to deal with the disruptions to our operations?”

  He had been careful not to say “have you made,” which separated Kim from the answer. Ree hoped this would encourage Kim to be more open and honest.

  The corners of Kim’s lips twitched upward when Ree called him “little brother,” a term of endearment that also maintained the power structure—not equals, but not purely professional—yet his expression went carefully neutral when Ree asked the question. Ree braced himself for bad news.

  Kim replied, “Big brother, I am pleased to tell you that we have reduced absences due to illness by withholding food from those too ‘sick’ to work. This encourages the lazy Americans to align their will with your own, and get the work done.”

  Ree wasn’t fooled. This was good news, but there was more to it. He waited in silence for Kim to let the other shoe drop. Kim finally began to look anxious under that gaze, then shifted his weight to get more comfortable. Or rather, to fidget…

  Kim continued, “My leader, that was excellent news of course, but I regret to inform you that our agents have found nothing regarding the subtle sabotage that is so rife in the work zones. Nor have your inquisitors.”

  Ree watched Kim’s expression carefully. The man avoided Ree’s gaze, of course. By calling them “our” agents and “your” inquisitors, he had dodged any responsibility. Ree allowed himself to frown ever so slightly, and he delighted to see Kim’s face turn a paler shade.

  Kim hurriedly added, “But I assure you that we are working diligently. We are making inroads into the People’s Worker Army units, and hope to find what we seek very soon.”

  Ree nodded. “I see. Thank you. It is important that we get this problem under control. Worker resistance to the will of the People is like a cancer. It spreads and grows, out of sight until one day, we find the condition has become suddenly terminal. We have already been effectively imprisoned here on this island. We have nowhere left to maneuver, and so we must deal with this problem as clearly and effectively as we can.”

  Kim nodded. “Yes, General. Would you favor this old soldier with your wisdom on the matter, so that I can align my will with yours?”

  Ah, what a splendid response! Ree favored Kim with a smile, then said, “Of course. Although you should already be in alignment, no? But let us forget that for a moment. I would never tell you how to carry out my orders, Major—you have your rank, and I have mine—but a thought occurs to me.”

  “I’m eager to hear your thoughts, of course.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps if we selected several of the slowest workers and subjected them to the ministries of the inquisitors, then an admission of guilt would soon be given.”

  “Whether there is guilt or not, my leader.”

  “True. But that’s not important. It will cause fear and doubt among the saboteurs and especially their potential recruits. It will encourage those who do know something to step forward, both through fear of a similar punishment and because of the existing promises of rewards for their loyalty to the People. I believe the Americans call this a ‘carrot and stick’ approach.”

  “Of course, my leader,” Kim exclaimed, “I’ve seen that technique used to good effect back home. We will begin at once.”

  Ree nodded, but said nothing more. Nothing else needed saying. He sipped at his tea, enjoying the shared silence with Kim. When his cup was nearly empty, he flicked his right hand up from where it rested on his knee.

  A worker, bent as low as he could go without falling over, scurried forward to pour another cup. Ree kept his eyes half-closed, relaxed. There was a blur of movement, however, and Ree’s half-shut eyes snapped open. The servant, a young American man, flung the pot at Kim and then turned toward Ree. He drew a knife from the wide, draping sleeves of his Korean-styled tunic and crouched low. Ree only had enough time to wonder how the knife got through security before the American lunged forward, knife point out.

  It was a clumsy attack, Ree saw. No finesse. But Ree was at the disadvantage, being on his knees and without leverage. He had only one move, one chance to live. He grabbed the man’s knife hand into a lock at the wrist with both his hands, thrust himself backward while bringing his knees up into his attacker’s stomach, and managed to fling the American back over his head. His attacker landed hard in a heap behind him, but this left Ree on his back, head toward the attacker. Vulnerable.

  Ree rolled onto his stomach with his hands underneath him. Pushing up with his arms, he got his feet underneath him, but was still off-balance as the American, now on his feet, scrambled toward Ree with the knife.

  Two deafening booms resounded throughout the room, and the American crumbled to the floor, skidding to a halt next to Ree. He stared down at the dying man, who lay still, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

  Ree kicked the knife away and stepped away from the American. Looking to Kim, he saw his right-hand man still kneeling, but holding a pistol in both hands. Kim’s face showed outrage, the same outrage Ree himself felt.

  Alarms went off throughout the compound. Four uniformed soldiers burst into the room, rifles ready. “My general! Are you injured?” said one in a flurry of words that strung together.

  Ree said, “I’m fine. The American got a knife through security. Go and detain those who checked and cleared this scum, then send them to the inquisitors.” Ree turned to Kim and said, “And go now, little brother. Begin what we discussed, and do it immediately.”

  Kim bowed halfway and then stormed out of the room. Two guards followed Kim, going to follow Ree’s orders. The last two guards approached the fallen American.

  One said, “He is now dead, my leader.”

  Ree frowned. Had Kim killed him intentionally in order to hide the attacker’s masters? No, of course not. Kim had saved his life by killing the American. If Kim were a traitor, then he would have killed the American after the viper had killed Ree, not before. But what of the men who had checked the American for any danger? How far had the cancer spread? He would have to find out, and soon. Either way, those men’s lives were gruesomely forfeit, an
example to the rest…

  Ree glanced at the guard who had ruined the fine Persian rug with his spilled blood. “Remove this filth. Make an example of his corpse. I want what’s left of him put on display when you’re done with him.”

  - 12 -

  0900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +379

  “CHECK FIRE, CHECK fire,” Nestor shouted as the enemy retreated again, leaving behind yet another handful of dead or wounded. His infantry stopped firing and his mortar went silent.

  Nestor rubbed his eyes, which were blood-red from lack of sleep. He had been up until the wee hours of the morning to prepare the defenses in Lawson Heights, both where his own two-hundred fifty fighters were stationed at the small private airport and at the town’s other two main strongholds, the high school and the strip mall.

  He had been asleep only three hours when the enemy attacked with a mix of Empire and the Mountain’s troops, who had hit them all across the defensive lines. So far, Nestor’s forces still held the airport. The last he had heard, the shopping center and high school were also holding, but that was an hour ago. Things could have changed dramatically in that time.

  Thankfully, everything around the airport was flat, without any cover except in one direction, so the enemy had been halted easily. Then the attackers had swung their approach from the southwest’s open fields to the southeast. There, a few houses and landscaping had been overrun, allowing the attackers to get within two-hundred feet of the southern hangars. The fighting was intense. The bastards still had to charge uphill into Nestor’s defensive fire, but would only lack concealment when they crossed a narrow uphill clearing.

  Nestor evaluated the scene, and caught movement through his binoculars. “Mortars, send two rounds into the tree line,” he ordered. He hoped the exploding trees would send hellish shrapnel into the rallying attackers there, but couldn’t be sure it would work. He had seen it in a movie, but it made sense. It was worth a try.