by J. J. Holden
The envoys shifted uncomfortably in their seats. It was something everyone now knew, but no one enjoyed facing the facts.
Carl continued, “It’s my belief that if we shotgunned small forces throughout Houle’s eastern territories, spreading weapons and supplies to the locals, we might be able to encourage them to take advantage of their current opportunity. It won’t last forever, this chance at freedom, and fighting now means Houle’s supply chain has to go all the way to Colorado instead of close by. Supply will have to go through unruly territories the whole way, requiring more troops to guard them en route. It means fewer supplies for them here, during the coming fighting, and so the Mountain would be greatly weakened.”
Reba said, “It sounds like a solid plan. Why are you telling us this, exactly?”
The other two envoys nodded their agreement, and Carl found all three envoys staring at him as they expectantly awaited his reply. It was disconcerting. He cleared his throat, buying himself a couple precious seconds to regain his focus. “The simple answer is that we want you to supply those small units we’ll shotgun throughout Houle’s colonized territories.”
“Colonized?” Heath asked.
“Yes,” Carl replied. “Houle doesn’t control most of his territory directly. He built fast and cheap forts, or built up existing buildings to use as castles. They hold troops and not much else. The locals can’t get at them, but they can ride out at any moment to raise havoc if the locals don’t give them what they want.”
Reba said, “I see. What do you provide?”
Carl shrugged, raised his eyebrows, and pushed his lips out for a moment, trying to appear nonchalant. “The Confederation will supply your remaining troops with what they need, rifles and food.”
“What do you get out of it?” Heath asked. “We supply the raiders out of our army, and you supply our army out of yours. It’s musical chairs with your own people left standing at the end.”
“What do I get out of it? It’s what we all get out of it. As I said, it’ll hinder Houle’s troops and his plans, slow the operational tempo—which can only help us—and give him another threat he has to split his focus on. We have supplies coming in that will replace what we give you. By shuffling them down the line like this, we can all supply our units much faster than if we wait for outside help before we do anything.”
Reba said, “Very well. I’m game.” Heath and Marge nodded also.
They talked for a couple more hours, looking at a marked-up map of America and making plans, figuring out how many groups they’d need, how many people for each group, how many wagons, what to put in those wagons. The meeting didn’t end until the early hours of the morning, but Carl thought the resulting grand plan was solid. It would go into effect within the next three or four days.
* * *
Ree stood on the wall and faced south, looking down at the troops below. Ungrateful barbarians, those ISNA fighters. After all Ree had done for them, they turned on him with surprising quickness once Central Park fell. Sure, Ree’s hunter-killer teams had slaughtered thousands from the mobs and created fear among the Americans stuck in that terrible city, but Ree had miscalculated. Instead of cringing and submitting to his will, the Americans had struck back hard, using everything from guns to baseball bats as weapons. Sure, thousands more had been slaughtered, but they forced Ree’s troops who weren’t behind the wall to fall back again and again.
Now they were huddled right outside his gate, and they wanted in. Ree had enough food for his loyal people within his fortress, and enough seeds and land to grow for them in the spring, but he had nowhere near enough seeds or land to take in the forces sitting below. He had promised to let them in if only they’d go on a terror spree, which they had done, and it should have worked. Dammit, no one could maraud through a civilian population like ISNA fighters.
Now he faced those same troops, once loyal to him, and watched as their fear rose and their loyalty waned. Ree had the strong feeling that this situation would go from bad to disastrous at any moment. Any spark could ignite the firestorm, and then “all bets were off,” as the Americans would say.
Three majors, loyal to his three rebellious colonels, stood outside looking up at the wall. Ree had positioned himself where he could speak to them, but dared not reveal himself openly. He hid behind cover and loyal soldiers, avoiding anyone below who might take the initiative and shoot him.
Being so loathed by his fellow Koreans and many of his ISNA former lapdogs was an odd feeling, and new in his experience. Ree shouted down, “No, I will not open these gates. I have given you direct orders to go forth and ravage the civilians—mere civilians!—yet they ousted you from the territories I gave you. You failed to hold your land against lazy, fat American civilians, and you failed in the mission I gave you afterward. Shall I reward your failure?”
From below, he heard, “Great Leader, we obeyed your orders, but you then left us to face the situation out here alone. Without support, and without even coordinating between your colonels, how could we succeed?”
Ree felt his face flush, and struggled to calm himself. This was not the time to lose his famed composure. And they were right in that he really had set them up for failure. Intentionally. “Perhaps that is so, but when I gave you the solution, you failed even there.”
“We went among the Americans with an iron fist, at your orders, but they didn’t cower. Instead, they rose up even more. Your leadership has failed, and we only ask that you meet your responsibility to your troops. We aligned our will to yours, and you must in turn provide for your people. That is how this works.”
Ree growled. Impudent, insolent little bastards… How dare they tell him what he must do? “When you succeed at the mission I have given you, those who remain will be welcomed with open arms. Until then,” he said, his voice rising into a shout, “I do not reward failure and stupidity. I do not bow to the insolent, the undisciplined.”
From below, he heard, “General, you will soon find that your words are prophetic, for nor do we bow to such. You must step down as leader. Since you refuse to hear us, we now will say it with more emphasis. Prepare yourself, Ree. You will soon meet your ancestors, to their eternal shame.”
Ree’s fingers turned white as he gripped the galvanized steel railing stretching along the catwalk. The arrogance… But he could not let that insult go unchecked if he wanted to keep his own troops loyal. If the mob outside intended to turn on him, he decided, it was best to do something about it now, while he still could. He looked at Major Kim and said softly, “All men, throw grenades and then open fire. Everything we’ve got. Kill them all, if we can.”
Kim nodded and strode the catwalk, spreading the word.
Ree pulled out his little compressed-air horn and began to count to thirty in his mind. He needed to keep the mob from dispersing early, though. He shouted down, “What gives the servant the right to question the master? You speak of ‘our way’ even as you desecrate it. Very well, send forward those who can negotiate for you, and we will talk. We must stand together if we are to stand at all, here in this barbaric place.”
Five soldiers stepped forward, three Korean and two sand-eaters. So now the ISNA barbarians wanted to have a say in things, too, Ree noted. Delightful. He pushed on the air horn’s rubber button, and an ear-piercing shriek blasted his ears.
The men below looked amusingly confused for a moment, until a dozen grenades flew from the wall into the crowd below. The series of explosions was most rewarding, and signaled the gunners on the wall. Dozens of troops with AK-47s and half a dozen light machine guns opened fire, as did grenade launchers on either side of the gate. It was a sudden, brutal onslaught. The rebellious troops below had been lulled into lowering their guard, crowding together to hear the exchange, and that curiosity was their doom.
Ree stood smiling atop the wall and risked a look over the ledge. He wanted to see for himself what the results were. It warmed his old soldier’s blood to see such a carnage. As those who could flee
ran away, at least half of the mob lay on the pavement below him, writhing amidst a growing sea of blood.
Ree shouted to Kim, “Order a general cease fire, then begin shooting anyone out there still moving. When you feel it safe, send a squad out with bayonets to finish off the survivors. There should be none left, when they finish.”
Kim saluted and went to put Ree’s orders into effect.
Ree took a deep breath, inhaling the coppery scent of hundreds of gallons of blood and the acrid smoke from thousands of rounds fired. It was the smell of war, and lifted his spirits greatly. Hopefully, the American workers would pick off the scattered, weakened survivors and be killed in return, reducing both his enemies at once. “Two birds with one stone,” he said aloud. It was an American phrase, but it seemed the perfect comment to encapsulate that moment. He smiled. Those traitors might remain a vague danger, but they were no longer a direct threat to his own survival.
As the killing continued outside the walls, Ree headed down and walked toward his office. A bottle of American whiskey was waiting for him there, and it was time to celebrate. The deadwood had been trimmed, and Ree now had the core of loyal troops he needed to bring about a new, resurgent Korean epoch.
- 19 -
0730 HOURS - ZERO DAY +414
FRANK SQUINTED IN the bunker’s relatively low lighting as he examined Ethan’s map. It was made of a few dozen printed pages that were taped up to cover most of one wall, showing a topographical view of the whole region. Ethan had added to the map, tons of points of interest, prior battles, troop movements, and so on. Over that had been placed a taped-together lamination made of cut-up sheet protectors, which allowed them to mark it up with grease pens.
Frank saw that battles involving any member of the Confederation and many battles of the Free Republic were marked by simple Xs. Harrisburg and the Gap were among them. Lost battles had circles around the X marks; of the several dozen marks, well over half were circled.
All in all, the map system was both simple and effective. Where Ethan had found the maps to print out, Frank didn’t know.
The war so far had been frustrating. The Clan had lost several important people, though none of the Council had died… yet. After so many “traditional” Clan memorials, the Food Forest was full and could hold no more graves. They had begun to bury Clan losses in the plains beyond it, extending the forest by a fraction with each new ceremonial tree planting. If this war continued, the forest would double in size rather soon…
Ethan entered the room from the bedding area and nodded a greeting. “Pretty dark picture, isn’t it?”
Frank let out a tense breath, making a hissing noise from his nose. More sharply than he intended, Frank snapped back, “Yes. It’s fucking grim.”
“Whoa. You can take it out on me if you want, boss, but I’m not General Houle.”
Frank nodded. Ethan was right, of course. “It’s just getting to me. Houle has more areas of operation than we can keep up with. His units are smaller than ours but a lot more effective. Our lost battles tend to be devastating, while his tend to mean he just ran away to fight another day.”
“It’s their vehicles,” Ethan said. “They have lots, we have few. They have tanks, we have none. Those M1s are unstoppable. The best we can do is temporarily immobilize them with a tread hit or knock out their cannon barrel. Those get fixed if they win the battle.”
“Yeah. And when we win, we have to just scuttle their lost vehicles. We can’t tow those monsters with horses, and the battlecars aren’t powerful enough to drag a tank overland, either.”
Ethan shook his head slowly and clicked his tongue on his teeth. “Amazing how powerful vehicles are. Not to mention how fast they move around. They mostly fight only when they want to. They pick the time and place, and we can only react.”
“It is what it is. Wrapping C4 around a propane tank and tossing it under a tank’s treads worked once. We might try more of that.” Frank eyed Ethan to gauge his reaction.
Ethan shrugged. “It’s dangerous, but no more dangerous than facing a tank without a propane bomb. Problem is, they’re damn heavy to be lugging around a battlefield and you can’t put it on a road. Pretty much everyone who serves Houle was in Iraq and Afghanistan and they know what to look for. Maybe we can build up a few of those bombs at settlements and bases. If they get attacked, they can use the bombs without first lugging them all over the state.”
“I wish there was a way to level the playing field.” Frank let out a long breath. “With all those vehicles, never mind the tanks, it’s hard to fight them even with cavalry or bikes. Our artillery helps, but not against moving armor. If only the armor at that depot wasn’t fried.”
Ethan froze and his eyes grew wide.
Frank suddenly remembered that it was Ethan who had punished the world by putting them in the same dark boat as America. He had EMP’d the globe for the 20s and General Houle. “Sorry, Ethan. But I still wish we could level the field against the Mountain like we did the ’vaders.”
Ethan’s face scrunched up for a moment as though he were in pain. After a long moment, he said, “It may be possible to do just what you were wishing. The problem is that it would destroy all those nice radios and Raspberry Pi computers we’ve been salvaging and sending out to our allies.”
“So it would hurt us a lot, too. Not Clanholme itself, since we can weather the EMPs just like the last two times, but our allies and friends can’t be forewarned in case they have Houle’s spies among them. Best to save that idea as a last resort, but be truthful… Is that something you really could do?”
Ethan shrugged. “I think so. I have a backdoor into NORAD, and still have my connections to the missile systems, which Houle doesn’t. Those connections are static, they don’t change, but the clock starts ticking as soon as I use my hack. As far as Houle is concerned, I ‘retired,’ if you’ll recall. Once they spotted the connection, they would know it was me, and they’d know just how dangerous that is for them. I’ll have only limited time.”
“Fair enough. We’ll table that for now, but I want you to get a plan as ready as you can, so that you’ll have time to do use that hack if needed. Compile coordinate kernels, or whatever it is you hackers do.”
Ethan put on a faint smile, which Frank realized was mostly for his benefit, and said, “You got it, bossman. But first I need to show you something. If you look at the map…”
Ethan moved to the wall. With both index fingers, he pointed at two large red circles on the map. “So, see these? They’re Houle’s main army, split into Army Group East and Army Group South. Based on the patterns of their movement and that of the smaller scout units they’ve been sending out, it’s my belief Harrisburg is their intended target. That’s their Omaha Beach.”
Frank nodded. It was what they had always expected. “Army Group East is in Pittsburgh—they walked right in, since the Empire retook it—and South is in Martinsburg, West Virginia. Remember, they had a huge supply depot there? They retook it last week. I think both army groups will get their act together and sweep aside everything in their way, then slam into Harrisburg together.”
Ethan said, “The only other option is for South to go through York and Lancaster, crossing the river south of us. If that happens, then either we or Liz Town get hit before they move on to attack Harrisburg from both sides.”
“I don’t think that’s likely, though. York burned down and Lancaster got sprayed early on, so both are barren of any supplies or fuel. There’s a huge stretch of almost empty land with no supplies and very little fuel. It’ll be Harrisburg from the west, I think.”
“I agree. I don’t even know how they’re using that old gas. It shouldn’t really be working anymore. Gas goes bad. Diesel, too. We do know they have some sort of additive, stockpiled before the war, but they can’t have enough of it to run those damn vehicles forever.”
Ethan grimaced. “With any luck, we can drag this war on long enough for them to run out of either gas or additives. They’r
e on a short window of opportunity with an operation this size. It’s why they’re being so aggressive and taking risks.”
“Those risks are probably the only reason why we have the wins we do, so thank God for that. Let’s assume they aren’t going to go through Lancaster. They’ll hit Harrisburg together, both groups. What can we do between their current staging areas and Harrisburg to slow them down or blunt their attack? If we could disrupt their two army groups somehow, we could deal with them piecemeal.”
“Don’t count on that,” Ethan said. “Their swarms of vehicles make it more likely that they would outmaneuver us, not the other way around. We’re stuck on defense as long as they have that advantage.”
“Then let’s think defensively. That depot where we got all those rifles and restocked ammo had crates of mines, both antipersonnel and antitank. Let’s put up assloads of those things randomly, everywhere between them and us. Mark their locations with GPS so we can find them again when this is all over with.”
“It won’t stop them, Frank.”
“No, but it will slow them down and start chipping away at their numbers. Those vehicles can’t be replaced, and they have fewer infantry than we do—just a lot better equipped.”
Ethan frowned. “Attrition warfare is ugly. I agree that we should do what you said, and so will Michael, but I’d just rather have one big battle and win it all.”
“Or lose it all. Attrition warfare is the ugliest kind, Michael says, but it’s a kind of warfare we can stand up to better than Houle can, in the long run.”
“Then the next logical step is to take the attrition to them. Disposable units to ambush or snipe at them, and maybe even knock out a few vehicles with rockets.”
