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

by J. J. Holden

  Cassy looked up at Michael and saw him pointing and shouting orders, but she didn’t hear anything except a ringing in her ears. She understood that she was in “white space,” as Michael had trained everyone to called it, a stunned state where sensory input was disrupted due to the sudden shock of an unprepared mind. Why had that thought crossed her mind? She found herself focusing on how strange it was to think of it at that moment. Slowly, the sounds around her penetrated her fog, and she became aware of voices.

  “…and get the radios moved, dammit,” Michael was shouting.

  Cassy shook her head to clear it.

  “…Cassy! Cassy, dammit, move. We have to get you out of here. We may have been compromised.”

  “How?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  “Signal monitoring. Probably got a missile incoming. Now go! Get to the wall and lead the fight while I get HQ relocated. That’s an order, boss,” Michael shouted.

  Cassy staggered east toward the wall without thinking, just mindlessly obeying his steady, stern voice. In the fog of battle, Michael’s voice was like an anchor that held people steady amidst the storm. She found her coordination returning, and ran.

  * * *

  Jaz shook her head to clear the daze. She remembered standing on the wall and the jets launching missiles, but she couldn’t remember the impact. She wasn’t on the wall anymore, though, but on street pavement. She found herself on her hands and knees, and looked around in confusion. Her rifle lay nearby, so she crawled to it. It looked undamaged. Then she looked for Choony, but didn’t see him. There were bodies scattered all around her, some with clothes burning, others merely smoldering. She frantically checked several, and felt her stomach drop every time she flipped one over, but felt relief when the body wasn’t Choony’s.

  From the nearby wall remnants came sounds of heavy, continuous shooting, and a woman’s cry of pain that was cut short.

  Then she felt someone’s hands under her arms, lifting her up. She hadn’t heard the footsteps over the din of battle. Startled, she glanced up and saw Cassy’s face. For a moment, Jaz thought she had lost her mind.

  “Are you okay? God, Jaz, you look like shit. Are you injured?” Cassy looked Jaz up and down.

  Jaz took a moment to think about that. Was she hurt? She felt her head, then concentrated on her arms, hands, fingers. She wiggled her toes. Then she got her feet under her and cautiously stood, arms out for balance, but without Cassy’s help.

  “No, I think I’m okay. Where’s Choony?” she cried, feeling a growing desperation.

  Cassy shook her head. “I don’t know. We’ve got to get to the wall, Jaz. After those air strikes, the ground troops will hit the wall hard. I’m sure Choony is fine, and he’ll find you. But we gotta go now, dammit. We don’t have time.”

  Jaz nodded and let Cassy pull her back toward the wall. In several places the wall had vanished, leaving only a low ridge of smoking rubble in between sections that were damaged but still stood. The gate itself had been obliterated. They climbed the few feet to the ridge of the rubble mound and went prone. Jaz looked out toward the bridge and heard herself gasp, just as Cassy did…

  The scene on the bridge was a nightmare turned real. Bodies lay heavy on the ground around the bridgehead on this side, as well as on the bridge itself, but there were dozens and dozens of infantry crossing toward them. Behind the soldiers rumbled metal giants, the M1 Abrams. Their cannons were firing as fast as the crews could reload and pick a target. Left and right of Jaz, the upright segments of wall were billowing smoke and fire blossoms, seemingly at random.

  Jaz felt a growing rage. Those bastards were killing innocent people for no reason but to enslave them. They had separated her from Choony, and God only knew if he was still alive. And they were coming on hard, right here and now. She tilted her head to crack her neck, took a deep breath, and settled into a battle mindset—calm and almost blank, yet tracking every movement, deciding on targets at blinding speed. She fired six rounds in six seconds, and saw five of her targets fall. Beside her, Cassy fired an M4 on single-fire mode, almost as fast. Jaz didn’t waste time seeing if her targets still moved, instead just moving to the next one. Then she reloaded, and got ready to repeat the process.

  * * *

  Cassy took three seconds to aim. The helmet sticking up over the bridge railing presented a pretty small target, but every time that bastard popped up, she heard someone nearby scream.

  On one, she drew a bead on it. On two, she inhaled and then slowly exhaled. On three, she stopped exhaling and held it, squeezed the trigger, and the shot felt right. She knew it would hit, even before a spray of blood and a flying helmet announced her bullet’s arrival. She was proud of that shot, even though she had heard Jaz fire three times in those three seconds. She swung her rifle to another soldier. Bang, he dropped.

  Cassy took a second to thank Michael for showing her the whole “scout-mounted scope” idea. Her rifle scope was mounted far out toward the barrel, rather than up by her eye, which helped her to stay far more alert and aware of her surroundings. She could even snap-fire at targets that were up really close, which a normal scope mount would have made difficult. It had taken practice to get used to, but now she wouldn’t have it any other way in this environment.

  Next to her, Jaz said between shots, “Why are you… here instead of… leading the Confed?”

  As Cassy reloaded, too, she replied, “Frank’s the Clan leader. Michael’s the war leader. Screw sitting back home to wait it out.” Then she flipped her M4 to burstfire mode. She heard Jaz grunt acknowledgement, then they both returned to firing. She quickly got into a rhythm. Bang, bang. Bang, bang. Reload when empty. Repeat.

  She had just finished reloading with her third 30-round magazine when she felt Jaz punch her arm. She turned to snarl at the girl, but when she saw the look of fear on Jaz’s face, she stopped. Jaz was pointing toward the enemy, but… over them.

  Cassy followed where she was pointing and felt the blood drain from her face. Far away, beyond the oncoming ground troops and tanks and Strykers, she saw a line of fighters. They were arranged in three groups, and the one group she counted had twelve fighters in a V-formation. This must be every fighter that had been randomly strafing Harrisburg. If they fired missiles all at once, the Confederation line hemming in the bridge would be decimated.

  Oh shit. She was in that line. “God… Jaz, run,” she shouted, and scrambled to her feet while sliding down the rubble hill’s back slope. They had only seconds to get the hell out of there, yet she knew that even if they avoided being blown up, thirty-six or so fighter planes strafing in tight formation would pulverize just about everything along their path. Well, she’d try to run anyway. She wouldn’t just lay down and die.

  All around her, other Confed warriors had the same idea. Not all of them ran, but enough did that some got in her way. She felt a twinge of guilt for running when so many stayed behind to man the wall, and a bit of irritation at the other ones who did run. The thought struck her that she was being a coward, but the more experienced fighter in her told her that dying pointlessly helped no one.

  Behind her, she heard the rising chaos as more troops spotted what was coming and attempted to get the hell out of the area, screaming, but she knew they’d be too late. Cassy was probably too late, too, she realized, but she would run anyway. God save them all…

  Ahead, a low thumping sound grew in volume and pitch, and then abruptly she saw a helicopter rise up in front of her. It was green and looked like the incarnation of Death. Spinning chain-guns were only the cherry on top of its missile pods. The animal part of her brain knew that the strange flying creature meant death if it saw her.

  The helicopter suddenly slid away sideways, leaving the area, but it fired guns and missiles as it moved. A man running just a little behind Cassy and to one side let out a weird noise, and she looked behind her in time to see most of his torso disintegrate—a parting gift from the helicopter as it fled the area. One cannon round had done that
to him…

  Behind her, a missile exploded close enough that she could feel some of the heat on her back. She was surprised to find herself still alive, after the helicopter had gone, but she expected to explode at any moment.

  * * *

  Carl stared in awe at the long line of fighters approaching. Death from above was coming fast. “Fall back,” he shouted, and began grabbing men and women who were too caught up in the firefight to hear him, sending them running to the rear. He clicked his radio on and alerted Michael, as quickly as he could, that the situation changed. Then he, too, began to run. He heard on his radio as Michael openly broadcast to unit commanders with directions and fall-back locations, but it was going to be too late for many of them, Carl knew.

  He was half a block away when the first missiles struck. He turned in horror to witness the devastation, but his horror only grew when he realized that only half the missiles struck the bridgehead and staging area. The other half streaked overhead and peppered dozens of buildings throughout Harrisburg. He cursed the rat bastards for that—those would slaughter civilians and soldiers alike, and half the town would probably burn down. As the concussions passed by and the noise faded, he heard Michael on the radio giving orders to Carl’s unit, and he heard his second-in-command confirm the order. Dozens of jet fighters passed overhead, strafing, and one came within feet of hitting him. He looked out over Harrisburg and truly saw devastation clearly for the first time. It was a disaster.

  Sunshine’s name sped through his mind. He felt a sudden twinge of panic pulling at his thoughts. Was she okay? If there was a fire nearby, she wouldn’t be able to flee, he realized with shock. Screw it. His unit was in good hands, so he turned right and ran hard. His Harrisburg home was only six blocks away. He put his head down and focused on his breathing and his pace, and quickly ate up the meters between him and Sunshine.

  Only three minutes later, he rounded the corner and finally saw his house. His heart sank like a lead weight—the house was a wreck. It looked like old pictures of Dresden after Allied bombing, with the rear wall upright and half of a sidewall leaning inward crazily. All else had collapsed, and now burned.

  Carl screamed and ran at the short brick wall that encased the property, hopping up to wedge an elbow over the top and using his momentum to get one leg swung up and over, then leverage got the rest of his bulk up and over. He landed without slowing down and ran across the huge front yard, heedless of anything around him. He passed a half-burnt body that lay in a heap, arms and legs all at unnatural angles, but it had been a man, so he didn’t stop.

  Seconds later, as the heat from the burning ruins blasted him, he had to stop. As the heat built up on him, he was soon forced back. He held his arms up to try to shield his face, but simply couldn’t get closer. He stared at the fire, tears coursing down his face. The entire upper floor was gone, having collapsed inward. Then, like the final curtain at the theatre, the lone remaining wall slowly crumbled downward. The impact kicked up coals and flames, forcing him to back up farther still.

  Carl sank to his knees, his clenched fists on his thighs, and looked up to scream at the sky.

  * * *

  Jaz picked herself up and brushed shards of wood and plaster off herself. She looked around, trying to get a sense of her situation, when some nearby rubble seemed to moan as it shifted. She rushed over to it and began to pull off chunks of rubble, throwing them aside one after the other until she came to a large section of plywood lying flat. She grabbed the edges and pulled hard, her muscles straining, and felt it shift loose. She shoved it aside. Where the plywood had been, she saw the source of the moaning.

  Cassy coughed severely when the fresher air hit her lungs, and Jaz saw a puff of dust come out. Jaz wrapped her arm around Cassy’s shoulders and helped her to her feet.

  “Are you hurt?” Jaz asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Cassy gave in to a long coughing fit before continuing, “What happened?”

  Well, damn if Cassy didn’t look just totally confused. Jaz hoped she didn’t have a concussion. “The jets fired missiles, remember? Half the city is burning. I think the lines must have collapsed, so Houle’s soldiers will be coming right up our ass in a minute. And the jets are circling around again. We gotta move, Cassy.”

  Cassy staggered, but Jaz kept a tight grip on her. A few seconds later, Jaz felt Cassy’s pace steady as she got her balance back, so she relaxed her grip.

  They headed south, trying to put as much distance as they could between them and the wall’s remnants. In the distance, Jaz heard a sudden increase in the faint popping noises of small arms fire. “The Mountain is pushing across the bridge. Now that they can get their tanks across, nothing can stop them. We gotta get out of here. Fall back to Renfar, maybe. Those old Renaissance Fair grounds are a maze, so we can disappear there.”

  Cassy grunted her agreement, and they turned to head southeast. That would allow them to skirt the flaming neighborhoods and have some chance at survival.

  Jaz glanced over her shoulder and saw the entire line of jets coming again, flying in several tightly packed V formations. Whatever resistance to Houle’s troops remained would vanish once those jets unleashed. And if she and Cassy didn’t hurry, they would surely get blown to bits.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of movement in the sky, off to her left. She tilted her head to look, forgetting the chaos around her for a moment. High above and far, far away, a brilliant dot appeared. In the span of a second, the dot grew several times larger, but without knowing the distance Jaz had no way to tell how big it truly was. What was it?

  Abruptly, it flared and became far brighter than even the sun itself, and Jaz had to look away. She saw spots everywhere she looked, and suspected that if she had kept looking at it, the bright flash might have damaged her eyes.

  She heard Cassy gasp, glanced at her, then looked to where Cassy stared back the way they had come. Jaz blinked rapidly to try to clear the spots, and her view cleared enough to reveal what Cassy had seen. The long line of jets was approaching from the west for another run, but something was clearly going wrong. Two veered into each other and exploded midair. The others began to bank randomly left or right, quickly turning into nosedives or flat spins. They had fired the missiles just before that, and Jaz watched in utter amazement while they too spun crazily out of control, landing in harmless fireballs far from the bridge.

  In a few more seconds, the jets struck the earth one after the other. One landed on the bridgehead on the Harrisburg side, immolating tanks and a huge mass of infantry. The ground beyond the bridge, too, blossomed into a hellish peppering of fireballs.

  Jaz screamed at the top of her lungs, a wordless cry of hate and victory.

  Cassy stood next to her, grinning like crazy. As Jaz’s cry petered out, Cassy shouted at her, “Ethan did it!”

  Jaz nodded and let her rifle fall from her shoulder where she had slung it, steeling herself for what would come next. She stood silent, barely hearing Cassy’s voice over the roar of the flames.

  “Now let’s get back to the bridge and kill some Houlites!”

  - 21 -

  0500 HOURS - ZERO DAY +417

  CHOONY RAISED HIS head and opened his eyes, but saw only blackness. He had a dawning realization of something heavy on his legs and chest. He let his head rest a moment as he gathered himself and collected his wits. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was jets firing missiles. He considered that for a minute, and as he woke more fully, he had a remembrance of fire, and something striking him like a massive hammer.

  “Concussion,” he said aloud. No one answered. He turned his head to look around, but he struck his temple on something hard and jagged. He tried to move his hand, by reflex, to his head but found he couldn’t. It too was pinned. He breathed in and out deeply, biting his lip until the pain subsided. Damn, that hurt.

  Dust rained down onto his face, and he spat and sputtered. Then he realized why he couldn’t move, and why
it was so dark. He was buried beneath rubble. “The house…”

  He cautiously tried to move his right arm, and found he could. Not much, but if he kept his elbow on the ground—or whatever was beneath him—he could bring it up to his face.

  An air pocket. He was alive because his top half was in some sort of bubble. He moved his hand away from his face and reached out to his right. When his arm was almost fully extended, he felt something smooth, hard, and cold. It was metallic. A washing machine, maybe.

  The appliance, whatever it was, had created the ‘triangle of life’ he’d heard about from his mother. As a kid, she’d always told him the best place to take cover from a quake or bombings—the latter being more common in those days back in Korea—was near appliances because rubble would form a pocket next to those. This one must have fallen next to him. Which was far better than landing on him. Clearly, his Karma had saved him.

  “Thank you, Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha,” he muttered. Then he felt a faint breeze tickle his sweat-soaked neck. Somehow, he was getting at least a little fresh air. And that meant he was close to the surface. He paused to listen, breathing as quietly as he could.

  Muted voices reached his ears, as though he were underwater. He felt his heart beat faster as hope surged through him. “Here! Down here!”

  The voices grew louder, and Choony shouted again. He heard someone call out from above, and seconds later, the sounds of people frantically moving the rubble over him. He shouted again, every few seconds, so they could hear him.