Ash: Rise of the Republic

by Campbell Paul Young

  The two old rangers followed their only son to a sprawling collection of mobile homes. As Colony Director, Brian McLelland was afforded a larger house than most. It wasn't much by pre-pillar standards, but was comfortable. His security detail stopped on the porch as they entered, settling in to stand guard.

  An hour later, freshly showered and groaning with full bellies, the Captain and his wife relaxed around a small kitchen table with their son and his young wife. A rosy cheeked three year old girl, all curls and dimples, sat giggling on her grandmother's lap. Deb cooed and tickled, reveling in the small child's delight. Brian took a sip of whiskey and cleared his throat, glancing at his father.

  "We got instructions from the Governor yesterday," he began, "He’ll be wanting a report from you I’m sure. He's going to call up the militia. He thinks this is more than you and the rangers can handle. We're already gearing up a company to support them. We put the word out to the commune downtown and we've sent riders to all the farms in the region. I think we can raise around two hundred or so, although we're pretty short on ammunition."

  "That'll be a good start.” The Captain stared into his glass for a moment. "He's right about it being more than we can handle, I'm not ashamed to admit it. The band we ran into was the strongest I've seen in years. They were well armed, and they weren't being stingy with the ammo. We need to make a strong move here, throw everything we've got at them. I think the University can outfit five hundred without much trouble, plus a couple of Bradleys if we can keep the diesel flowing. The new ammo plant was running strong when we left, bullets shouldn't be a problem."

  "Where is all this sudden aggression coming from? It's been years since we've had more than an occasional raid on the farms. I had thought all the trade we've opened up with the towns and settlements had convinced all but the worst of the outlaws to settle down. There aren't many people starving anymore."

  "It's more than food they're after. I think they see us as a threat to their way of life. There are plenty of bad men who like life to be raw and unpredictable. Hard work and safety don't appeal to some. This is more than just outlaws raiding for food and liquor, they're raising an army, they want to tear us down."

  "But why now, what's changed?"

  "They have a leader. I caught a good glimpse of him as he ripped the throat out of one of my rangers. Big, bald, scars on his scalp, half an ear."

  "Werner? He's still alive?"

  "Still alive and leading a small army of some of the hardest outlaws around. We killed a few of them burned their den but they didn't even bother to give chase. The one we questioned told us that the warehouse was a muster point. They’ve been sending out recruiters to track down all the roaming bands. They're filtering in from all over the state. Soon we'll have a big problem. They're in prime real estate, it’s an easy spot to cut our supply lines."

  "Well," Brian set his half finished drink down, "We'd better go fill in the Governor before it gets any later.”

  The pair headed back over to the control center where the radio was kept. Radio communication had not been possible until a few years before. The atmospheric scientists at the University said it had something to do with charged particles in the atmosphere playing hell with reception. The radio in the Refinery was one of only a handful in the region. They were connected by a network of cobbled together relay towers. Most communication within the Republic and its closest settlements was done over hardwired telephone lines, but they had yet to run the cables this far south.

  Oddly enough there were still some functioning com-satellites in orbit. Occasionally the engineers picked up some random telemetry with the big dishes on campus, but they hadn't been able to make any use of the signals yet. The general consensus was that they were military. There had always been rumors of functioning military installations scattered throughout the country, but the Republic hadn't been able to make contact with any of them over the years.

  Radio reception was usually poor, but when the operator made contact with the Governor's office, the response came back mostly free of static. The Captain made his report on the patrol quickly, sticking to the facts.

  The Governor repeated what Brian had already told him, the militia was to gather on campus and be ready for action by the end of the week. Brian detailed the preparations of the colony and the Houston area allies and requested a supply of ammunition and medical supplies for his force of volunteers. After a few minutes of logistics and planning, the Governor ordered the rangers back to base. He told them to expect air transport in the morning.

  The Captain was surprised. The Republic had only two helicopters. The aging machines were difficult to maintain and irreplaceable, so they were used only in emergencies. That one was coming to lift his troop back to base showed how serious the Governor was taking the outlaw threat.

  After signing off, father and son walked back to the bunkhouse together. Brian sent one of his bodyguards to inform the rangers of their orders and then the family turned in for the night, each of them thinking of their parts in the war to come.

  ****

  They had wanted to give chase, but the Chief had held them back. Let them go, he had said, let them run scared for once. So they let them go, and they waited.

  On their own and in small groups, more desperate ragged men trickled in. The Chief sent out raiding parties every few days. The countryside was ripe with prosperous homesteaders. Mountains of food and liquor and finery piled up, but always the Chief sent them out for more.

  They ran an old hermit to ground one day. He dressed in ancient army fatigues, his shack was well hidden and surrounded by booby-traps. A dozen men were horribly wounded in the assault. When they had smoked him out and tied him up they tortured him for two days. They spitted him over a smoky fire and turned him slowly. Before he died he gave up his stash.

  The bunker was hidden well. It was probably an old shipping container, buried at great expense by the old survivalist long before the pillar. When they had finally cut through the steel door and climbed down into the darkness they had whooped and slapped each other’s backs. Racks and racks of rifles and machine guns lined the walls, boxes and belts of ammunition were piled all around. The Chief was summoned. He was pleased.

  ****

  The helicopter ride was a thrill for the young rangers. None of them had even seen the creaking, sputtering machines fly before. The elite troop usually tried to portray an aura of mystery and savagery when they were around other soldiers, but the novelty of flight had pulled smiles across their faces. The aircrew, only a few years older themselves, noticed their delight and sprouted smiles as well. A few minutes into the flight the business-like transport helicopter was suddenly filled with laughing and joking young men and women. They pushed aside the fact that they would soon be embroiled in a savage war and enjoyed themselves.

  The Captain and his wife seemed unimpressed with the transportation. They were members of a generation which once considered convenient air travel a fundamental right. They sat to the side and left the youngsters to their fun.

  Despite their apparent indifference, the two old rangers knew that air transport was now a rare thing. Volcanic ash is extremely intrusive and abrasive. It plays hell with any engine, but it can choke up and rip apart a jet turbine in minutes. In the panic after the pillar, civil and military authorities alike foolishly took to the skies as if it were any other natural disaster. There were dozens of crashes that first week. Airliners, news helicopters, and fighter jets were falling out of the sky all over the country. It was rumored that the President and a number of other top government and military leaders lost their lives in the fiery crashes.

  Now, after years of poor maintenance and exposure to ash, there were very few working aircraft left. The two transport helicopters in the RNT Air force had been cobbled together from a dozen rusting hulks. The two veterans glanced at each other nervously each time the aging machine shuddered or coughed, knowing it could drop out of the sky any minute.

  Mirac
ulously, the hour long flight passed without any serious injury. Legs gave a triumphant shout when, peering out through the front windscreen, he caught the first glimpse of the stadium on the horizon. His comrades, still in a playful mood, clapped him on the back and broke out into the school fight song. The Captain and Deb, both graduates of the University, had taught them the old song one night. The troop had adopted it immediately. They clung to anything that set them apart from the regular guard troops. They were elite, and the strange words and references in the song added to their mystery.

  As they approached, the Captain gazed down at what he had helped to build. The University was the greatest collection of new and surviving technology in a thousand miles or more. Visitors from the rest of the country were few, but he had yet to meet one who had not been awed by the impressive collection of industry and research facilities. Nowhere else had so much success been scraped out of the ash.

  In the early days they had literally scraped the campus clean. It took three years, but when they were done, there was not a spot of ash on more than five thousand acres. The tons of material they removed were mixed with water and molded into a perimeter wall twenty feet high on which patrol vehicles circled at all times. Most of the old buildings still stood, but the acres of open park land and pasture had since been covered in new factories, greenhouses, and dwellings. Steam still billowed from the cooling tower at the small power plant on the north side like it had for decades, but now it mixed with the plumes pouring from a dozen new smokestacks scattered throughout Campus.

  The Captain expected to be taken to the small airport where the helicopters and bush planes of the RNTA were kept in sealed hangers, but instead of swinging west the pilot aimed straight for the center of Campus. Below them, soldiers drilled on a vast lawn of smooth green grass. Figures rushed from building to building, bicycles and small electric cars flitted in all directions. The campus was bustling with the preparations for the upcoming campaign.

  With a groan from his rusty machine, the pilot flared above the lawn of the administration building and quickly touched down. The crew waved the rangers out of the side doors, slapping backs and trading winks. Words of farewell were lost in the hurricane from the rotors. With a roar, the helicopter was quickly airborne again and limped off to the west.

  The Captain released his troop, leaving them with orders to muster at the barracks by noon the following day. As the young killers strode off to relax, the Captain and his wife climbed the steps of the long stately building. The commander of the Campus Guard, Andrew Beal, stood waiting for them, dwarfed by the vast pillars that lined the front of the building. He was ancient, nearly eighty years old. He had been a formidable campaigner in his time, but his age was beginning to show. He greeted them with an arthritic salute.

  “Aren’t you a General, Andy? Why are you saluting me?” The Captain shook his hand warmly.

  “Habit I suppose.” The old man looked sheepish in his elaborate uniform. “I’d love to catch up, but the Governor’s in a mood. We’d better not keep him waiting.” He gestured at the open doors. The repellors crackled the ash from their uniforms as they passed into the lobby.

  Ten minutes later, the pair sat in front of a wide cherry wood desk and watched the Governor of the Republic of New Texas, Ruben Garza, pace back and forth across the thick blue carpet. The sweat stains on his white shirt and the lines on his fleshy face bore witness to the sleepless nights and frantic days he had passed since the ranger’s departure nearly two weeks before.

  He stopped suddenly and turned to the rangers. “So this Werner has managed to gather an army from scratch and camp it astride our main supply route without us even noticing?”

  “Ruben,” replied the Captain, “you know you’ve had me out west watching our border with the Texan Union. I can’t be in two places at once. I don’t see how Tom and his 2nd Rangers couldn’t stumble across that nest of snakes. Hell maybe the crooked bastards have been stopping their patrols early to gamble in Navasota. All we had to do was follow the smoke. Anyone could have followed the trail they left.”

  “Well there’ll be hell to pay if that’s true.” He sat heavily at his desk, his chair creaked in protest. “Here’s the problem: The last three fuel shipments were destroyed. We haven’t received a drop of gas for a month. You know we keep a reserve, but that won’t last long. If we can’t open that highway this whole thing we’ve built comes grinding to a halt in a month. If we can’t get that fuel through we’re back to the stone-age.”

  He shuffled through the papers on his desk. “I’ve got the factories running overtime right now, by next week we’ll be able to arm a thousand men. I’ve set aside a strategic diesel reserve so that we can mobilize the armor. The mechanics say the jet engines in the tanks are shot, but we’ve got the two Bradleys and the Stryker. As you noticed this morning, we’re risking one of the helicopters to shuttle ammo down to Brian. They should be on the way with the second load now.

  “In terms of manpower, we’ve had an overwhelming response to the muster orders. There are nearly eight hundred men and women packed into one of the old cadet dorms already. We’ve been drilling them daily, but most of them are green, I don’t expect much from them. Beal can spare two hundred veterans from the Guard. They’re down there now working with the volunteers, organizing them into companies.

  The Captain whistled. “With Brian’s troops we’ll have nearly twelve hundred. We haven’t raised an army that big in twenty years.”

  Garza ignored him. “I’ll need the rangers as scouts, all three companies. You’ll be in charge; I’ve already broken the news to Reid and Collier. They took it about as well as you would expect, but they’re on board. The outlying settlements will just have to fend for themselves for a few weeks until we can get this thing under control.”

  Captains Tom Collier and Bill “Buddy” Reid led the two other ranger troops which patrolled the Republic’s borders. They were both competent, experienced men. McLelland knew their pride would be wounded by his appointment. He hoped they would accept his command without much trouble.

  “I bumped in to Old Beal downstairs; he looks like he’s falling apart. He can barely manage the Guard, let alone an army that size. The logistics alone would give him a stroke. So who’s in command of this new army?” The Captain asked warily, suspecting what was coming.

  “Colonel Garza, of course.”

  A dark look crossed the Captain’s face, he moved as if to speak. The Governor moved closer to ward off the protest, leaning over the desk and looking the Captain in the eye.

  “I know you don’t think much of my son, but he deserves a chance to prove himself. This is happening, whether you go along or not. Just say the word and you can help General Beal protect the campus walls. I don’t want that though. I need you McLelland, the Republic needs you. My son will need your counsel. You helped build this thing, now help us fight for it.”

  McLelland bristled, but Deb laid her hand on his arm. He spoke, formal now. “With all due respect sir, your son is not fit to lead this army. Do I need to remind you of the Dallas Expedition? He was in charge of a force less than half the size and…”

  Garza cut him off with a curt wave. Annoyance flared in his eyes.

  "There is no need to dredge up the past, Captain. Peter has learned from his mistakes and I believe he is ready for the responsibility. Need I remind you Captain, that you have never led more than fifty men? You are hardly in the position to judge my son’s capabilities."

  The Captain sighed in resignation and glanced at his wife. After a calculated pause he acquiesced. "I’ll scout for him, and I’ll even follow his orders, but Governor, I do this under protest. I think this is a bad decision. I’ve already played your son’s safety net once. I won’t be there to catch him if he falls again.”

  “I am confident it won’t be an issue.” The Governor was relieved. He had expected more of a fight.

  “We'll need to arrange a recon flight or two with the RNTAF of course."
>
  "Anything you need."

  ****

  Two days later, the Captain stood in the dim, cavernous, lecture hall at the center of the old geoscience building. Fifty clean-shaven men in smartly pressed grey uniforms were arrayed in front of him. They were the best NCOs and junior officers of the regular army, the Campus Guard. The 1st Rangers lounged to the side, uniforms ragged, looking grim and intimidating while they sharpened knives and fidgeted with their rifles. The two other ranger companies were on patrol, scouring the settlements for news of the army of outlaws.

  Colonel Peter Garza was at the podium, addressing his officers. The portly commander was still young, barely thirty five. He was only a hair over five feet tall, but his small frame carried a surprising bulk. The Captain thought he probably tipped the scales at over three hundred and fifty pounds. The rotund man stood out in a world in which countless souls starved to death in the stark wastelands every day. His weight was the product of a comfortable life as the son of an important man in the most affluent city-state in the known world. To the Captain, he was a symbol of the softness that is often produced by successful civilizations. He represented the lack of discipline and competence that had made the aftermath of the pillar so devastating for society. He was decadence incarnate to the Captain, and he was now in charge.

  “…is going to go over what intelligence we have available at this point. Captain?”

  McLelland took his cue and walked to the podium. He peered out over the assembly, cleared his throat, and advanced to the first slide with the small remote in his hand.

  "Good morning gentlemen. The fly-boys took this yesterday. Note the burned warehouse here. As you can see, they've set up camp nearby. Judging by the number of shelters they've put up and the campfires, we're looking at nearly five hundred of them. Werner must have been planning this for a while. He's probably gathered every gang of outlaws in a thousand miles. If their numbers continue to grow at this rate we might be looking at close to a thousand men by the time we’re ready to march. We know they're well-armed but we don't know the extent. They have at least one heavy machine gun: they tried to light our boys up just after this picture was taken. If they have one we should assume they have more. I'm worried about how much ammunition they seem to have. I've never seen bandits use it so freely. I'm worried they might have stumbled on some old national guard armory or something. If that's the case, we might have to worry about anti-tank weapons and explosives. The 2nd and 3rd rangers are on the ground, shadowing them. We’ll know if they make any moves.”