World of Ashes

by J. K. Robinson

  The loudspeaker was crystal clear. The Federals piled out of their vehicles, the soldiers who’d laid their arms down made no effort to reclaim them as the turret clanked back towards them. It went without saying who the ASV belonged to. The Sheriff had come for his people. With no other choice the Federals let them go, and in turn Allen and his people stole their trucks and their supplies. The soldiers were left their weapons on the condition they were to protect the civilian Jumpsuits left in their charge. The soldiers agreed to the conditions, they were just men fighting for their country after all, caught up in a shit-storm they’d never imagined possible. Ethan would send trucks back for them, so they had best not abandon the civvies. That would determine what happened to them later.

  One soldier stepped away from the group and slung his rifle. “I want to go with you.” He said to Allen.

  “Huh?” Ethan was taken aback, but didn’t lower his sidearm when the soldier approached.

  “These fucking Progressives are evil, Sheriff.” The tall black soldier had a slight Orange County accent, it reminded Ethan of when he’d first met Juan. “I was in the California National Guard. We wound up in Wyoming to protect Cheyenne. They’ve taken away every civil liberty, it’s like they used the book 1984 as a manual instead of a warning. They’re nothing but a bunch of malevolent communists. Therefor, I want to come with you. Besides, you’ll need someone to advise you on how to deal with Colonel Sharp. I can give you the rundown on him on the way.”

  Ethan poked his head out of the hatch, “We don’t have time to sit around and circle jerk. Get in here, Specialist. Give any weapons you have to Deputy Broadwick.”

  The soldier took his helmet off and handed his XM8 to Allen. “But if I’m coming with you guys, you’re going to call me Major Branson. As I’m sure Mr. Broadwick would attest to, there are no rewards for crossing Colonel Sharp. If whatever coup you’re planning doesn’t succeed, that bastard will be a Brigadier General in charge of the entire state by this time next month.” The other soldiers volunteered to join the Resistance on the spot, following Major Branson’s queue, but he ordered them to guard the civilians and take them to a neutral location. He would come back for them as soon as Sharp was in chains or dead. It was a ray of hope the soldiers on the convoy desperately needed.

  Having people turn to their side shouldn’t have surprised Ethan as much as it did. If given the chance to fight for independence versus dependence anyone with half a wit would join the Independents. Ethan smiled at the idea of claiming the name Browncoats since they were already called the Independents by their apparent enemy. He’d just have to fight it out with Joss Wheden if the creator of Firefly had somehow managed to survive the Apoc. Who was left to complain about copyrights anyhow?* (Probably anybody and everybody who’s works I have shamelessly ripped off during the course of this book.)

  “So why’d Sharp bust you down to Spec4?” Ethan asked over the hum of the engine. “C’mon, you can tell me. One fuck-up to another.”

  Major Branson was busy cutting the Velcro off his uniforms and tossing the brightly colored garrison patches off the sleeve pockets onto the floor. Allen and Jimmy embraced, both brothers insanely proud of one another. “I disagreed with him and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I thought of myself as a Claire Chennault of sorts, that stepping on toes was somehow a good idea in that bastard’s New Army.” Branson finished cutting the patches off and put his Kevlar helmet back on. Ethan handed him a cigarette from the driver’s backpack, which Branson accepted and lit.

  He took and drag and continued. “Been a while since I had fresh tobacco… The Commandant of Army Group South wanted to invade a township like yours, some hillbilly biker gang gone religious farmer types up in the Grand Tetons. He was planning a full-on frontal assault, committing every soldier under his command to driving full speed at their surprisingly well built fortress. I said that there were too many military veterans on the opposing force. They’d be ready for that because they were defending against zombies who have no tactics and always came from the front. A simple incursion to kidnap their leaders would have brought them all down peacefully. They weren’t like you guys. There were four men, former bikers who’d already given up coexisting long before the dead came back to life. Everyone else just kinda did whatever they wanted. All two thousand, six hundred and forty two of them centralized around four men. You tell me what the logical thing to do was.” Branson took another, longer drag. “So I fight and fight until I get my wish. The night my plan goes into effect, myself and a dozen men slip into their town over the hills because zombies can’t climb very well and it was lightly guarded. Lieutenant Colonel Sharp, just right then, launches a full scale attack. We were actually standing next to one of their sentries when the Howitzers opened up.

  “See, we still had planes, but fuel reserves were so sensitive we didn’t have air support, just medevac for non-infected casualties… Even without air support the bastard achieved total surprise. He blew their embattlements apart with one well-coordinated artillery strike. The dust didn’t even settle before a wall of Abrams streamed in, guns blazing at will. They killed hundreds. The next day two patrols caught up with us. The sentry we were trying to capture had his only living family on their front gate that night. His fifteen year old sister. She was killed instantly I assume. He had begged us to kill him too, but we couldn’t. Sharp’s men informed us that we were all under arrest for disobeying orders and conducting paramilitary operations without approval. Apparently the final approval for my mission hadn’t made it past Sharp’s desk… He slaughtered almost half the town after we occupied them. I spent a month in the stockade, but rather than banish me from the Cheyenne colony he assigned me to be a gunner in an infantry platoon that stayed in town. We reined over those poor people with an iron fist. It was terrible, inhuman.

  “He’ll do the same to you and yours if you don’t fight him now. He’s not even supposed to be in your town. Our orders were to secure a safe route to Jefferson City, but Sharp interrogated some refugees until he learned of your town. He’s bucking for promotion, but his lines are stretched thin. The Federal Government of the United States has a vision for a Utopia from the Ashes. They won’t take kindly to resistance, and Jeffry Sharp is their biggest fan. Their arrest of your friends here is evidence of that. I hope you can see that.”

  “We’re well aware, Major.” Ethan said. “Allen, this guy here, is my Deputy Sheriff. Myself and a number of men have been at Ft. Leonard Wood revamping armored vehicles to combat the Federals if they became hostile… It would seem they have long since become hostile.”

  Allen had a more pressing question. “What did they do to the Texans?”

  “Texans? How long have you been in contact with Texas? I thought Sharp attacked their convoy heading into Missouri at the Oklahoma boarder.”

  “Fuck.” Ethan closed his eyes. That explained a lot. If South America wasn’t already enough of a problem for the Texans they probably had the Federals to deal with now too. A war on two fronts was a bad sign for any nation.

  “Then you’re not in contact with Texas?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “You might want to be soon. If Army Group South gets control of Jefferson City, Columbia and Springfield taking back this region will be impossible.”

  “Do they have air support?”

  “Yes. But it’s expensive. Really, really expensive. The actual number is highly classified, but there’s no more than one full squadron of F-22s in the entire Midwest. They can only afford to fly them for emergencies. Oil’s at an unheard of premium, there’s heavy fighting all along the California boarder.”

  “One F-22 is enough to level the town and then some.” Ethan sighed. “How would we go about delaying the order to scramble fighters?”

  “You misunderstand me, Sheriff. They won’t scramble the fighters unless they’re about to lose. Which means-“

  “We make them think they’re going to win?” Jimmy said, almost cheerfully.

  Maj
or Branson almost laughed. “No, this isn’t a war movie, kid. We surprise them. We pull right up to the front door and shove a gun in their face. Don’t give them a chance to call for help. It might be our only hope of pulling this off. If Colonel Sharp calls a Broken Arrow I think we’re all boned anyhow.”

  18

  The mushroom cloud of fire and smoke that had once been the Midwest American Social Education Center plumed into the pink and orange early morning sky. The ringing in his ears let him know he was still alive, but only just. Colonel Jeffry Sharp rolled from his stomach to his back, leaning against what was left of a food distribution cart. The weight of his body armor, the shattered ceramic plates shifting inside, was unbearable. His breath returned a little, his lungs desperate to suck down air, but it tasted of cordite and the unmistakable stench of charred flesh. His depth perception was gone, as well as his left eye. Who knew if it was still in the socket, he couldn’t think straight enough to raise his hand to find out. To the left of him were dead soldiers. To the right were dead soldiers. The ground had stopped shaking, a ceasefire had been called. The outcome was final...

  Midnight. Six Hours Earlier.

  Standing in the cold of the winter dark for FDA approved medical rations that had been delivered three days late, Paula shivered, wishing it were Mary’s turn to wait in line for the 1 a.m. cutoff for Ration Application Re-Apps. Serenity had the chicken pox, and it was only a matter of time before Samuel and Keith JR had it too. The medications and lotions for treating it were easy to find not six months ago, almost any pharmacy was still fully stocked with medications that wouldn’t get you high. Now those supplies were suddenly “contaminated,” or unapproved for use by the American Red Cross. It was common knowledge that at least one oil refinery on the East coast had exploded, but no one got supplies from the East anyhow. There were rumors of an accidental nuclear meltdown in Georgia, but again it already had everyone double checking their sources. This was bureaucratic nightmare on planet bullshit. Martial Law was one thing, Paula thought, but this was what Ethan called Fascism.

  “Excuse me.” A man’s voice said from behind. Paula turned. It was a soldier in full gear, a large MP patch on both sides of his shoulder armor. “Is your name Paula Brewer?”

  “Yes. What do you want?” Paula wasn’t in the mood for this.

  “You will need to come with us.”

  “Why?”

  “Ma’am…” The soldier’s look was a warning, “You’ll need to come with us. Now.”

  “No.” Another disgruntled citizen standing in front of Paula turned around. “You can’t do this. Martial Law be damned. You still have to tell her where she’s going and why. You can’t just kidnap people off the streets!”

  “Sir, you need to turn around or go home. It’s past curfew unless you’re here by appointment.” The soldier responded harshly. Two more armored soldiers dismounted a light blue MRAP.

  “Fuck you.” The man said in indignation. “I’ve had enough of this shit.”

  The soldier to the left pulled out a shotgun loaded with beanbag rounds and shot the man in less time than it took to describe it. People started screaming. This was the first time the Federal Soldiers had actually shot someone in public. Tazering and pepper spraying people were common and always overlooked, but it was already clear something was happening, as if the thin red line of patience both sides had for one another had finally snapped like a high tension wire.

  Another shot rang out. Someone else had a shotgun, and this one wasn’t loaded with beanbags. A solid twelve gage slug popped the shotgun wielding soldier in the face, exploding his head inside his helmet like a watermelon. The turret of the MRAP clanked towards the sound of gunfire and opened up with an M249 SAW. Not the best weapon to have in a turret, but politically correct because it used NATO 5.56mm ammo… Or something stupid like that.

  The small machine gun, though fast, was a poor match for the half dozen M240Bravo’s and M60’s the Resistance opened fire with from the hedgerows. The citizens scattered, knowing this was the long rumored uprising. The real question was, what had prompted the underground of Deputies and Cavalrymen to choose this moment? Perhaps, Paula thought as she hid beneath a Green Truck while the gunners in the woods chopped the Federals to pieces, it had something to do with Lee and Ethan. She pulled an illegal Walther PPK from her waist line and chambered a round, ready to do her part if someone found her hiding place.

  Paula was very right about the men being prompted to attack, even though she couldn’t have seen the South gate from the gunfight. Ethan’s APC roared onto the highway behind a dozen checkpoints. An intimate knowledge of the newer trails and roads had put them right in front of the gate without ever alerting the Federal sentries. Armored Security Vehicles were nearly impossible to hear coming toward you, and if you could hear from behind you were either too late or already dead.

  Colonel Sharp had procured a dozen more MRAPs of varying size and shape, but nothing with a large enough gun to put Ethan’s war machine out of commission. Ethan couldn’t let Allen miss out on all the fun and handed the microphone to his protégé.

  Allen pushed the talk button and cleared his throat. “AAHEM. Attention Federals. This is the Sheriff’s Department of the Township of Sullivan, Missouri. Lay down your arms and surrender. There are no terms to discuss.”

  They had expected gunfire to be the response, but instead Colonel Sharp’s voice returned the order to surrender, ‘accidentally’ squealing the speakers before speaking. “You are in violation of Martial Law and Subsection One Seven Six of the Resettlement Codes. You are in possession of illegally acquired United States Government Property and you are threatening Federal troops and civil authorities and will submit to-“

  Ethan fired a Mk-19 grenade into the closest speaker attached to a guard shack, obliterating both. “Woops.” He said from the cramped turret. “Wrong button.”

  The response was immediate this time, a deafening roar from rounds clanking off the armor made communication impossible without the headsets. Shouting like a madman Ethan returned fire at the muzzle flashes, the mighty guns of the ASV he’d named “The Bucket” shattering the wood and concrete walls in showers of fire and debris, men running for their lives.

  Sneaking past the outposts along Highway 187 was easy, but that was because there weren’t any outposts, at least not anymore. The Federals didn’t see fit to occupy the positions the Cavalry had thought vital. No sentries spied the convoy of armor rolling towards the dumping grounds that had been FOB Alamo. Whatever refuse the Federals didn’t want they unceremoniously dumped in the old motor pool. Lee didn’t stop at the FOB any longer than it took to sever a hardline phone from the post to the town that had been rebuilt at least twice. The occupiers clearly marked the line for the convenience of attacking armies, or maintenance workers, whichever. Operating under radio silence the convoy crept closer and closer to the concrete walls of the town. Through the telescope on his Bradley Lee saw the sentries at the Eastern Gate frantically calling to their superiors, having first heard, and then spotted the battle line of steel monsters. Unlike Ethan’s vehicle, none of the others had Sullivan markings yet. There was likely a great deal of confusion among the Federal sentries over who exactly was coming at them. Reinforcements, or the Enemy?

  Lee made it clear who was knocking at the back door by ordering the lead Abrams to put a round through the guard tower. It exploded spectacularly, loose ammunition and fragments of sandbags flying all about as the trailers next to the tower caught fire. Bullets cooked off when the fire spread to an armory sewing chaos and confusion. Lee rushed the convoy through the fatal funnel of the gate they’d blown open, a second hole blown by the Resistance let them avoid some of the Federal gunfire just in the nick of time. The other vehicles opened up as they fanned out and began racing through the old residential portion of town. The more logical point to breach was though the airfield because the ground was open and perfect for tanks, but it was heavily defended and Sharp had probably mi
ned it. Coming through the back of the town would also make it easier for the tanks to hide among the houses. They were running low on fuel already and it wouldn’t be too long before this became a dismounted battle if they didn’t push to the center now.

  Lee’s Bradley clanked and roared methodically toward a gathering of Federal troops trying to load the machine guns on their MRAPs. One, two, three Green Trucks he plowed under before coming across armored resistance. Nothing the Federals fielded could stand up to a Bradley, let alone the two mighty Abrams. They destroyed machines and mowed down infantry that resisted, taking time to take prisoners wasn’t easy, but after capturing several MRAPs that hadn’t made it out of the high school parking lot using the football field for an impromptu detention facility became a quick fix to the droves of enemy prisoners of war they were collecting. The unit’s ultimate goal was City Hall. Capture the FEMA station and cut off their communications. A talented gunner in another ASV put a stream of .50cal rounds into a cluster of antennas, setting them all on fire. Lee hoped Ethan was having the same luck.

  Ethan’s luck had run out. They hadn’t been able to get out of the truck since Colonel Sharp’s men opened fire, but they could already hear Lee and the others over the radio. The distraction Ethan created had effectively allowed Lee’s men to penetrate as far as Main Street with armed resistance fading quickly. Seemed most of the troops and equipment had been allocated to combat a single rogue vehicle, never expecting a convoy to burst in from the rear.