by G. R. Carter
Decaying oak floor boards creaked with the pressure of two, now three sets of boots. Dust unmoved by human presence for years stirred in little whirlwinds, and then settled back behind cautious figures in green and brown camouflage. They crept slowly a few feet away from each other, sensing they were not alone in the old warehouse.
Martin Fredericks crouched in the nearly pitch black basement below, trying to keep his breathing measured and his heartbeat steady. The stench of the space tested his resolve, a toxic mix of waste and decay that agitated like a witch’s brew in his nose. He stifled a sneeze and tried not to imagine who or what might have been down here since the Great Reset. Hiding places like this were valued by anything avoiding civilization.
This particular building was part of what was once a grain elevator. The old wooden structures like the squat warehouse he was hiding in were complete teardowns, but the soaring concrete and steel grain tanks sitting next to them were the real prize. Out here in the no-man’s land on the western fringe of Red Hawk civilization, sat places that the Republic’s Wizards could convert to another fortress farm. The Republic’s population was growing in leaps and bounds. Faithful Tenants were rewarded with their own farms on the frontier once the area was cleared of ditchmen.
That’s why Fredericks was here today, near the town once known as Raymond, Illinois, to lead a mission to secure this area. It was supposed to be a training exercise for young officers. ditchmen eradication was a good chance to put Red Hawk troopers in live fire situations, to get them ready for conflict against the much more dangerous New America Legionnaires.
He always thought of himself as a competent soldier. He was a veteran of multiple tours in the Sandbox for the United States Army before the Reset. And he’d whipped an eager but inexperienced group of small town farmers into a potent fighting force after the lights went out. Today, he questioned his ability. He’d allowed most of his force to go chasing after what they thought might be some ditchers while he and a couple of others explored this facility. Then, he’d managed to get the three of them trapped in a basement with no exit. He promised himself he’d never make those mistakes again…assuming he made it out of this alive.
To make matters worse, he still didn’t even know who he was hiding from.
The primal fear of the dark present in every man tried to break Frederick’s spirit, urging him to take his chances with whoever was upstairs. Years of training strained against his emotions. He had to provide an example to the men with him; all were blocked from escaping by the single set of rickety stairs that led up to the surface. Frederick’s personal Guardian dogs, Thor and Jacket, sat waiting by his side. Their keen ears had first detected the danger of approaching vehicles, allowing those in their care a few precious moments to hide. Both specially-bred animals sat statue-still, each of them one hundred and fifty pounds of tightly-wound muscle completely focused on the strangers' sounds and awaiting their master’s orders.
Fredericks heard his younger subordinates breathing heavily. Eric Olsen and Davie Enoch remained still, but he could sense the stress, especially in the younger Enoch. He was a militia man from a Red Hawk ally, Little Egypt. The country nestled between the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers, in the area where the Shawnee forest dominated the landscape, struggled to survive. They were rich in natural resources but plagued by ditchmen savages who took shelter in the thousands of square miles of heavily wooded badlands. Enoch was participating in an exchange program with the Red Hawks, trying to bring more unit integration to the two allied nations. People from Little Egypt – “Buckles” most called them – longed for a society as well organized and cohesive as the Red Hawks. But so far, they didn’t seem to understand that the greatest strength of Republic wasn’t the system, but the people.
Olsen was a different story. Instead of being scared, he more likely wanted to get the fight on. Fredericks thought the young man reckless, but he’d proved himself in tight spots like this several times since the Great Reset shut off electricity to the world and created a literal Dark Age. He’d shown a knack for fighting as a teenager, fighting alongside Alex Hamilton in the brutal battle to subdue Decatur. Here in the dark, Fredericks was glad to have him.
Murmurs up above escalated to shouts, until the argument ended in something sounding like a direct order. Shortly after, Fredericks heard the old wooden door at the top of the stairs moan as it opened slowly. Just a few rays of sun slipped in through a ventilation vent at ground level. A flashlight beam poked out to the bottom of the stairs, sliding silently back and forth on the floor, and then up and down the walls on each side.
Finally a boot appeared, testing the first plank, then the second. Gaining confidence, the boot stepped onto the third, which gave way with the weight applied. Fredericks had loosened the board, hoping to discourage anyone who might decide to investigate the basement. It was a good plan, but didn’t account for the intruder’s lack of balance, which sent him tumbling down head first until he landed with a thud on the dirty concrete below.
“Now what?” Fredericks muttered to himself while watching the shadowy outline of the man writhe slowly on the ground, semiconscious from the fall.
Jacket let out a low growl, the dog’s training nearly overcome by his hatred of anyone not deemed friendly by his handlers. The man stopped moving, and Fredericks took a moment to consider what to do next. The wounded man’s comrades were already calling down to him.
A beam of light appeared from the bottom of the stairs, shining right into the face of the Red Hawk crew. “Eaters!” the injured man cried, terrified he’d landed in a nest of cannibals. His sense of danger was well founded as Fredericks pointed and gave the Guardians their order for attack: “Angriff!” With a single word they leapt at the prone man in the process of drawing his sidearm. Vicious growls and muffled screams came from the shadows, and then went silent, while the unguided flashlight dropped to the ground and rolled to a stop.
Before Fredericks could call them back, the two canine warriors bounded up the stairs. More screams and swears came from the fallen man’s companions, shocked at the sight of snarling fangs coming up the stairs from the dark space below. The three Red Hawk comrades scrambled to follow, knowing the fight was on, ready or not. All Fredericks could hope for was that whatever group these men belonged to was small enough to be held off until relief could arrive.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he could see Jacket and Thor each with a dead man pinned to the floor, blood from neck wounds soaking into the thirsty wood planks. “Free!” Fredericks shouted and each Guardian released their victim. Immediately they returned to Frederick’s side, whimpering for their master’s attention.
There was no time now. He crouch-walked up to a window to get a glimpse of the threat outside, listening as a voice shouted for a report from the three-man team inside. Fredericks didn’t have to watch to know what would happen next. After receiving no response, a much larger assault team would storm through this time, and they wouldn’t fall for the loose board trick.
“Eric, get upstairs to the loft. When I fire, open up on whoever is out there, then get back away from the window. There’s a ladder right there you can use,” Fredericks said as he pointed several yards down the corridor where they stood. There was daylight on this level, at least enough for Eric to see what Fredericks wanted him to do. A quick nod and the young man strode gracefully to the spot, then up the ladder with ease.
“All right, Davie, you and I are going to try and make them think they’ve got a whole squad of Red Hawks in here, not just three of us, okay?” The young man's eyes darted about the room, and Fredericks had to grab the Buckle’s arm to capture his attention. “Lieutenant are you hearing me?”
Enoch’s glazed eyes met his. He gave a halfhearted nod.
“Look son, these walls are brick. They’ll stop most bullets,” Fredericks said, not entirely sure he was telling the truth. “I need you to go there into that office, and fire your weapon out the window when I give the signal. Try to hit something, but d
on’t stand in front of the opening too long, okay? Go now, we’ve trained for this,” the Red Hawk commander said as he gave the young man a shove.
He turned to his dogs, “Thor, Jacket, platz!” he commanded, and the two Guardians went to the spot he pointed at and lay down, whimpering. They instinctively knew there was a fight brewing; they could sense it in their master’s tone and actions. They just weren’t sure why they were being kept from the fun.
With his little unit settled into place, Fredericks turned his attention back to the doorway in front of him. He pulled the two dead soldiers to a place where he could set them up back to back, about twenty yards from the door’s threshold. He did the best he could to put their hands behind their backs, as though tied up. As he positioned them, he noticed a ribbon tied to one of the dead men’s cuffs. Pink and white striped, the ribbon was definitely not standard issue uniform. The young man’s face caught Frederick’s attention, and he briefly thought of him not as an enemy soldier, but as a human being. This was someone’s son, boyfriend, brother…
But who were they? The uniform wasn’t New America issue, though the camouflage patterned battle dress was consistent with United States military from before the Reset. No insignia was visible save a black triangle with a white circle inside patched onto their left shoulder.
Frederick’s felt the time slipping out of the hourglass in his mind. He knew at any moment the bad guys would burst through the entrance ahead.
“We’ve got your men held prisoner in here!” Fredericks shouted. “They’re secure, but don’t try to come in or we’ll end all three of them!”
After a moment, a voice finally responded, sounding as though they were right outside the door. “What do you want?”
“We want you to leave! If you leave, we’ll leave. Once we’re gone an hour, you can come back and get your men. They’ll still be here tied up,” Fredericks responded.
“I want to talk to one of them,” the voice outside demanded. “Otherwise for all I know you already killed them.”
“Not a chance, I know your tricks. He’ll shout unit strength and positions, it’s what you’re trained to do.” Which was actually true, it was trick that Fredericks himself once trained American soldiers to use. If this group was ex-military, he assumed they’d do the same.
Silence hung in the air, and Fredericks started to get worried. This was a longshot anyway, but the ruse was the best card he had to play in an impossible situation. He could hear rustling outside, turning his back just in time to protect his face from the dust of the doors being blown open.
Before he could shout a command, Eric was already unloading his rifle from the position just above. He watched in slow motion as two figures burst through the doorway, and then both paused when they saw their comrades sitting in the middle of the floor in front of them.
Their hesitation gave Fredericks the split second opportunity he needed. He put a three-round burst into each man, and then emptied his entire magazine into the open doorway, still obscured by the dust of the explosion. “Enoch, now!” he shouted as he reached down for a fresh magazine, dropping to his back to remain as low as possible. Thor and Jacket both crawled to his side, worried about seeing their master on his back.
“Lieutenant Enoch, I said fire now!” Fredericks screamed, until finally the room burst with noise again. He heard the rounds leaving the weapon until it clicked empty. Fredericks spun off his back and crouched again, weapon shouldered and ready for an actual target this time. None came, and a brief relief was replaced by panic. The mystery men outside had already made their decision. Figuring none of their men were left alive in the building, there was no reason to leave it standing.
“Eric, come on down! They’re going to burn us out!” Fredericks shouted up above. In an instant, Eric was back down on the main level, crouching in an office entryway and checking his weapon.
“Enoch, come to my position, now!” Fredericks commanded.
Silence hung in the air for a moment then he heard a panicked Enoch: “We give up, we give up!” the man shouted out the window.
“Who’s we?” the voice outside asked.
“Promise not to shoot, I’ll come out right now and tell you,” Enoch shouted back.
“Lieutenant, if you don’t sit your butt back down, I’ll shoot you myself,” Olsen growled.
Fredericks agreed with that thought at first, then shook his head. He whispered to Eric: “Get to the end of the hallway, see if there’s an unblocked exit. Be careful, they’ve probably got someone watching that door, too. But our chances are better out that way.”
“What’s going to happen to Enoch?” Olsen asked. Leaving people behind went contrary to everything Fredericks taught him. Olsen had never seen anything like this out of the man he so admired.
“Would you have surrendered like that, or would you have fought to the end?”
“You know the answer to that,” Olsen replied.
“I know, that’s why we’ll worry about Enoch later,” Fredericks replied with an ice cold tone.
Red Hawk Republic
Domicile
Downtown Shelbyville
Alex motioned to the crowd to be seated.
“Honored guests,” he began, looking at two women seated in the front pew. The representatives from Little Egypt offered scant emotion in return for his welcome.
He continued as he broke their gaze and looked at the packed house, “Fellow citizens, friends, and neighbors, our Republic was built upon sacrifice. From the first moments of the Reset, and even before, a small group of visionaries set aside their own fortune, their own comfort, and laid the groundwork for all this.” He paused as he waived around to the ornate building surrounding them. “We have heat, we have food, we have some electricity… all because a few people recognized the challenges we faced as a people. In addition to the staples of life, we also faced violent threats, organized and chaotic, threatening to undo any inch of progress we achieved.”
A tightening in the throat and a watering eye surprised Alex. He hadn’t expected to get emotional. Clark Olsen was a mentor and a friend. He was also a second father since his own had died during the first New American invasion. To honor Clark Olsen felt a bit like a memorial for Phillip Hamilton.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. Clark Olsen doesn’t want to be here today.” He waited while a wave of laughs rippled through the room. “He’s too good a man to take credit for himself. Too good of a lawman to put himself above others. But he’s a too good a Red Hawk to pass up a party, so he finally agreed to be here.”
Alex glanced back at the sheriff, who seemed to loosen up a little and grin back. He still was looking anywhere but the crowd as Alex continued.
“We recognize him as a Hero of the Republic, an award created by our Senate as their very first act. This award celebrates service above and beyond the normal call of duty we expect out of each citizen. Certainly, I can think of no other person more deserving. His most recent act of heroism saved not only Red Hawk soldiers, but also his very own son who is clearly following in his father’s footsteps.” Alex gave a nod to Eric, who returned it without as much enthusiasm as expected. “I’ll let Eric and Martin Fredericks explain what they were doing surrounded by ditchers in no-man’s land…” the crowd was chuckling again, “…but thankfully Sheriff Olsen was close by enough to come to the rescue.”
Alex stepped back from the lectern, a cue to Martin Fredericks and others to initiate a standing ovation. As the applause continued, Pastor Hart stepped forward and handed a wooden box to Eric. Hart lifted the lid, removed a metal shield with a green and silver ribbon attached, and pinned it to Clark’s uniform. Handshakes were exchanged and shoulders patted. Without further words, both Olsens stepped down and returned to the room beside the altar.
As the crowd returned to their seats, Alex stepped back to the lectern.
“Free people have few friends in this brutal dark age. Today, we also celebrate a partnership between people who will
live free or perish in the attempt. Lieutenant David R. Enoch, officer in the militia of the Little Egypt Confederation, has faithfully served as an adjunct to our Self Defense Cooperative for some time now. In fact, he was a participant in the very battle for which we honored Sheriff Olsen. Lieutenant Enoch has put himself in harm’s way without hesitation, and even received severe wounds in the course of the rescue at Raymond.
“Unfortunately, Enoch’s wounds aren’t quite healed enough for him to be present today. Fortunately, we have two gracious representatives from Little Egypt present to accept this award.” He waved to Pastor Hart, who held another wooden box open and tilted it for all to see. “This is our first ever ‘Friend of the Republic’ medal. Please join me in thanking our allies for their friendship and cooperation.”
He stepped back and began the applause. Once more, Martin Fredericks rose, slower and with less enthusiasm than before. The crowd joined slowly, one at a time, then a cluster here and there.
Alex tried to make eye contact with the Little Egypt representatives, but they had their backs turned, waving to everyone. Polite applause couldn’t thaw the chill in the room. Despite Alex’s attempts, word already got around about what really happened that day in Raymond.
*****
“This whole mess was your fault,” Tenesia Gault shouted. “You shoulda never had him out there in the boonies. And then you go and get separated from the rest of the group. You on a suicide mission or something?” She was standing at the end of the table, pointing and shouting. Her colleague sat quiet, but nodding in agreement at everything Gault said.
The large wooden table in the Domicile’s conference room – they called it the Elder’s Table – formed a barrier between the two women from Little Egypt and the three Red Hawks present.
Martin Fredericks fought to remain calm. For a moment, he thought he’d prefer the terrifying darkness of that basement to this conference room. He made Alex swear to stay out this conversation. Deep down, he agreed that the cluster had been his fault. That didn’t make hearing about it from a civilian any easier to take. “When Lieutenant Enoch was sent here, your government specifically instructed us to get him field ready,” he replied. His jaw muscles involuntarily clenched. He sensed Eric Olsen straining to remain silent. He’d made him swear, too. “We were on an important mission to secure a new outpost in dangerous territory. That’s precisely what you need people like Enoch trained for if you’re going to make your own lands safe for resettlement.”