Killswitch Chronicles- The Complete Anthology

by G. R. Carter

  Gault clearly wasn’t satisfied with the answer. “So you go and leave him behind to get tortured? That the way you ‘train up’ your people, Captain?”

  Fredericks decided not to correct her. His title was irrelevant, and judging from the way she said it, she’d likely misspoke on purpose. “Lieutenant Enoch surrendered himself to the enemy. We went to go get reinforcements. He chose to throw down his weapons instead.”

  “Enough lies! He told me you all used him as a distraction to escape. By the time you came back, these crazies had him strung up naked, torturing him in all sorts of unnatural ways,” Gault said, still jabbing her finger towards Fredericks.

  “I’m sure the trauma is clouding his memory,” Fredericks replied. “Davey has been through a lot. Plus Anna Hamilton has him sedated for the pain. Perhaps he’s a little foggy.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure your Founder’s mom has him drugged up. Keepin’ him from tellin’ the truth.”

  Fredericks knew the powder keg known as Eric Olsen was about to blow his top. Part of him wanted to let it happen. “Ms. Gault, I don’t know where this hostility is coming from. We’ve treated Davey like one of our own.”

  Olsen couldn’t hold back any longer. “Right, we even ruined my dad’s ceremony by giving that coward a made up award so you could save face.”

  Fredericks cringed as he looked away towards the window facing the courtyard. He wanted to make sure Gault hadn’t witnessed the involuntary grin on his face. It didn’t work.

  “Oh you think that’s funny, Captain?”

  “No ma’am, I don’t think any of this is funny,” Fredericks said as he stood up. “But I do think I’ve had just about enough of your insults for one day. I did everything I could to mold Lieutenant Enoch into a capable officer. I obviously failed. I’m sure Founder Hamilton will assign any of your future trainees to a more capable commander.”

  Gault laid a murderous glare on him for a moment, then stormed out without another word. Her colleague followed quickly.

  Fredericks watched the door for a moment, unsure if he should follow.

  “I think Alex will be pleased with how that went,” Eric said, trying not to laugh.

  Fredericks looked down at his young subordinate. He didn’t share the humor. He’d failed at his first attempt at diplomacy. Alex trusted him to make this right with Little Egypt. Instead, he’d made it worse.

  “Eric, what did you do?” a booming voice asked.

  Clark Olsen entered the room, still wearing the medal pinned to his uniform, but without the necktie.

  “Why is it always my fault?” his son asked with mock protest.

  “Because it’s always your fault,” his bear of a father answered.

  “Not this time, Sheriff,” Fredericks replied. “Well, he certainly didn’t help much. But ultimately it was my fault. I failed in the mission, and then I failed to smooth things over with Little Egypt.”

  To Frederick’s surprise, the sheriff waved off the comment. “There was nothing going to smooth that over. They’re mad and embarrassed. Scared, too, from what Julia Ruff says. They just needed to take it out on someone.”

  Fredericks flushed. “And you decided I made a good punching bag?”

  Clark plopped down at the table. He spread out a map and waved Eric and Fredericks over to look. Eric got up and walked over while Fredericks remained standing in place.

  Clark looked up from his map. “What?” he asked Fredericks. “Alex knew you could take it. And you’ve been wanting some more diplomatic experience. It was a no lose situation.”

  Fredericks was speechless. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or furious. He settled for a little of both. He remained where he stood, unwilling to let his set up pass by so quickly. “What’s the map for?” he asked Clark.

  “You know what it’s for,” Eric answered. “What’s my father fixated on day and night?”

  Eric was correct. The faded paper was a topographical map of western Shelby County. What was once the tiny farm town of Tower Hill, nestled along Route 16 between Shelbyville and the Republic’s western outpost of Pana, was now the Olsen family’s fortress farm. The rolling hills and timber held fabulous riches for a person in this new world revolving around what came from the land. Fertile fields, though with more clay content than a farmer might wish for, surrounded the farm’s inner core. Another generation and Tower Hill would be in the heart of the Republic instead of on its outskirts. Until then, the Olsens had the right to expand as far as they wanted, even beyond the 640 acre maximum set for other Fortress Farms. Clark and Maryanne intended to make sure that Eric and future generations were set. The only drawback remained the cost, a relative fortune in Republic Quarterbushels.

  The Hamilton family had their own interest in the Olsens’ success. Lori Hamilton, Alex's sister, was engaged to be married to Eric. If the families hadn't been intertwined before, they certainly would be now. A force in her own right and a brilliant leader of the efforts to improve farming in the Republic, Lori was already adding to the economic assets of Tower Hill.

  “What’s on your mind today, dad?”

  “Just thinking about what we ran into out west. Those weren’t ditchers, they were organized. Ex-military types,” he replied, still looking at the map in front of him.

  “And?”

  “And if they decide they want to raid into our western territory, there’s nothing stopping them from getting all the way to Tower Hill,” he replied.

  “Maybe we should start sending Raptor patrols out over that area,” Fredericks said, finally moving over to where the Olsens were.

  “Good luck getting Alex to approve that. He wants every available plane over the Route 36 line. You know he’s fixated on New America attacking us,” Eric said. For the second time today, he noticed a hint of resentment in the younger Olsen towards his best friend. The sham ceremony for Little Egypt diminished his father’s award in Eric’s eyes. He’d said so when they discussed it before, and to anyone who knew him well, he’d revealed those feelings during the presentation.

  “He’s right to worry about that,” Clark said. “Whoever is out west is a lot less of a threat than New America. Besides, ARK promised they were patrolling all the way north to Springfield with their airships. If a group big enough to threaten us was out there, they would have seen it.”

  “But that still leaves the possibility of raiding parties,” Fredericks said.

  Clark nodded. “And if a raiding party kills you, you’re just as dead as if New America kills you.”

  “So what’s the plan, dad?”

  “Well, son, the plan is to get the walls of Tower Hill built as quickly as possible. And if you’d get off your duff and work instead of insulting our allies, it would go a lot faster,” he laughed as he rolled the map up. “Commander Fredericks, if you would be so kind as to accompany me out to the farm, I’d greatly appreciate your opinion on some of our fortifications.”

  “Of course, Sheriff. I’ll take my own vehicle if that’s alright. I’m supposed to be in Decatur tomorrow morning to look over Sam’s defenses at the airbase. Eric, would you like to ride with me?” Fredericks asked.

  “No. I’ve got other things to do,” he said, and left the room without any further words.

  “Something I said?” Fredericks asked Clark.

  The sheriff shook his head with a worried look. “He’s a hot headed boy. His mood swings on a whim. This crazy world’s changing him. And I’m not sure for the better.”

  Mt. Sterling

  Darwin King wasn’t easily shocked or impressed. Having lived through the golden age of electricity and connectivity left him jaded to what counted as technology since the power failed them a few years back. But what he saw in front of him now nearly took his breath away.

  “It’s an honest to god airship,” he muttered to Heath Bohrmann.

  Bohrmann just stared at the massive craft. If he was as impressed as King, he didn’t show it. “Reckon we could buy one of those ourselves? Tha
t’d make trippin’ to Springfield a good bit easier,” he said.

  A door slid open on the bus sized rectangle box with windows hanging from underneath, then stairs came out guided by ground crews who had repelled down while the craft still hovered above. Now it settled, staked down against the light breeze blowing across one of the few open meadows. Darwin looked at the lambda symbol painted on the tail, the only marking on the otherwise all white skin of the airship. He didn’t notice how quickly the occupants had disembarked until they were just a few yards away.

  “James Fitzgerald Diamante!” King shouted as a gray haired man approached flanked by four burly men dressed all in black.

  “Darwin King,” Diamante replied with a grin. “Tis truly a strange world we live in. When I heard that a mad Aussie was loose on our borders, tell me why I immediately thought of you?”

  “Always loved the bush, Jack. Even in the days of private jets and champagne, in my heart I was always a bushie.”

  “I prefer the finer things, even now,” Diamante replied. “Our lives haven’t changed a great deal at ARK. You should visit, I’ve got a fantastic ’93 you would love. You always enjoyed reds, did you not?”

  “Memory is as good as always, Jack. Might be I’ll take you up on that soon. Once everything settles down a bit.”

  Diamante grinned a little wider. “And when will that be? When I heard you wanted a meeting with ARK, I knew it wasn’t just to discuss old times.”

  King’s mood grew darker. “I know Tony and I had our differences in the past. I hope he understands it was just business, never personal.”

  “I know that, Darwin. Unfortunately, my nephew takes things a bit more to heart. Business is family to him. He doesn’t forget a slight easily.”

  The breeze made the leaves rustle in the woods behind them. Darwin fought the urge to turn and go back to them. He’d grown tired of wheeling and dealing. Maybe he was getting old, maybe the prospect of a warm fire and warmer bed with Kara pushed other thoughts out. For her sake, and the boys, he had to see this through.

  “Don’t reckon I’d be any different in his shoes. Still, he seems open to talk, seein’ as he sent you to see me.”

  “He wanted to send a squad of these guys,” Diamante said as he waved his hand towards the men dressed in black. “I talked him out of it, of course. We need to settle territory, not scores.”

  King felt a wave of discomfort. The Diamantes hadn’t really changed, even if the world had.

  Diamante continued. “I figured if the intel you had is good, might bring you and Tony a little closer, at least for a working relationship, eh?”

  King nodded. “That’s all I want. Malik Masen’s going to get us all corked. My people don’t want any part of it.”

  Diamante said nothing more, so King continued. “He aims to take on this group of farmers to the east of him. They call themselves Red Hawks.”

  “I’m familiar with them. We did some business with a few of the founding members before the Reset. They’ve been supplying us with food since then.”

  King nearly choked on the news. “They know about us?”

  “Not really. We’ve told them to be careful about their outer borders, but they think this area is nothing but burned out towns and savages.”

  “Sometimes I think that’s not far off the truth.”

  Jack ignored the jest. “These Red Hawks, they’re quite obsessed with your new allies.”

  “My allies? They ain’t my allies!”

  “You belong to the Masens, and the Masens are now allied with New America. Is that not so?”

  King raged silently. He’d been in the know about global politics and business his entire adult life. Now he didn’t even know what was happening in his own area. He gathered himself, got his emotions in check, and took a chance. “What would it take to become part of ARK instead?”

  Diamante took a deep breath and reached down to pick the head off the top of a stalk of grass from the see of brown and green swirling around their knees. “You see this plant,” he said to King. “I’m never much of a gardener… maybe that’s the reason we have to buy our food from folks like the Red Hawks! But I do understand the concept, eh?”

  King shrugged and Diamante continued. “You plant the seeds, you take care of the young sprouts, guard the tender plant against pests… Then, and only then, when you bring the plant to maturity, might it bring you a harvest.”

  “Like relationships, right Jack?”

  Diamante laughed and tossed the grass to the ground. “You are a man to be respected, Darwin King. My nephew knows that just as I do. You could be a valuable member of our firm, I think. But the price to buy in is high, eh?”

  “I have no airships, only a couple hundred trained soldiers. We’re farmers…”

  “And chemists, eh?” Diamante interrupted.

  “Right, and chemists. I reckon we don’t have the dowry you’re lookin’ for.”

  “Ah yes, but you do have information, don’t you?”

  King shifted nervously. This was the point of no return. The Diamantes might just turn him over to Malik for being a traitor. Tony Diamante hated him for past transgressions and King had little to offer except the strategy planned by the Masens and New America. Would that really matter to ARK?

  He played his only card. “I can give you the details for a coordinated attack against the Red Hawks. New America is going to hit them from the north, while Malik empties all our prison outposts and hits them from the west.”

  Diamante was deep in thought. “When?” he asked.

  “One week from today.”

  “That’s not much time,” Diamante said, his voice edgy now.

  King defended himself. “I’ve been sending you messages. Trying to get through. Not exactly like I could call you or email you.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  Only the leaves continued to make noise, each man silent in thought.

  “So now what?” King asked impatiently.

  Jack stuck out his hand to Darwin. “I’ll carry this back to Tony. I’m sure he’ll be very appreciative.

  “So you think we’ll have a deal? We’re kinda on our own out here.”

  “I can’t speak for Tony. He’ll decide what to do next,” Jack said. “He’s quite fond of the Red Hawks, in a certain way. I’m sure he’ll take this into consideration, get you an answer very soon.”

  Fortress Farm Shiloh

  Northern Frontier – Red Hawk Republic

  Kssh, kssh, kssh… The sound of skis sliding over the frozen creek cut through the dead quiet of a February snowfall. For the fourth year in a row, Father Winter kept his grip tight on the prairie later into the year with no sign of letting up. Land Lord Hank Tripp, former Lieutenant Commander in the Red Hawk Self Defense Cooperative, squinted through his balaclava, looking for the hidden clues to the whereabouts of his animal traps. He tugged at the straps of a meat sack holding two frozen rabbits and a freshly killed badger. Fresh meat was the payoff for his morning effort.

  Tripp was Land Lord of the largest northern Fortress Farm in the Red Hawk Republic, a vast estate granted to him by the Founder himself after he resigned his commission in the Self Defense Cooperative, or “SDC” as everyone still called the standing army. With over one hundred Tenants and a well-trained militia of thirty-five complimenting his standing force of ten men-at-arms, there was no reason for him to be out doing the work of a young scout. But Tripp was one of the original Ten Vets, the group of soldiers saved by Phillip Hamilton, the first Republic Founder. Tripp was with Hamilton when they were barely surviving as a fledgling community, back when there was no safe land or servants. With Tripp’s hard upbringing, landed gentry held no interest for this soldier, even if his middle-aged body wished for a little more leisure.

  He needed to keep all his skills sharp. Fortress Farm Shiloh rested on the undeclared border between his people and New America. The fortress sat just thirty miles south of the capital of their arch-enemy, and Tripp’s men we
re on guard around the clock, awaiting another strike certain to come at some point. New America, or the Grays as he preferred to call them, attempted several invasions after Alex Hamilton was hailed as Founder and pledged vengeance for the death of his father. Each time, Raptor attack planes and Razorback tanks of the Republic stopped Gray Legions in their tracks. Burned-out vehicles still dotted the countryside between here and the Gray zone, a reminder of cold death that could visit any of them at any time.

  After the previous year’s last large-scale battles, an eerie calm fell over the flatlands separating the group. Fortress Farm Shiloh’s two surveillance balloons kept continuous vigil, but so far there had been no movement from any Gray bases on the south side of their capital city. Not even so much as an occasional raid meant to disrupt the Fortress Farms forming a watchful line stretching for miles across the arrow-straight east-west remnants of old US Highway 36.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Tripp noticed sunlight reflect off of metal, suddenly appearing and then gone in an instant. Grabbing his binoculars – a gift from Phillip Hamilton himself – from his backpack, he fell to one knee behind the creek embankment. Scanning the area his brain told him the light appeared from, he finally made out the faint outline of a Humvee sitting behind a clump of trees on a lot once home to a farmhouse and barn.

  His two attendants hanging back one hundred yards waited for his hand signals. With a wave and a point, one of the young men flicked a small mirror back and forth towards the nearest balloon lazily hovering through the crisp air. Tripp grew agitated as it appeared no one in the balloon’s gondola was taking notice, then the fire in the gondola spouted up, pushing the white bulb-shaped craft upward.