Killswitch Chronicles- The Complete Anthology

by G. R. Carter

  Ruff skimmed the report, closed the file, and set it down on the table.

  She took a sip of her own drink, set it down gently and stared at the grains swirling in the wood table. She finally looked back up and said: “Seems to me that we have even more reason to work together, General Hopkins.

  “You found signs of this Continuity cult at Fort Knox, the Thirteens are facing them in the Northwest. Plus, we still don’t have a grip on who or what is operating in the Chicago area…the Aurorans they’re called I think. That could be Continuity, too, if they’re appearing out of hidden bunkers we didn’t even know existed…”

  Julia let the dangerous possibilities linger. The report Hopkins showed her contained details of a Continuity group trying to emerge from their lair below Fort Knox. According to their interrogation by Hopkins’ men, they had retreated there on the night of the Great Reset. Some kind of signal finally stirred them to reemerge and resume a plan that lay dormant for years. The Vincennes troops stumbled across them by accident on a scouting trip to the ruined army base that once held the United States’ gold supply as well as a training facility for armored troops.

  “I’m not too concerned about some cult living underground for the past few years. If they weren’t crazy before, they are now. Aurora is a different matter. Walsh told me he had them on the run. Said he beat them up bad in the Fort Wayne area,” the General said, one eyebrow cocked in a question.

  “He has them stalemated there, yes. But only because of the disease that’s raging through Jihadist forces.”

  A smile crept across the grizzled veteran's face. “Funny how the story is different depending on who’s telling it, huh?”

  He locked eyes with Senator Ruff. “I know you want to talk treaty between us. Are you sure you’re authorized to speak for the Republic? There’s no power struggle going on? After what happened, I would think there’s a lot of jockeying for power.”

  Ruff shook her head. “No confusion, and the decision making is being handled by people with a clear understanding of the Founder’s wishes. This is how things will be until the Founder’s Chair is filled again. But make no mistake, we are just as unified now as we have ever been.”

  “It was a brave thing your son-in-law did. He made the hard decisions. I’m sure the sacrifice will be worth it in the long run. And as leaders, that’s what we sign up for, right? I’m sure you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I’m asking you now as potential friends and allies. Can you tell me how it happened?” the General asked earnestly.

  Ruff looked away, fighting to keep the tears firmly inside her eyes. No one would begrudge the emotion of the events racing through her memories. But she didn’t want to let those feelings gain control. Tell the story as an observer, she commanded herself. As a historian, not as friend or family.

  She took a deep breath, and to his credit the General looked away until she gathered her thoughts to begin the story.

  One more sip to clear her throat and she began to recount. “These allies of New America were no more than a street gang when the Reset hit…”

  As the story unfolded, General Hopkins shook his head slightly. The grizzled veteran of multiple overseas tours plus the worst calamity in modern human history was visibly impressed by the story he was hearing. Bits and pieces came through to Vincennes over time. But without pre-Reset internet or TV or even radio, most communications were oral retelling of stories. Characters became larger and deeds became grander as one person told the next, much like the “pass it on” games of childhood.

  This story lived up to the hype. Hopkins even felt a twinge of jealousy for the heroics of the Red Hawks. Their legend would survive for generations, and a part of him wished that Vincennes could capture the same mythos. Would his Marines be up to the test when their moment came? Of course they would, the Red Hawks were just farmers. Except for a handful of former Army advisors, every one of their citizens was just a simple small-towner. Brave, for sure, but completely untrained in military science. He allowed a brief moment of wonder at what great victories the Vincennes force might achieve.

  His host noticed the look in his eye and brought him back to the real world. “General, I’m sure that Alex would have liked nothing better than to have you fighting beside him that day. The skill and bravery of your Marines probably would have made short work of the threat we faced,” Julia Ruff said.

  The General smiled, recognizing the flattery and a bit sheepish for the moment of weakness. “I’d say they did pretty well considering the odds. I hope it was worth the cost to you all in the long run. Alex clearly had a good plan, what went wrong at that point?”

  Ruff composed herself for the finale of the tale. This was always the part she struggled to get through without welling up. The rest could be told as an impartial observer, but not the ending. A deep breath and she forged ahead.

  “There were just too many ditchmen. The GangStars pulled in every single creature they could find out in the wild lands. I’m still not sure what they promised them, or gave them. But whatever it was, those savages were climbing over each other trying to get to our people. They weren’t human at all. Like a bad zombie movie from the early 2000s. Remember those? Hollow eyes and rage. Totally berserk,” she said, looking up at the sky to keep the tears in place. “For every one our men killed, it seemed like five took their place. Alex and Sheriff Olsen just never imagined that many remained after all this time.”

  “So they were overwhelmed?”

  Ruff nodded again. “They ran out of ammunition. And then, in the hand-to-hand combat at Tower Hill, they ran out of men, too. Most of the Rhino drivers were killed or wounded by satchel bombs. The explosion didn’t penetrate the armor, but the blast sent concussive shock waves through the driver’s compartment.”

  Hopkins gave a look of acknowledgement. “Armor is vulnerable if there is no infantry to support it. Even the toughest shell can be cracked given enough time.”

  He suddenly had a quizzical look. “I’ve never heard of one of your Fortress Farms being overwhelmed. May I ask what happened to the one at Tower Hill? That was Sheriff Olsen’s personal farm, right? From what I hear, it was impressive to say the least. I understand if you don’t want to divulge too much.”

  “No secret weapon this time. Nothing to hide, really. It was just literally a question of numbers. There were so many ditchmen attacking that they finally got over the walls. Once they did that they started taking out our firing positions and it just snowballed from there,” she replied.

  “Couldn’t they have retreated back into the main towers? I thought those were nearly impenetrable?” he asked.

  “Maybe, looking back now. But we’ve always stood and fought. Of course those who weren’t able to fight retreated back there to the towers. But the GangStars had obviously been planning this with Walsh’s help for a while. They were going to do anything they could to break us. And they had those explosives that we hadn’t faced before.”

  “By the time Tower Hill fell, it was too late for Alex to reinforce them?” he asked.

  “Right. Now he was faced with an overwhelming force in front of him…we figure he was outnumbered something like ten to one…and a break out behind him headed straight for our city walls. His only choice was to break off contact and try to slow the group coming down Route 116, then get back behind the walls to try to save Shelbyville,” Ruff said.

  “Amazing that the young man could think that quickly on his feet,” Hopkins said, impressed.

  Ruff simply nodded, a mixture of pride and sorrow building inside her. “That is truly a gift,” she replied. “Without that thinking, no one in the city would have survived. Remember, he was facing the emotions of knowing that if Tower Hill fell, there was a low likelihood of any survivors there.”

  “Didn't anyone question him sending the reserve force to invade New America instead of reinforcing Tower Hill and the capital?” Hopkins asked.

  “Sure. Alex never demanded blind obedience. But there was n
o way of knowing how big the GangStar force was. Maybe a thousand men on each side face each other in big battles these days. And even a force twice that size could have been held off with our defenses. It would have been a tough fight for sure, but the right move was to try to hold off the unknown and finish what he considered the real threat.”

  “And that threat was New America?”

  Ruff nodded. “Of course. After all, do you think the GangStars would have attacked us without Walsh putting them up to it?”

  “No, I doubt they would have. Though clearly it was a problem you’d have to face at some point.”

  “Hindsight is truly 20/20. I know we both have things left to get accomplished today. Would you like me to finish the story later?” Ruff asked hopefully.

  “Let’s finish if it now if you can. The end is probably the most important part, is it not?”

  “I suppose. Alex rallied what remained of the field force and hit the GangStars in the flank, then pivoted and dug in at the base of the city walls. The GangStars paused briefly, then regrouped and came at the capital gates with everything they had. They must have been saving their own vehicles all this time, or maybe Walsh gave them some to use. But they hit Alex’s force and the walls like a hammer…”

  Another hour passed as General Hopkins sat quietly, soaking in every detail. He rolled the bottom edge of his glass around on the table, a cross between a smirk and a frown framing his face. “You know, Senator, every day I think I can’t be surprised by this crazy nightmare we’re living in. Were things that messed up before the Reset and we didn’t even know it? Or was the Reset brought on because we allowed our world to be run by the insane?”

  “I wish I knew, General. This is all like a bad dream to me, also. But the younger generation…this is now the life they know. We old coots with the messed-up memories owe it to them to try to fix our mistakes. Don’t you think?” Ruff asked earnestly.

  “Yes. I do think that. Better that we suffer and they flourish. Please, finish the story. It’s not just for my entertainment. I have to gain more insight on whatever groups might still exist out there. We as civilized people, even if we don’t end up allies…” The general paused, allowing Ruff to gather his inference, “…We can at least count on knowing there’s some principled culture that we all hold to. And defeating this Continuity cult has to be common ground for us.”

  “The Republic leadership agrees, General. So it turns out that the GangStars were much more powerful and organized than we ever expected. Our western frontier Fortress Farms held them at bay while their bandit groups focused on the wild lands out toward the Blackhawk Confederation. We never took the Blackhawk warnings seriously, but we should have.”

  Ruff settled in to finish the history lesson for the General. “Turns out Colonel Walsh had a good idea of what the GangStars were capable of, and figured that the only thing worse than ditchmen and rateaters and gangbangers and religious nuts were Red Hawks. So he devised a plan to unleash all of them on us.”

  Julia finished explaining how the coordinated attacks nearly defeated the Republic’s forces, and how Martin Fredericks still managed to complete the capture of New America’s capital.

  “Hmm. That’s very impressive for a man like Fredericks to have pulled off so critical an operation. And he did so without any central command and control? Just the kind of man who might be a good candidate to take over leadership. So is he who’s in charge of your Republic now? Has a new Founder been hailed?” The General realized the insensitivity of the question the moment he asked it. Oh well, he thought. Subtlety was never my strong point.

  The steely version of Julia Ruff returned, once again the consummate professional negotiator. “Alex is still alive, General Hopkins. He was severely wounded, but he’s recuperating and will return to the Founder’s Chair soon.”

  “I keep hearing that, Senator, yet no one outside of your inner circle have claimed to see him since the battle. Most outsiders think you are trying to hold the Republic together until an internal power struggle is resolved. Then you’ll announce ‘The Founder is dead, long live the Founder!’” the man said as he made an uncharacteristically dramatic waving motion with his arms. “How do I know that what we negotiate here today will stand the change in leadership?” Hopkins concluded, ready to get to the bottom of the story and get this over with, one way or the other.

  “I assure you, General, Alex is quite alive and he will meet with you soon. But I’m authorized to make a deal with you under reasonable terms. We have formed an Executive Council to help until Alex can resume his full duties. I was asked to sit down with you today since relations with Vincennes are a top priority for the Republic,” Ruff said sternly.

  The General shook his head. “There’s always one person in charge, ultimately, Senator. It was true in the old world and it’s certainly true in the world since the Reset. So I’m asking you, who’s in charge?”

  Red Hawk Republic

  Fortress Farm Aronia Point

  New Home of Founder Alex and Rebekah Hamilton

  Alex’s eyes opened slowly, blinking rapidly as the sun burned through the fog hanging over his brain. He began to make out shapes in the room and finally recognized Rebekah reclining in a chair, book folded back where she dropped it. Taking in the sight, she felt his stare and opened her own eyes with a small smile.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he rasped, suddenly aware of the desert-like conditions in his mouth.

  “Hey. Glad to see you awake again. How do you feel?” his wife asked with concern.

  “Terrible.”

  “That’s actually good. We’ve…well, Doc…had you numbed and pretty much in a light coma for a few days. He said if you started complaining, you were probably healing,” she said.

  “Then I guess we’re on the right track. How are you feeling?” he said trying to point to the slight baby bump just starting to show.

  “Pretty good. I think he’s felt my stress, so neither of us have rested well,” she said, patting the bump on her abdomen where their third child now slept.

  “He?”

  “Just a feeling. No way of knowing for sure these days. Maybe ARK has an ultrasound in their hospital, but I doubt it. We’ll just have to wait and see,” she smiled back.

  “Doesn’t matter either way. I’m happy. At least I think I’m happy, my head is still ringing,” Alex said as he reached up to his face. He touched the bandages around his left eye, and looked over at Rebekah with sudden concern. “Is something wrong with my eye, Bek?”

  The young woman’s blue eyes were suddenly framed by red as tears welled up. Unable to speak without sobbing, she simply nodded her head.

  Alex’s mood darkened and challenged her with a simple, “What else?”

  “Doc says you’ve got serious damage to your left shoulder. That you’ll be in a sling for a long time. He’s afraid that the explosion tore up too much in the socket for him to fix. And he’s scared to do surgery because it may do more harm than good right now. Maybe later, or if he can get you to ARK’s hospital. Supposedly they’re using the supercomputer to restart some medical devices,” she said. Rebekah maintained her resolve. Father Steve warned her that young athletic men didn’t take it well when they found out life couldn’t be wrestled to the ground anymore.

  She took a deep breath and continued: “You’re probably going to need some sort of support for your knee also.”

  “You mean I’ll need a cane to walk?”

  “Maybe. Doc hopes over time, with some physical therapy, your body will heal itself.”

  Alex tried to make sense of what he was hearing. So many bad spots and I got out of all of them in one piece, he told himself. Now I have to wait and see how many pieces still work. Self-pity crept in…until he remembered the events of the day he was injured. The bigger picture of being Founder of the Republic filled his mind, along with the maps and terrain that occupied each corner of his brain.

  “I’m assuming I’m in much better shape than Uncle Clar
k,” he stammered.

  Rebekah skipped the painful details, moving right to the heart of the question. “Alex, they found him in the assembly yard of Tower Hill. Supposedly there were like twenty dead ditchmen around him. He was a gentle giant, but a hard man to bring down, I guess,” Rebekah said with some pride. Over the years, Sheriff Clark Olsen became a father figure to her as well as Alex. Now the man who helped Phillip Hamilton create the Red Hawk Republic was gone.

  Rebekah knew nothing she could say would prevent her husband from second-guessing his decisions during the battle. Perhaps time and peace following victory might make the loss more bearable.

  “Sam? Martin? Eric?” he asked hopefully.

  “All fine. They got to Lincoln City with no real resistance. Took the Grays completely by surprise just like you planned. Nearly every Gray soldier gave up and headed east as soon as they figured out what happened. Well, what was left of them. Had to be 60 or 70% casualties.”

  “Where’s Walsh?”

  Rebekah hesitated, knowing the next batch of news would cause the pain of Olsen’s death to intensify.

  “He escaped, Alex. We think he’s reorganizing somewhere near the northern ruins of Indianapolis. He fled pretty quickly once he realized you completely outflanked him. We couldn’t catch up and Martin thought it best not to overextend the SDC with a chase into American territory. Especially once he found out how bad it was back home,” she explained.

  Alex didn’t speak, just closed his good eye and shook his head back and forth on the pillow. “That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Without Walsh, New America would have folded. Now we just have more territory, but still the threat. Plus we have to worry about him organizing resistance fighters in his old capital.”