Collective Retribution

by Edwards, D. S.

  They rested the remaining few hours. All of the commanders made sure everyone had their assignments. Nirsch tried to sleep, but sleep was impossible in spite of his training. When three o’clock came, Nirsch took coffee beans out of his pack and chewed a handful. His mind cleared, and his thoughts became focused.

  They rode out in silence. Fear was written over the faces of most of the men. Fear wasn’t always a bad thing, Nirsch thought. Fear can paralyze you, but it can also motivate and push a person to action.

  A half mile from the fence, the column broke up, each unit moving off to take its assigned position. Nirsch’s unit, filled by some of the most seasoned men, would attack the troops in their tents. This area would see the heaviest fighting, and he didn’t want to rely on someone inexperienced in battle to achieve their objective.

  They sat in their saddles in silence, four hundred yards from the fence. Nirsch marveled at the fact that the U.C. had set up the perimeter fence so quickly. The fence and the gates were no more than fifty yards from Boise’s outlying streets and homes. Nirsch assumed this was to allow the U.C. to keep a close eye on the citizens closest to the outside world.

  The sky was barely starting to glow in the east. Nirsch wasn’t sure when the fence would be blown, but he would not make a move until then. He had told Chad “dawn,” but was angry with himself now for not being more specific. Was dawn first light or sunup? He hoped it was before full daylight.

  In the predawn darkness, Nirsch patted Joker on the neck. Joker tossed his head in response. Nirsch really did love the old horse. He’d been a gift from Michelle for their fifth wedding anniversary. The days he’d spent on his back were some of the best of Nirsch’s life.

  The ground rumbled. An orange fireball shot into the sky, illuminating the civilian troops, the chain link fenced topped with razor wire, and the tents beyond it.

  This was it.

  Nirsch spurred his horse and charged toward the fence, two hundred screaming men around him, moving in unison, weapons raised.

  They reached the fence and got their first taste of resistance. Men fell all around Nirsch. A .50-caliber tore through their ranks, infusing the air with a bloody fog. Nirsch could taste it.

  Another explosion rocked the ground. The .50-caliber, along with its operator, was airborne. The sound of battle was deafening as Nirsch cleared the fence and entered the city. United Collective soldiers streamed out of their tents, half dressed, carrying weapons. Nirsch knew they had to do more damage to these tents before all the troops came out and organized. He spurred Joker toward the closest tent and pulled a bundle of dynamite from his saddlebag. Nirsch lit the dynamite, tossed it into the doorway of the tent, and galloped away.

  The explosion shook the ground and made his ears ring. Pieces of U.C. soldiers rained down around him. Nirsch repeated his attacks on four more tents and was going for another when an MRAP—a mine-resistant armored truck—roared up beside him and opened fire on the remaining tents. American troops began pouring out of the back of the MRAP. Cole Parker, one of the men from John Day with former military training, grinned at Nirsch from the driver’s seat. Nirsch smiled back and rode off toward the main gate.

  The fence near the main gate was still intact. Chad had failed to blow it. A wooden tower twenty feet high stood on each side of the gate. Each tower had a .50-caliber raining bullets on Nirsch’s troops outside. A few soldiers in the towers even fired rocket-propelled grenades at the attackers.

  Nirsch lit his last bundle of dynamite. He galloped toward the towers as the fuse burned. When he was twenty yards from the closest tower, he jumped off Joker and ran closer.

  Nirsch cocked his arm. A white-hot pain tore through his shoulder, causing him to drop the bundle. He turned to face the man who shot him in time to see him steady himself for another shot.

  The U.C soldier didn’t have a chance to shoot again. Twenty civilians armed with bricks and pieces of lumber burst out of the shadows. They hit the U.C. soldier, knocking him to the ground. They beat him over and over with their crude weapons.

  Nirsch turned away, grabbed the bundle of dynamite, and threw it just as the fuse burned down to the blasting cap. The bundle exploded in midair, halfway up the tower, sending the ball of fire into the soldiers and shaking the foundation.

  One of the soldiers jumped to his death, the flames melting the skin from his bones. The men in the other tower turned their weapons toward Nirsch. He ran toward the buildings on the side of the street and dove down an alley. Bullets shredded the ground where he’d stood a moment earlier.

  Nirsch had to get the main gate open. He crawled back to the corner of the building and peeked out. The men in the tower had turned their attention back to civilians outside the gate.

  Nirsch caught movement at his left. A U.C. soldier carrying an RPG was running toward the closest tower. Nirsch left the cover of the alley and sprinted after him. Nirsch got to him just as the soldier’s hand grasped the first rung of the ladder leading up into the tower. Nirsch turned his shoulder and, doing his best impersonation of an NFL lineman, drove him into the tower foundation. He felt the man’s shoulder crunch under his weight.

  The soldier dropped his weapon. Nirsch rolled off him and pulled his knife as the soldier started to stand. The man pulled a knife and lunged at Nirsch. He sidestepped, letting the soldier go past, and stuck out his foot to sweep the soldier’s leg. The man tripped and fell to the ground. Nirsch dove on top of him, plunging his knife into the soldier’s back up to the hilt. Nirsch turned it inside of him and cut upward the length of his back, slicing through ribs and severing the man’s spinal cord.

  Nirsch jumped up and ran for the RPG. He lifted the weapon toward the crow’s nest on top of the second tower and fired. It blew up the second tower.

  He ran for the gate, threw it open, and jumped aside to let his troops in. Only about seventy-five of them came through. The rest were scattered across the field in front of the gate. Most of them were completely unrecognizable as people. Many had limbs missing. Their flesh had been shredded and separated from their bones.

  Nirsch ran back to Joker and galloped toward their third point of entry. The fence had been breached, and civilians were running in and out of the battle, bludgeoning any U.C. soldier that got in their way. Nirsch turned his horse to ride back to the main gate.

  His path was blocked. Five U.C. trucks had arrived. Fresh troops poured out of them. They started fanning out and firing into Nirsch’s troops. They were mowing the civilians down, unchallenged.

  A barrage of automatic fire started tearing into the U.C. troops from behind Nirsch. He looked up and saw American troops on the rooftops. They had an elevated position, and they were taking a toll.

  A Black Hawk helicopter suddenly appeared above them. Its gunners fired into Nirsch’s troops and the American soldiers on the rooftops.

  An explosion rocked the ground. Nirsch flew through the air. Everything nearly went black. He crawled behind a building to regain his composure. The explosion had killed his old friend Joker, knocking the saddle off of him. But there was no time to mourn.

  The helicopter now hovered just above the ground, firing nonstop into his people. Nirsch looked for an archer with dynamite arrows. There were none. Next to the helicopter was a three-story office building with a radio antenna on top. The roof was slightly above the Black Hawk. It gave Nirsch an idea.

  He sprinted up the road, into the building, and up the stairs three at a time to the flat roof. At the base of the antenna he saw coiled steel cable. He pulled his pistol and fired into the cable at the connection, emptying his magazine. The connection broke.

  Nirsch grabbed the coil and ran to the edge of the roof. He did his best impression of a rodeo cowboy, swinging the cable over his head like a lariat. Nirsch threw the cable toward the spinning blades of the Black Hawk and dove for cover on the other side of the roof.

  The cable caught hold of one of the blades and wrapped around them in a tangle. The metal twisted and crunche
d as the blades slowed, then stopped. The Black Hawk listed to its side and hit the ground, the tail rotor coming free and spinning off into the light of dawn. The helicopter exploded in a massive fireball. The searing heat singed Nirsch’s lungs and obliterated his eyebrows as he cowered in the corner of the roof.

  The sounds of battle began to quiet. Only periodic gunfire could now be heard. Nirsch crawled back to the edge of the roof. The scene horrified him. The dead and dying covered nearly every inch of ground, all in a confused mixture of horses, tattered clothes, neat uniforms, primitive weapons, and modern firepower. It was like the city had been transported back in time and mixed with a battlefield from ancient days. Genghis Khan meets Apocalypse Now.

  Several wounded U.C. troops cried out in pain. Groups of civilians were killing them by smashing their heads or cutting their throats. Nirsch could see the hate in their eyes. The U.C. had bullied and brutalized them. They were now trying to erase all memory of these horrors.

  Nirsch descended the stairs and walked back out on the street. He looked for anyone he knew. The bodies were in such a tangled mess, he wondered how they would ever be removed. Nirsch walked to the body of his fallen horse and stroked Joker’s mane. He felt around in the saddle bags until he found what he was looking for. He climbed up the main gate post and removed a flag bearing the picture of wheat. He replaced the symbol of tyranny with the Stars and Stripes. Cheers and whistles filled the air as Old Glory waved in the breeze.

  Nirsch walked to the area of the fence that Bill had been assigned and searched for him among the dead and wounded. The longer he looked, the more he lost hope of finding him. He wondered how he would break the news to Kathy. He knew when he told her Bill had died, she would hate him from that day forward. There was no other way it could go.

  “Nirsch!”

  He turned to see Bill limping toward him. Nirsch ran up, threw his arms around Bill, hugged him tightly, and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Nirsch didn’t care who saw him. Tears streamed down his face as Bill spoke to him.

  “What do you think, boss? Looks kinda like we thumped ’em, huh?”

  “Buddy old pal, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.” Nirsch grabbed and hugged him again.

  Bill laughed and tried to push him away. “We’ve only been away from the wives for a week. Stop all this huggin’ crap. You’re startin’ to worry me!”

  Nirsch laughed and let go of his oldest friend. Then he turned serious. “We need to take a full assessment of the dead and wounded. I figure we only have about five or six days until U.C. troops start coming again. We have to be ready to meet them halfway, and we have to help everyone living here get ready to defend the city again.”

  “I’ll gather our group together and start laying out orders,” Bill said. “What should we do with the bodies?”

  “Gather as many civilians as you can. Have them start making piles of the U.C. troops outside of the fence, and burn them. Any of our troops, try and identify all you can, make a list, dig some large graves away from the city, and bury them. We’ll have to bury them in mass graves. That’s the only way it can be done. Do your absolute best to identify everyone. I don’t want anyone to forget that they’re the ones who began the march toward freedom and started the second age of America.”

  Bill walked off to begin clearing away the horror. Nirsch walked into the city. The farther he got from the edge of town, the less he saw bodies and signs of war. People watched him from doors and windows as he passed. They were all too frightened to venture out yet. Soon they would have to be told what happened and recruited, or everything the liberators just did would be in vain.

  Nirsch walked for another hour, looking for signs of U.C. troops in the center of the city. Satisfied that there were not, he made his way back toward the battle site. Nirsch was a couple of blocks from the fence when an armored vehicle came up the road toward him, Larry Collins in the passenger seat. Nirsch felt a quick twinge of guilt when he realized he’d forgotten about Larry in the midst of the chaos.

  The vehicle, an M-ATV, pulled up. Larry, the driver, and one of the younger boys from John Day got out. Larry introduced them. “Nirsch, this is Corporal Stratton and Scott Shaw.”

  Nirsch shook their hands and spoke to the soldier. “Nice to meet you, corporal.”

  “Please call me Jimmy. Corporal was my title when I was still a government employee. I’m pretty sure after today, I’ll be fired and lose my retirement.”

  They all laughed. Jimmy Stratton filled Nirsch in on what had taken place a few days earlier, when Clark Gawsloave had ridden into town. Nirsch swore under his breath. The man was a traitor to his community and his friends. If he’d been successful, everyone who came here would now be dead.

  The youth from John Day spit in the dirt and let fly with a string of filthy names for Mr. Gawsloave.

  They all got into the M-ATV and drove to the house where Jimmy had stashed Clark. They walked in and down to the basement. Jimmy opened the door.

  The smell nearly made Nirsch vomit. Clark Gawsloave sat in his own filth, eyes nearly vacant.

  “Hello, Clark” Nirsch said.

  Clark Gawsloave looked up at him. Terror filled his eyes.

  “Y-Y-Y-You,” he managed to whisper through cracked and bleeding lips.

  “It’s over,” Nirsch said. “Boise is no longer controlled by the U.C. You failed, Clark.”

  Gawsloave squirmed and thrashed on the floor, trying to break his restraints. He hissed and spit like someone possessed by a demon. “You’ve ruined everything! I’ll kill you!”

  Nirsch began to shake. Hatred filled his mind and blackened his heart. This weak-minded excuse of a man nearly caused the final destruction of his beloved America.

  Scott Shaw walked over to Clark and kicked him in the face, knocking him over. Before Jimmy, Larry, or Nirsch could stop him, he pulled out a pistol and shot Clark through the forehead.

  They were all stunned, their ears ringing, as Shaw walked out the door and back up the stairs. He yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner, “Give me a D minus on my final, will ya!”

  35

  TELLURIDE, COLORADO

  MAY 31

  P RESIDENT RICHARD C. HARTLEY THREW THE CRYSTAL GOBLET against the wall and screamed. The 1972 Napa Valley Merlot splattered on the white stucco wall and dripped onto the Pennsylvania marble floor.

  “What do you mean, ‘taken Boise’?” he shouted. “Who? Why? Are all my troops incompetent?” Hartley unleashed his now-empty right hand and struck his aide in the cheek, leaving a red handprint.

  The aide flinched, then stood up straight once again. “We’re trying to find out what happened, sir,” he said. “We received the report from Idaho late last night. As far as we can tell, there were at least five thousand men, some on horseback, some driving assault vehicles. They were armed with the latest weapons and technology. They struck without warning. Our men were simply outnumbered.”

  “How can five thousand men get close to an entire city filled with troops and not be seen? And where did their weapons come from?”

  Hartley slapped his aide again, this time on the opposite cheek, leaving a twin handprint. The aide whimpered.

  “Leave me,” Hartley said. “Find me some answers. And get the servants to bring me another glass of wine!”

  The aide backed out of the room, bowing low as he went. Hartley screamed again and plopped down on his Italian leather couch in the Presidential Palace. “We have to work harder,” he muttered, “at finding people’s weapons.” Hartley had pushed hard at the beginning of his second term as president to pass a law requiring full firearm confiscation across the nation. He’d been outspent and out-advertised by the NRA and other lobbying groups. The only thing he was able to achieve was universal background checks and mandatory registration. Hartley scowled as he pictured the face of Wayne Carpenter, head of the NRA.

  A serving girl came in, bowing low, and handed him another glass of the merlot, keeping he
r eyes on the floor. Mandi was his favorite among his staff of serving girls. Barely eighteen years old, jet black hair, and a nubile body. He didn’t know her last name and didn’t care to. None of the servants was allowed to use last names. This would lead to individual thinking. They needed to think as a whole. Individual thought, he mused, was dangerous thought.

  Hartley accepted the wine, took a small sip, and placed it on the table beside the couch. He grabbed Mandi around the waist and pulled her down onto his lap. The girl cringed. A shudder went through her as he tore at the front of her uniform.

  The door to the room flew open. Linda Hartley stumbled in and yelled at her husband. Her words were slurred, and she was having a hard time standing upright. She walked over to Mandi, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her off her husband.

  “Tramp!”

  Her hand flashed out and clawed Mandi’s face, drawing blood. Mandi ran for the door and disappeared down the hallway. Linda then turned on her husband, cussing and screaming in his face. The most powerful man in the United Collective sat and stared out his window, taking the abuse. When Linda had yelled herself out, she burst into tears and staggered out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  The president laughed and directed a rude gesture her way. His new home pleased him. He had everything he wanted at his fingertips. The 18,000-square-foot mansion formerly belonged to rock legend Angus Lamb of the band Death Blow. Hartley had spotted it on his first trip outside of his former bunker, a couple of months after the attack. He’d flown over it in a helicopter. As soon as he landed at the base, he’d sent a group of marines to evict Mr. Lamb. He and his family moved in a week later. His boys loved it. It had tennis courts, an indoor skate park, and an Olympic-sized indoor pool.