by J. J. Holden
Jwa followed Nate’s lead and stood as well. “It will be in my report, of course.”
“In the meantime,” Nate said, “my friend Robert here will see you to the door. I’ll make sure you get a decent supper before you leave, if you wish.”
“Very well. I thank you for your hospitality, but I believe I will leave the city immediately.” Jwa walked toward the door, but then stopped and turned around. He stood looking at Nate for all of three seconds before saying, “You have been a worthy opponent. You’re nothing like what I’ve come to expect from Americans. If they had more people like you, perhaps the world would not be in the condition it’s in now, and we wouldn’t be here.”
Then Jwa turned around again and walked out the door.
Nate heard the door close, and a few seconds later, Robert came back in and sat in the other recliner—not the one Jwa had been sitting in, Nate noticed—and slowly shook his head. “Do you really think we can trust these bastards?” he asked.
Nate gave him a wide grin. “Of course not. There’s no way we can trust those snakes, but we have to negotiate if we want to end this.”
“Gotcha.”
“I don’t know about you, Robert, but I’d like to get on with the business of living. We still have to organize our farming in the Eastern Territories, restore some services—like water—and organize some way to distribute food and supplies among us. We only have so many supplies left, and we have to figure out who’s going to get them. I know the Dying Time is over, but we will lose more people if we can’t get food from the farms into the city fast enough.”
An idea struck him, and he paused for a moment to work it out in his mind. Then he said, “You know, it seems to me that the Confederation or New America must have some supplies nearby. Lord knows they have people pretty close to here, and they have to feed those people somehow.”
Robert stared at him, clearly not comprehending. “But do we really want to start a new war? This one isn’t even over yet.”
Nate shook his head, smirking. “You dumbass. Don’t you realize, we’ve got more enemy uniforms than we know what to do with?”
“Wait. You want us to strip the uniforms off of our dead enemies’ bodies?”
“Precisely.”
“And wear their uniforms? That’s really fucked up, man.”
“Might be, but the Confederation and New America are already at war with the invaders. Think about it. We could do a little ‘scrounging’ and they wouldn’t know the difference. We wouldn’t be getting more Americans killed. We would just take what we need, and—”
Robert cut in, “And that would keep us from having a new war on our hands. That’s brilliant.”
Nate nodded. “We have a lot of mouths to feed and harvest isn’t coming any sooner just because we need it to.”
“New America has more than enough food and supplies, anyway.”
“You know, Robert, you’re not as much of a dumbass as you look.”
Robert laughed and flipped Nate his middle finger, then went and got his own tumbler of whiskey. “No shit, I’m not stupid. I figured out a long time ago that if I ride on your coattails, I get to have good whiskey.”
“Only because I let you, you big lump. But stick with me and the sky’s the limit. I’m going to be the king of Philly, man. That day is coming real soon.”
* * *
Joe Ellings reined in his horse, slowing to a mere canter. Ahead, the outskirts of Philly rose into view marking the end of his journey. He hadn’t wanted to go on the mission, but he reckoned Cassy had made the right choice in sending him. Most of the other folks would have gotten themselves caught long before they got here. Even with his skills, there were a couple of times when it had been a close thing. For some reason, it seemed the Maryland invaders were really being lots more active all along the border, proving Cassy’s worries were the Gospel truth. They really were up to something.
Joe smiled. He had made it through and Philly stretched out before him. Now he had to get in without being shot by ’vaders, who would likely confuse him for them boys and girls in the resistance. Once he was in, he had to somehow find their boss and jaw out a deal. That would be the hard part, on account of folks in the cities had a hard time getting along with his talking, but he reckoned he could make do. Yes sir, old Joe would get that job done, even if city folks didn’t know how to talk right, with that stupid accent they all had.
After another minute spent enjoying the view, Joe spurred his horse forward, heading down toward a huge greenbelt along the city’s northwest edge. For the next hour, he and his mount wound in and out through the trees, using dead reckoning to keep his course. Most of the city itself lay to the southeast; he’d have to go through the suburb before he got to the city. But as sure as possums play dead, whatever resistance movement was in town would likely be in the main city, not in the ’burbs. He had no way of knowing whether the resistance had kicked the invaders out yet, or been defeated. He’d find out what the situation was after he got there.
“Well, I’ll just have to talk to whoever’s there. Let’s just hope it’s the good guys, right, Rusty?” he asked his horse, patting her on the neck.
He soon found a freeway onramp and decided that might be a whole bunch safer than going through the ramshackle neighborhood he had been riding through. He hadn’t seen any movement yet, which was both good and bad. On the one hand, no people meant less danger for himself. On the other hand, of course, it meant all those people were likely dead. Or taken away—everyone had heard the rumors about slave camps from them ’vaders in New York City, but he figured it couldn’t only happen in New York. ’Vaders was ’vaders, right? Probably happened here, too.
Whoever was in charge in Philly, Joe hoped they’d let him get a quick shower, because he felt dirtier than ol’ uncle Jim used to smell. He decided to camp out, then take the onramp first thing in the morning. He’d hopefully be wasting hot water in a shower by noon.
- 9 -
0500 HOURS - ZERO DAY +621
HASA JWA DAE Geon crested the low hill and stopped pedaling, then dismounted, and his unit followed suit. While looking at the ground before each step, in case of a booby-trap, Jwa cautiously approached the pole. He had noticed it about a half-mile away, a single pole with a box on top, which stood in stark contrast to the surrounding wide-open terrain. His second had felt it was a waste of time to investigate, but Jwa wasn’t so sure, so he had told his second they weren’t leaving until they checked it out.
The pole itself was about forty feet tall and ramrod straight. Up close, he could see that it was made of wood. It looked like it had once been a telephone pole, but instead of a T-assembly at the top, there now stood only a single wooden box about the size of a person’s head.
After he investigated the ground surrounding the pole, Jwa was reasonably certain there were no booby-traps. Only then did he motion his translator to step forward. “Please have one of our ISNA brothers climb the pole and investigate what is in the box on top. Instruct him not to touch it, only to observe and then return.”
His Arab translator nodded and approached the ISNA troops. A few seconds later, one of them stepped out from among his brethren and approached the pole. He was small and wiry, perfect for climbing it. Jwa watched the small man scurry up the pole like a monkey, hardly even slowing down as he got higher and higher.
Jwa was impressed. He could never have gotten to the top of that thing, at least not without some rope, so when the man came back down ten minutes later, Jwa gave him a slight bow as a sign of respect. The savage grinned, for Jwa’s approval was a rare thing, especially to his ignorant, barbaric ISNA troops. Jwa wished his entire unit were Korean, but the Great Leader had decided in his wisdom that an alliance was the best way to proceed. Jwa had long ago aligned his will to his leader’s, but he still wished he didn’t have to deal with them.
“Well,” Jwa said to his translator, putting his fists on his hips. “Ask him what was up there.”
T
he translator gave him one curt nod, and then spoke in his native gibberish language to the climber. Their conversation seemed to go on for quite some time before the translator turned back to Jwa. “Hasa, the box contains some sort of electronic device.”
Jwa felt his irritation grow. What use was an old, burnt out electronics device? “Very well. Make note of the coordinates for our report and prepare to move out.”
The translator gave a slight bow. He said, “Sir, he reports the device is active.”
“How so?”
“There are several blinking lights.”
“What else did he say?”
“The device itself resembles a small, flat box, and he says there is a solar panel on top of its container.”
“Interesting.”
“There is more, sir. He said that there is also a long tube, which he believes to be plastic, fully wrapped with tinfoil. The tube extends several inches beyond the container.”
Jwa raised an eyebrow. That was indeed interesting. What could such a device be? If it was active, it was obviously erected after the EMPs, and that probably made it important.
“Kim,” he called, and one of his Korean privates stepped forward.
“Yes, how may I serve you?”
Jwa pointed at the pole, then looked back at him. “Our ISNA brother says there is an active electronic device at the top of the pole, inside that container. You were an electronics expert before the Americans launched their EMPs, is that correct?”
The man fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortable under Jwa’s gaze, earning him a disappointed look. Hastily, he said, “Yes. Such skills are no longer in demand, but they are at your disposal as the Great Leader wills it.”
Jwa nodded. It had been an appropriate response. “Take some rope and climb that pole, then examine the device. Find out all that you can, and when you return, I expect a full report. What is the device? Can it be salvaged, or can we make some other use of it? Ask yourself these things when you see it, and then come back.”
Private Kim bowed, then set about finding the team’s rope. He tied a makeshift loop that went around the pole and his own body, and despite turning a slightly paler shade when he stood at the pole’s base and looked up, he hesitated only a moment before beginning his climb. After he reached the top, he was up there for about five minutes before he began his descent. Once he was back on the ground, red-faced and breathing heavily, he let the rope fall to the dirt and approached Jwa, saluting.
When Jwa returned his salute, he said, “Sir, I am pleased to report that the device is a wireless router. There is a battery in the back of the box with wires leading to a solar panel on top. It is my belief that the tinfoil tube is being used to harness the signal and direct it somewhere else with pinpoint accuracy.”
“To what purpose?” Jwa couldn’t think how having a router in the middle of nowhere made any sense at all.
“Sir, I think it relays the signal from another such pole standing far away in the opposite direction. The sand-eater did not report this, but I found another tube that extended out the back of the container, but ending flush with the back panel. They cut a hole in the back, precisely the same diameter as the tube, and because it doesn’t stick out, we couldn’t see it from the ground. The mujahid should have reported it.”
Jwa was stunned. He barely remembered to give the slight bow to dismiss Private Kim while his own thoughts raced. Someone in the region had a wireless network and computers, still up and operating. That was indeed interesting, and his commanders would find the intelligence valuable. Perhaps they would even praise his ancestors when he delivered the news.
It most likely belonged to the Clan, given the area, which meant those foolish Americans somehow had working computers. Jwa had no doubt that his superiors would definitely restructure their priorities in the region, once they heard of this.
Barely able to contain his excitement, he turned to his troops and said, “Mount up. We are immediately returning to base by the most direct way. Engage no enemy units while en route, do you understand? The intelligence we carry is worth far more than a few more dead enemy soldiers.”
In less than a minute, the unit had mounted and was cruising downhill. Jwa rode near the front, and he pretended not to notice the Arabs grumbling behind him. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he assumed it had to do with missing breakfast. They were a most undisciplined lot.
* * *
1300 HOURS - ZERO DAY +621
As two assistants carefully laid out an exquisite service set and fine China on the antique mahogany coffee table, as well as a carafe of coffee, Taggart shook the envoy’s hand with a faint smile. Mr. Lee’s handshake had been firm, and his gaze direct, giving Taggart the impression of a confident, capable young man. His hair was well trimmed, his face entirely clean shaven. His eyes sparkled with intelligence and alertness, seeming to catch every movement, every nuance. Taggart knew he would have to be careful with this one.
Taggart motioned toward the two lavish couches, which faced each other from across the coffee table.
Mr. Lee nodded, then gave Taggart a slight bow, which Taggart knew indicated the man considered them to be equals. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but it only added to his impression of the man’s confidence.
After straightening up again, Mr. Lee walked to the couches and raised an eyebrow. When Taggart nodded, he sat and looked up toward Taggart’s server. “Coffee, please. Two sugars, no cream.” As Taggart sat down opposite him, Mr. Lee turned his attention back to the task at hand. “President Taggart, I thank you for taking time out of your busy day to see me. We have much to discuss.”
Taggart gazed at his opponent. His English was excellent, although he still maintained a slight Korean accent. “Of course, Mr. Lee. New America understands the difficult situation we both find ourselves in. While animosity remains, many issues still require a resolution. But in the meantime, we can avoid further conflict as long as we maintain open communications.”
Mr. Lee looked at Taggart as if studying him. “I truly hope that it’s possible for us to resolve our differences. My hope is that the issue I came to speak with you about will not lead to bloodshed. I must tell you that my leaders are adamant about the issue at hand.”
Taggart resisted the urge to clench his jaw. He kept his composure as he spoke. “Well then, I find myself curious as to the issue you’re here to discuss.”
“Very well, sir,” Lee said. He took a slow sip of his coffee and set the cup gently on the table. “I must begin by asking if the Confederation is a de facto part of New America.”
Taggart felt alarm bells going off in his mind. He would have expected Lee to insist the Confederation was not a part of New America, leaving open the option of attacking them without automatically going to war with him. “They have recently become so, yes, although they remain semi-autonomous.”
The corners of Lee’s lips twitched upward slightly, and he appeared bemused. “My report will show that you acknowledge the Confederation as a member state of New America, of which you are both president and commander-in-chief.”
Taggart gave a curt nod. “Yes.”
“I am sure you are also aware that the Confederation recently fought against the Midwest Republic—also known as the Empire—and their allies from the American general Houle since my intelligence intel says you allocated many troops to be deployed under Confederation command, and that those troops fought during that war.”
Taggart wasn’t sure where the envoy was going with all of this. Politics was not his forte. He had only been thrust into this role out of necessity. “Yes, I was aware of that war and the troops I stationed within the Confederation to participate in that fight.”
“Good. Though, there was a development during the conflict that you may be unaware of.”
“Is that so? Do enlighten me.”
“Toward the tail end of that war, the Confederation’s chancellor sent envoys north to speak with my leade
rs in the Northern Cantonment.”
Taggart felt his heart beating a little faster. No part of this could bode well for him. Was Cassy capable of falling in league with one enemy to beat another? Then he almost laughed; of course she was! She was tough, pragmatic. She’d do anything to keep her people safe. Taggart couldn’t honestly tell himself he’d have done any differently. Furthermore, he hadn’t known they called themselves the Northern Cantonment until just now. This was disconcerting because it meant his intelligence in that region wasn’t as good as he had imagined.
Lee continued, “As it turns out, the political situation between the Confederation and the many refugees from the Free Republic, fleeing east, had become rather complicated. Part of the solution to their problem was to offer those refugees weapons, ammunition, and supplies so that they could return to the Free Public and engage the army with guerrilla warfare tactics.”
He had known this already, although the news had come by means of his spies and representatives. “Right. They would also be offered land and membership in the Clan when the war ended, if they would fight in the meantime.”
“Of course. So you’ll understand that where I come from, regional commanders are not allowed to negotiate separate treaties, but I understand that you will run your territory as you see fit, which is the right of every warlord.”
Taggart smiled. Of course the North Koreans would think in terms of warlords and lesser commanders. “It was hardly a separate treaty. They negotiated with refugees, not another country, and the result was supposed to be a large force of immigrants who would become citizens of the Confederation later.”
“I believe you are misinformed. You seem to be under the impression that they didn’t negotiate a treaty with another country. In fact, as I mentioned, they had sent envoys to the Northern Cantonment to do precisely that.”