by G. R. Carter
“That depends on the people in charge here, Maggie,” he replied honestly. “We are here to secure the town, hopefully with no further bloodshed. I can call that shot for us; I’m the Commander in charge of the Red Hawk forces now. But whoever Walsh left in command here is going to have to agree.”
“Well, you’re in luck, Commander,” she said with a tired smile. “You are speaking to the one left in charge here. And as long as Martin Fredericks' word is still good…like when I knew him…back when the world made some sense, you have a deal. You agree not to kill us, and we’ll agree not to kill you. Deal?”
Fredericks nodded his head and smiled. “Deal.”
*****
Eric watched in horror as two and then three of his Alpha group Turtles veered off from their spearhead, smoking. He had all ten in a wedge shape, aimed at the dug-in Grays up ahead of him. Bravo group was taking a wide loop around, trying to circle the American flank. The armor of the new Turtles was supposed to withstand everything up to a rocket-propelled grenade, and even then be effective against that except at close range. Whatever weapon the Grays had developed found a weak spot in the armor. But Eric pressed his men on; knowing the best way to get out of murderous fire was to get inside the enemy’s lines.
The Grays hadn’t been able to dig in too deep; Eric’s Turtles had been an unexpected arrival for them all. Hank Tripp had known just how to use the fresh forces to turn the tide for Shiloh’s defense. Even though the Turtles lacked the offensive firepower of the heavier Razorbacks, Tripp was convinced the Grays would see a large force of Turtles and assume they were an advance recon for the main Red Hawk reinforcements. Somehow, Eric sensed Tripp still believed that his Republic hadn’t left him to fight alone, like there really was heavy armor just over the horizon – the cavalry coming to save the day.
Eric knew better, and seeing the carnage left him confused. Why hadn’t they reinforced Tripp and the other farms? That was the right thing to do. His military study classes and his experience in a family devoted to law enforcement said you went to where the fire was first, you didn’t go arrest the arsonist until after everyone was safe.
Thuds and clanks of metal striking metal brought him back from the brief distraction. It was time to kill some Grays. Targets appeared left and right, and then disappeared in dust and debris as the Turtle guns chewed up the light-skinned American vehicles. In an instant they were in amongst the shallow foxholes. Legionnaires jumped up to run for the supposed safety of whatever was to the north. Eric smiled with grim satisfaction as they crumpled and fell, shot in the back by gunners with blood in their eyes and adrenaline in their veins.
More flashes burst to his right, and he turned to watch Bravo group slash into the flank of the now disorganized and quickly panicking Grays. Eric speculated the Lead Centurion and most other senior Gray officers were probably dead or incapacitated after twenty-four hours of trying to break through the stalemate. Breakouts required leading from the front, a position with a significantly smaller survival rate. Junior officers would be desperately trying to follow orders, which meant going forward, not back. All Gray officers were well trained, but senior commanders had authority and experience necessary when a plan went pear-shaped.
Olsen waited for the surviving Alpha group Turtles to form up on his position, and then pointed north to pursue a stream of gray camouflaged trucks and Humvees retreating. I broke them, Eric thought. He stood a little taller in the commander’s hatch, bumping off the padded sides as EO Ironsides absorbed the uneven ground. Eric leaned forward, willing the engine to speed up and catch his prey, not wanting a single one to escape back into the safety of New America. The gunners engaged targets as best they could while the Turtles shuddered over frozen clumps of brush.
He glanced over to see where Bravo group had gone, hoping they would stay on his flank to the east and prevent any Grays from cutting that direction. He spotted them, calculating they were now about a mile over the fields from his position. His group approached what had once been a highway overpass, leading down to the road that Bravo group followed. The earthen embankments were nearly thirty feet tall on each side, gently sloping out for a half a mile in each direction. He signaled his driver to stop and felt the kinetic energy of the massive vehicle surge through him. The surviving Turtles slowed to a stop around and in front of him, unable to match their reflexes to his signals.
He decided to break radio silence and order Bravo group to halt, but it was too late. They plunged right across the elevated road, blinded by the change in elevation. Olsen screamed into the radio, but over the rumble of his engine he could hear the ripping sound of heavy weapons. He realized the Grays had pulled one of the oldest military tricks available: feigned retreat and ambush. His instincts saved Alpha group, but he was sure that Bravo group now felt the weight of their commander’s mistake…my mistake, Eric thought.
He froze for a moment, wondering what to do next. “Circle that rise to the west!” Eric yelled to his driver.
Eric could feel his Bravos getting shredded, and coming over the rise confirmed his fears: four Turtles were already smoking, including the group’s lead. The survivors were deploying to counter, but the Gray ambushers were already moving, four older style Humvees but each with the heavy .50 caliber machine guns mounted on top. Those guns had trouble penetrating a Razorback's armor, but could easily disable a Turtle at close enough range. Infantry carrying some sort of tube weapon jumped into the vehicles as they began to drive away.
Eric thought for a moment about chasing the four, but thought better of it. He had lost nearly half of his vehicles in a stretch of less than ten minutes. The Grays were retreating, if not for good than at least for long enough to allow the farms to regroup and rearm. He called for the Bravo survivors to help their stricken comrades, then come to his position. He would use the reverse of this rise to dig in and wait for a Gray counterattack he feared might come at any moment.
A loud rumble and clanking came from behind as the Shiloh Shuffler pulled up. Scorch marks covered the tan and green camouflage paint, and every inch seemed to be dented and dinged. With smoke and steam still all around, Hank Tripp seemed to leap out before the hulking metal beast came to a complete stop.
“Lieutenant Commander Olsen, you are the true definition of a lifesaver. Without your help, the Grays would have had us this morning,” the older man said, extending a warm handshake.
“I’m glad we could help, Captain Tripp. Is someone seeing to my men?”
“Our medics are with them now. I hope the cost wasn’t too high. I know you’ve got another mission to accomplish still,” Tripp replied.
Eric’s heart sank. The plan to join up with Charlie group and capture Walsh had completely slipped his mind in the chaos of combat. “Captain Tripp, I’m going to leave the remaining troops of Bravo group here under your command just in case the Grays come back. I’ll take Alpha and head up to our rally point. I suppose I’m too late to help, but the rest of the troopers up there are waiting for us.”
“Of course. Good luck on the hunt,” Tripp said with an exhausted grin.
*****
“For all his faults, I would have never bet Walsh would leave so many civilians and wounded behind. Not if he really thought we were the devil,” Fredericks said to Maggie Kemble. They sat alone in the hospital chapel while Red Hawk medics helped her staff tend to the hundreds of wounded Legionnaires spread throughout the complex. The rest of his task force was split between bringing in supplies and standing guard against any hostiles still lurking in the city. Maggie swore they were all gone, and Fredericks believed she was telling him what she knew to be true. But there was no way he was taking the chance there were some that she didn’t know about.
“He didn’t really think you were the devil. He actually respected the Hamiltons...and you, too. Sure, you infuriated him with your refusal to join New America, but he considered the Caliphate and Aurora to be the real threats.”
“Then why the attack? We woul
d have stayed on our side of the border, probably forever,” Fredericks pleaded.
“His decision-making was really messed up the last couple of years. Those GangStars he teamed up with gave him some pain medication to help with his leg, the one that got hurt bad in Lafayette and never healed right. He was always an s.o.b., but after that he turned into a crazy s.o.b.”
“I know Ty’s death really affected him. I could certainly see that before I left,” Fredericks said.
Maggie looked down at the oak pew where they sat, unable to speak for a moment. The death of her husband, Walsh’s second-in-command at the base, still hurt like an open wound. Ty Kemble could always bring Walsh to the right decision, and his death at the hands of the city police force spurred the National Guard takeover of all civilian matters here. After the success of that seizure, Walsh expanded New America over territory covering the better part of two states.
“He was convinced he was doing the right thing. I’m pretty sure he thought that if he could get you all to submit to Reconstruction, America would have the resources to fight the Caliphate. The force that attacked the Red Hawks was just what he could scrape together around here. Walsh emptied every checkpoint and firebase. Anyone who could carry a weapon and any vehicle that could carry them. We’ve lost so many Legionnaires up north, you just can’t believe the carnage,” she said, shaking her head in disgust.
“Can you tell me anymore about the force hitting us from the west? Whether they’ll continue to come at us?” Fredericks asked.
Maggie shook her head. “I just ran the administration of Lincoln City. I didn’t have any say about the decisions for New America. He just left it up to me to make sure everyone was fed and the wounded were taken care of. Pretty much all I have here now is widows and small children. The wounded are about the only men left in town.” Tears welled up again. Fredericks suspected this was the first time she felt she could speak peer-to-peer in ages.
“Women run the place, that explains why it’s so neat and organized,” Fredericks said with a smile.
Maggie just laughed and nodded. “I guess that’s going to change now. Don’t you think Walsh will try to take the city back? He always said this was his Rome. I can’t imagine him just walking away from New America’s capital and the entire western half of the empire.”
Fredericks steeled at the sound of her last word, offended an American officer would try and build something so antithetical to his own ideals. “I hope by now the emperor’s day has gone from bad to worse.”
*****
Eric held the hand of Charlie group's commander, keeping it steady as a medic injected painkillers into the wounded man’s blood system. His whole body shook from the pain of a shattered leg and burns covering half of his torso. “Tuh, tuh, two to one, sir,” the man spit out through swollen lips. “Tried to stop them, we tried…” Then the drugs took mercy on the man, giving him some escape from his wounds as he fell into unconsciousness. Eric looked at the medic who simply shook his head and closed the kit before turning to the next man lying beside him. They had already worked through the triage, taking care of those with a good chance of surviving, and now were in the midst of those too far gone to help. Most wouldn’t make it the next hour, though together with the unit chaplain he prayed for them all.
Shattered Turtles sat on each side of the wide pathway of what was a four-lane interstate. Rally point Gamma Six was a wide stretch where the median between east- and westbound lanes was paved, keeping nature from obscuring the view from one side to another. Rivers and natural barriers made this a perfect choke point to keep prey from escaping a trap. Counting on capturing a few staff in lightly armored cars, Charlie group took positions where the armored Turtle couldn’t use its speed and agility to fight. The slugging match they found themselves in was a disaster, and every one of the ten brand new vehicles was destroyed or heavily damaged.
The sole surviving vehicle commander had briefed Eric on the action. He estimated a column of at least twenty-five heavily armed and in some cases fully armored, Humvees as well as six-wheeled troop transports hit the group at top speed. A couple of survivors even swore to seeing a tracked vehicle in the group, though the senior officer couldn’t confirm it. Eric inspected two destroyed Humvees left behind by the Grays. Both were the most recent version from before the Reset, with armor plating and the heaviest weapon available for this particular model. Tracks of oil and fuel led west, suggesting that others had been damaged besides these two.
He thought briefly of gathering the survivors and heading out in pursuit. Maybe they could catch them and get the Grays in an area where the Turtles could use their speed and maneuverability. But his men were exhausted. They had been running and fighting all day. More importantly, he had lost over half of his force in just twelve hours and still didn’t accomplish his primary mission. Better to regroup with Fredericks and see how the battle for Lincoln City was going. He’d have to give Fredericks the bad news about Walsh, and Alex would be disappointed. But he was proud to have turned the tide at the battle for Shiloh. The men who died in his group had accomplished a lot, something their families would be proud of for generations, he was sure.
He was also sure his own father would be proud of him for saving so many and being part of such a crucial victory for the Republic. He just hoped there wasn’t too much damage to the farms surrounding their place at Tower Hill. He was really getting to like the place. When he married Lori Hamilton they might just build their own Fortress Farm near there. He let his mind escape the destruction around him for a moment. Bet that will make Mom and Dad really happy.
Chapter Seven– Red Hawk Rising
Old Main College – Julia Ruff’s Office
Seven Years after the Great Reset
Two Weeks after the Invasion of New America
Gusts of wind rattled the windows of the namesake building holding Old Main’s administrative offices and student union. An ancient fireplace, once closed off, was now open again and burning brightly to break the chill invading from outside. Hot water radiators recently installed clicked and popped while providing a second source of heat to defeat the humid cold of the Midwest. Serving as Julia Ruff’s offices and living quarters, the Old Main building also had become a de facto embassy, providing a meeting place for visiting dignitaries from communities still surviving after the Great Reset.
Major General Nicolas Hopkins sipped a bittersweet aronia coffee placed in front of him by servants dressed in identical crisp green khaki outfits. The General wore his casual dress uniform; a long and hard journey was unable to defeat the pressed creases perfected by years of training. He inspected the ceramic cup, watching wisps of steam rising above the liquid and up towards the chandelier modified to use still-plentiful vehicle headlight and taillight bulbs. The campus generators were running today to provide a warm welcome to a very powerful person, a symbol not unnoticed by Hopkins.
“I see you’ve been able to recreate coffee, President Ruff. I must admit, I miss the little luxuries sometimes. And we haven’t been able to devote much effort to comfort since the Reset,” the General sighed.
“Please, call me Julia. And it’s Senator again, I’ve turned over the role of President of Old Main College to my daughter Rebekah. I’m just a member of the Republic Senate representing my own Fortress Farm now,” Julia Ruff graciously corrected her host. “I can assure you, coffee is not a small luxury on a college campus, it’s a necessity!” Her smile was turned all the way up, hoping to create common ground with the hard-edged fighting man across the table from her.
“I can’t keep up with you Red Hawks and your ever-changing government. If you have a Founder in charge of everything, why go through the hassle of establishing another legislative body? Didn’t you learn the lessons of the past?” General Hopkins asked earnestly. “In Vincennes, we have a clear chain of command. No one has to worry about confusion. Certainly not everyone agrees with my decisions, but at least we stay consistent. Isn’t that right, Lieutenant C
olonel?” Hopkins glanced over to his aide standing at rest in the corner of the office. The younger man simply nodded and smiled.
“We’re aware we don’t have a perfect system, General. I’m proud to say it’s a work in progress. We keep trying to improve and we’ve grown so fast that it’s hard to keep up. When the Reset happened, Phil Hamilton had just a few farms and small towns to look after. We now have an area the size of some countries in Old Europe to protect. The Senate tries to take a bit of that strain off the Founder’s shoulders so he can focus on the trouble the Grays caused,” Ruff replied, a bit firmer and less friendly now.
Her response wasn’t just a defense of her son-in-law, serving the Republic as Founder. She also bristled slightly at the challenge of a man who ran a military government that didn’t even make an attempt at allowing civilian input. Ruff held her emotions closely; too many years surrounded by political enemies created a shell of imperceptible thoughts. Even now, the change in tone was a tool to verbally disarm this lifelong military man still living a chivalrous dream of rescuing damsels in distress.
“Of course, Senator...err, Julia. I didn’t mean to imply that the Republic was anything but a glorious achievement,” the General said with a halfhearted wave of his hand. “You have obviously created serious momentum, and I’m sure New America realizes they may have bit off more than they could chew. I’m not letting anything out of the bag when I tell you that Walsh is reconsidering whether to pursue Reconstruction plans to the west.”
He took another sip of his coffee and considered his next words carefully. “Your Founder mousetrapped Colonel Walsh and his New America boys. And you almost had him captured for good. Too bad for you he barely made it out and still has most of his eastern territory. How did you know when and where to strike?”
“Just lucky, I guess. Sometimes good breaks work in our favor,” Ruff replied with a sly smirk.