by G. R. Carter
New America had its own problems, problems with no immediate solution. Walsh’s plan to take out the Red Hawks for good was spawned more from practicality than animus. The Northern Caliphate forces coming out of the ruins of Detroit had united with the population occupying the former Chicagoland area. Based out of Aurora, a western suburb of the former megacity, someone managed to gain control of the entire Great Lakes area. Black magic or charisma or military genius...Walsh didn’t know how one man could control countless survivors in the wreckage of what was known as “Chiraq” even before the Great Reset.
More trouble came when the leader converted to the Jihadist religion. Word had it that some of the Caliphate leadership now considered the mystery man to be the Twelfth Imam. That was supposed to be the Muslim version of a savior returned from Heaven to conquer the world. More religious B.S. to trick the brainless, Walsh thought. All he really cared about was that the population now under the Jihadi banner outnumbered his men at least ten to one.
Walsh’s plan had been to take out the Red Hawk threat to his south, freeing up all of his attention and resources to turn towards the increasing threat in the north. As an added benefit, Walsh was sure that the Marines in Vincennes would join him as soon as their other suitor was taken off the board. He knew that General Hopkins was talking with Hamilton and the Red Hawks, but hoped that the similar backgrounds and symbols New America shared with the Marine force would eventually lead to a partnership.
All that was in the wind now. Out of all the legions he sent south, very few managed to escape back to New America’s provisional capital occupying what had once been Lebanon, Indiana. More importantly, he had lost many of his senior officers, meaning that to rebuild the Legions from raw recruits would be twice as difficult. Do I even have the energy for this? I don’t know if I can rebuild again, he wondered.
Dull pain started to return to his body. How did it come to this? Each dose of the painkillers seemed to wear off quicker. Walsh looked over at the bed next to his chair. Half rolling, half stumbling, he dropped onto the mattress, trying to sleep. I’ll make my decision in the morning. Or whenever I wake up. Just can’t be right now. Need to rest, he thought as he closed his eyes to the world.
*****
Fortress Farm Aronia Point
New Home of Alex and Rebekah Hamilton
Alex’s mind drifted as he stared out the window to the wintry landscape outside. Leaves leapt across the snow driven forward by the gusts of wind famous for enforcing their will in this part of the world. He longed for spring and the green renewal the longer days brought. But each year seemed to bring the warming relief a little later; a subject being discussed more and more around the farms of the Republic. Growing seasons seemed shorter, meaning less margin for error when it was time to get the harvest in.
The door creaked and opened, followed by the steady footsteps of a military man’s boots. Alex turned toward his right, a habit already formed to give quicker vision via his uncovered eye. A smile unconsciously formed as Martin Fredericks strode across the hardwood floors toward him. Directly behind and moving a little quicker came Sam, with Bek last to enter. She shut the door as each of them approached Alex, surrounding him against the window.
“I guess I should rise to greet you,” Alex said, his mood suddenly dimming a bit. He fought back the gloom to try and lift the spirits of the ones who came to cheer him up. “But this chair is just too comfy. Anyways, it’s good to see you.”
“You too, Alex,” Martin said. Until recently the man wouldn’t break protocol and call a leader by their first name. Different world and different etiquette. Especially amongst those he considered family. “Doc tells me you’re recovering better than he hoped. Too stubborn to know how hurt you really were?”
“Something like that,” Alex agreed. “Just scared of what you goofballs have been doing while I was out of commission. Bek says all she does is put out your fires all the time.”
“I said no such thing, AJ! I told you how great a job they were all doing!” Rebekah replied. Suddenly she recognized the grim irony in Alex's voice. “You men! The more you like each other the worse you treat each other! It makes zero sense.”
Sam finally jumped in, barely able to keep from laughing. “Does that patch mean no flying lessons for you?”
“Now that really does hurt, baby brother. Try to think about going through life looking like a pirate. What’re my kids going to think of their monster of a father?”
“Oh please, Prince,” Sam replied using the title Alex had always hated. “Half the Republic has some sort of scar or injury from the last few years. In fact, it’s like a badge of honor now. Unfortunately, most of my pilots don’t get the chance for that…” Sam’s voice trailed off like he couldn’t find the strength to be humorous.
“I’m sorry for the men we lost, Sam. I know how much you cared for them. You too, Martin. Those were our friends and our countrymen. There’s no replacing people like that,” Alex said. He sighed and looked back out the window. “I just hope we can honor their memory…make a better world they would appreciate.”
The towering oaks outside the second-story building waved their smaller branches back and forth in the wind. They were mesmerizing, swaying with the gust and then forcing themselves back into position. Resist and bend, then back on the attack, Alex thought. Never be too rigid or the storm will break you. He pulled his eyes away from the window and up to the wall above the entrance. Red Hawk logos framed the flag originally presented to his father.
Known as the Greenfield Shield, the symbol was the first one used by his people when they realized their United States no longer existed in the form they grew up with. Now, the Shield reminded Alex of how far they’d come. Beyond just surviving to now growing and some would say thriving. These last battles took a horrible toll on men and equipment, but the truth was that the Red Hawk Republic was strong enough to withstand such losses now and bounce right back. Resist and bend, then back on the attack.
It was a humbling experience to know that life moved on after your soul left the earth. Just as the Hamilton family moved on when Phil Hamilton was killed – as did the Republic itself – so too the families and friends of the recently fallen continued their daily toil.
What could not be replaced was the trust Alex once had in Eric Olsen. Alex could now admit to himself that he was blaming Eric for the empty feeling he felt after their victory. With Walsh still at large, the threat of New America remained.
“We need to figure out our plan for dealing with the Grays. Do we know what their Legions look like right now?” Alex asked to no one in particular.
With a quick glance to each side, Martin answered. “At best, 50% operational capability.”
Alex shook his head back and forth. His three compatriots watched as rage began to build in him.
“Alex wait. I know what you’re thinking. But there’s other information we didn’t have before. I’ve been working on a plan to integrate the New America population living in the area now under our control,” Martin interjected.
Bek offered her support to Martin’s point: “We’ve been finding out a lot about the outside world from the Grays. Turns out they haven’t just been fighting us. Walsh was trying to take us out quick so he could focus on what he thought was a bigger threat.”
Alex snorted. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or relieved. I thought he was obsessed with us.”
“If you could see some of the propaganda posters we found in the New America towns, you would certainly think that,” Sam added. “I’m having a bunch collected and brought to you as a present from the Raptor wing. Apparently we are very bad men. You wouldn’t believe how bad.”
Normally jovial Sam turned reflective again. “It’s going to take a generation to deprogram some of their residents. They had us labeled as ‘domestic terrorists’ and used us as the boogey man to keep their citizens scared all the time,” he concluded, almost welling up with tears.
I wonder why tha
t bothers him so much, Alex thought. Usually he would think something like that was funny. I’ll ask Bek if there’s a problem I don’t know about.
“So what could possibly make Walsh lose more sleep than us?” Alex asked, trying to turn the conversation back.
Martin took the briefing back over. “New America troops call them Jijis, which is shortened slang for Jihadists.”
“You mean the Northern Caliphate? We knew about them a long time ago,” Alex said testily.
“We knew they existed. But we didn’t know how powerful they had become. And we didn’t know they converted the survivors in old Chicago to their beliefs,” Martin corrected.
“What happened to the Great Lakes Republic?” Alex asked. At one time, his father spoke briefly to one of their representatives. Their war of attrition wasn’t going well at the time, but they still held hope.
“Gone. They got squeezed from all sides. Refugees are streaming into New America territory...well, I guess it’s our territory now, from the north. And the Blackhawks are getting swamped with survivors coming down the river. The Jijis are in hot pursuit,” the Commander of Red Hawk armed forces informed them.
“What could be so bad about this Caliphate that people leave their homes instead of just giving up?” Bek asked Martin.
“They either convert you or they kill you. There is no in-between. Women are property of the Caliphate and are assigned to whatever male warrior they decide. Zero rights for anyone besides the religious leaders or the military leaders,” he answered.
“So now our northern border is them instead of the Grays. Sounds like we got the fire instead of the frying pan,” Bek grumbled.
“Are the Gray Legions holding the line? Or did they hightail it with Walsh?” Alex asked.
“Both,” Sam replied. We’ve been doing as many overflights with the Raptors as we can spare. We’ve got a couple of smaller airships from Fortress Farms that have been freed up from watching the New America border. Many of Walsh’s northern units were homegrown. So they come from communities that agreed to Reconstruction instead of fighting back against New America.”
“There’s no way they’ll leave the lines unless we can move their families back. Martin, have we made contact with them yet?” Bek asked.
“Indeed. Many of the remaining officers that we captured have signed loyalty pledges to the Republic already. I’ve sent them up to the front lines to spread the word. Amnesty for all who join now, exile or worse for anyone who doesn’t,” Martin said sternly. Colonel Darian Walsh had once been his commanding officer, and the Red Hawk commander held the New America dictator responsible for every death that occurred in the conflict.
“We assumed your wishes would be that each American receive a chance. I hope we didn’t overstep on that,” Sam said hopefully.
Alex nodded. “Yeah, that was the right thing. I don’t want to kill any more people. I just want to farm and be left alone.” He suddenly realized how that phrase resonated with the people he led. “I mean I want our people to be able to farm and be left alone.”
He quickly gathered his thoughts, “Ok, let’s sit down this afternoon with a map and figure out what our line is going to be. Sam, come up with some recommendations for good defensive positions that we can hold against larger numbers. Martin, you work on determining how many Americans can be put into the field to fight.”
A headache began to form and he reached up to rub his temples, providing some temporary relief. The light from the window caused him to squint a little, so he rose from his chair to begin to move around the room. Martin and Sam both beat Bek to grab his arms and help. Once steadied by his cane, he took one step, then another, and then another until the some of the stiffness was relieved.
“Tell the Americans I intend to treat them like a fully autonomous province of the Republic. Just like the Okaw, just like Little Egypt and any other group that wants to join us. There will be elections and they will have representatives in the Senate. Anyone who wants to leave and move on can, but they’ll leave their arms and equipment. Anyone who wants to stay will become a citizen of the Republic,” Alex said, staring now at the Greenfield Shield. That’s what you would want, right, Dad? And that’s how the Creator would have us treat others, Alex assured himself. Besides that, those are highly trained and educated warriors that we’re going to need against whatever is coming at us from the north, his practical side agreed.
“That’s very generous of you, Alex. And I think you’ll find the offer well-received,” Martin said, nodding his approval.
“The question is, how will the Land Lords and the rest of our people feel about giving rights to the same group that just killed a lot of Red Hawks?” Sam asked. “They might not take it so well.”
“Let’s bring in Father Steve and Pastor Hart,” Bek offered. “This will be a real object lesson on forgiveness.” She thought for a moment. “Then, let’s offer to give the Land Lords a year off of taxes.”
“Can we afford to do that?” Alex asked. He was keenly aware of the general finances of the Republic. But he purposely avoided the details, allowing Rebekah and her Economics faculty at Old Main make the budget recommendations to the Senate each year.
Rebekah nodded, “No one knows it yet, but we discovered that Walsh stashed a huge amount of Quarters in Lincoln City. I’m guessing he was going to try to crash our economy or maybe use them to bribe some of our Land Lords.” Bek noticed Martin’s surprised look. He had been the one to occupy Lincoln City with the invasion force.
Rebekah explained. “I organized a few small groups from the Old Main faculty to inspect the campus where Illinois University was. Turns out Walsh tried to create his own version of Rome there. Pretty weird stuff, but also some very useful finds. Especially enough Quarters to fund our government for about two years with zero tax revenue.”
“Won’t introducing all that currency cause inflation?” Martin asked. Economics wasn’t his strong point, but he was studying the basics. Alex gave him the goal when he informed Martin he would be making him the official Republic liaison to any American territory that might come under Red Hawk control.
“That’s a good question. We’ll have to control the way we introduce it. Maybe do some building projects that need immediate attention. The big job will be rebuilding the Fortress Farms that got hit in the invasion,” Rebekah said.
“Plus building new ones up north. Depending on what we find up there, we might need twenty or thirty more just to make an effective line,” Sam agreed.
Alex groaned. “Plus equipment and seed and weapons. Trained farmers, too. Martin, do your best to find qualified people out of the Americans. Anyone we can use. And Bek, ask your mom if any of the townsfolk are anxious to cut their own plot of land out. Might be a good way to reward some hard workers that have always wanted a farm of their own.”
Rebekah smiled at him. “Glad to see you’re back to thinking big-picture. Which will of course bring us to the subject you are trying to avoid, won’t it, my love?”
Alex looked into his wife’s sapphire eyes. They sometimes burned with an almost supernatural intensity. She laughed when he told her that; every person who knew Alex said the same exact thing about his eyes, too, but apparently never to his face. I wonder how she looks at me now. Am I a burden to her with one eye and a couple of limbs that will probably never work right? Alex couldn’t look away, and Rebekah chose not to. Breaking the stare would let Alex off the hook, allow him to discuss something else beside the fate of his friend.
Alex shuffled back to his chair and his window. Once again he found solace in the trees framed in glass. So big and powerful, yet at heart a series of twigs and leafs and root fibers. A collection of tiny parts functioning as a huge singular life form. The Republic must function the same way, each citizen acting in his or her self-interest within the bounds of the law. Each a tiny part of a huge living society.
Eric, why couldn’t you just do what I asked? Now I have to choose between being Founder and being a
friend, Alex lamented.
“All right, Martin. I know you’ve already addressed the situation with Eric. I understand he lost his father in the battle. But his insubordination cost us a complete victory. If we’re forced into another battle with New America, it’s going to cost us even more lives,” Alex began.
“Is there a question in there, sir?” Martin asked, returning a bit more formality to the conversation.
Alex examined his friend and confidant. Apart from Rebekah and Sam, Alex loved and respected Martin Fredericks most of all. Calm and cool under fire, always capable of seeing the practical solution to even the most emotional of problems. Yet the scuttlebutt was that he had given Eric Olsen such a dressing-down after the Lincoln City incident that soldiers outside the building heard every word. Martin understood the battle plan Alex developed even though he would have done things differently if it was his decision to make. The ultimate pain came when he realized the quick end to this war slipped right through their grasp. Even if Alex could regain a level of comfort with Eric’s leadership, it was highly doubtful the Field Commander of the Red Hawk forces would.
The chain of command relied on trust. With the public embarrassment in front of fellow soldiers and the loss of his father due to what Eric apparently considered a lack of Alex’s judgement, trust would be a long time in returning to their relationship. A relationship once nearly as close as the one he shared with three people in this room now.
“No. No question, Commander. I intend to assign Eric the lead administrator role for Little Egypt. He’ll be in charge of integrating the province into the Republic. Julia will use her considerable experience to make sure he’s on the right track,” Alex puffed up to reassure himself. “She’s been qualifying the prospective Land Lords from that area anyway. He can be the face of the Republic.” The Founder seemed satisfied with his statement and the solution in his mind. No one challenged him on the decision, mostly for fear of starting an argument impossible to conclude.