by J. J. Holden
Cassy didn’t reply for a second, then asked, slowly, “What sort of deal…?”
Frank grinned. “We supply them—and I’d like that to be a Confederation responsibility, not just the Clan’s, but that is up to you—and then send them back into the Empire. They go guerrilla, destabilizing things and attacking loyalist communities.”
Cassy’s jaw dropped. “What… Are you serious? That’s something you should have cleared with me first,” she said, voice rising a little.
“Do you know how hard you’ve been to get time with lately? We’re heading off an immediate crisis. Preparations are already well underway, yet I’m only now getting a minute of your time.”
Cassy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Fine, yes. You’re right about all of that. But I had something different in mind. I meant that what you’re proposing affects the precarious situation with the Empire. That makes it a Confederation issue. You can’t just go unilaterally making decisions on the side. If the Empire attacks again, it affects us all.”
Frank kept his voice level, despite the anxiety he felt in challenging Cassy. He was habituated to her being in charge, and deep habits died hard. “I’m not making a Clan decision that affects the Confederation. These are Empire citizens, not Clanners, and it’s their decision. It’s not on us what they do, and that’s what we’ll tell the Empire if they ask.”
“It is on us when we supply them, Frank. The Empire leaders aren’t the most legalistic people, you know. The fact that it’s the Empire’s own people attacking them won’t matter much once they realize those people are using Clan supplies. We can’t keep that secret—they’re going to find out, and it won’t take them long.”
Frank shrugged. “I get what you’re saying, but this is an unavoidable necessity. We simply can’t feed them all, and I don’t want to just push them along to become New America’s problem, or shove them south into the barrens. They’d die out there. And I did consult with Carl over in Liz Town, and he talked to their Speaker, Mary Ann. They agree with the plan, and they’re coordinating with us to do the same on their end.”
Cassy’s head bobbed slowly, nodding. “Okay… So what exactly is the plan, then?”
“Well, the refugees told us that there’s an active guerrilla war going on in the eastern Empire. Apparently, some outsider showed up and rallied a small group through sheer personality, and it grew from there.”
“Do we know who those outsiders are?”
Frank shook his head. “Nope. Whoever it is, the refs think he has experience with guerrilla fighting. He’s effective.”
Cassy nodded. “So we’re sending many of the refugees back to the Empire, all geared up to join that resistance. When the Empire’s eastern holdings break away, the Clan will reward them by setting them up with Clanholds, or creating new Bands in Liz Town. Is that about right?”
“Yes. Or we’ll consult with the refugees on setting up shop independently, if they want to settle in the breakaway Empire provinces. We’ll teach them your permaculture methods and so forth.”
Cassy said, “If they make it, eventually maybe they’ll become allies or even Confed members. And the more people who know how to farm with permaculture principles, the better off everyone is.”
Frank shrugged. “Meanwhile, they’re off our backs and they’re causing more grief to the Empire than to us.”
“Elegant solution, Frank. I can strategize with the other Confederation leaders and see if they have more ideas on ways to capitalize on this arrangement. I think we can turn this into a major opportunity, both for the Confederation and the Clan itself.”
Frank grinned. He knew his plan’s scope covered both long-term and short-term results and goals. By creating pressure points the Empire would have to deal with, they would be distracted from their dreams of conquering everything in sight. Not only that, it would relieve the pressure on the Clan from dealing with so many refugees. It was a much better long-term solution than just feeding them forever. No one had enough food to save everyone—the Dying Time was ending, but he knew it wasn’t over.
* * *
In the bunker below Cassy’s house, Ethan closed out a conversation with “Pink Toes,” one of his radiohead friends. Pink was originally from Florida, but apparently had fled the balkanization going on there and was now in Georgia. Things were only a little better there, as the Russians and their allies still had small enclaves in the Gulf Coast and southern East Coast areas. At least, that’s what Pink Toes had told him. Ethan had no way to verify anything Pink told him, unfortunately, but it was good to have the information, even if it wasn’t verified.
Ethan checked his computer compulsively, and found that a message had just come in. He opened the message, but instead of the usual writing, there was a hyperlink. He was already in his Virtual Machine, his safe computer sandbox, so he clicked it. The green-and-black chatbox popped open. Oh goody… He wondered why they didn’t just open it remotely, as they had in the past.
After the utility beeped five times, trying to alert whoever was on the other end, there was a ding that announced someone entering the chatroom. It was Watcher One, dammit. Of course.
Ethan let out a sigh and hunkered down for whatever bullshit was expected of him now. He hadn’t followed the 20s’ instructions to destroy the Clan’s gasifiers, generators, battlecars and so on, and he wasn’t looking forward to having to explain himself to this jerkoff.
Watcher1 >> Hello, Dark Ryder. I need an update on ur mission status.
D.Ryder >> I destroyed the Clan’s cars and generators. How’s ur week?
Watcher1 >> Vry funny. Srsly—I need an update. Proceed, Dark Ryder.
Crap. Well, he didn’t think that would fly, but it had been worth a try. Watcher One’s terse response told Ethan he needed to get serious. He clenched his jaw and felt rising frustration. After clenching and unclenching his hands a few times while he gathered his thoughts, he decided on the approach he’d take to deal with this. Something simple, so he could remember what he said if it came up again later.
D.Ryder >> Status: I have not had the opportunity. I am trying to arrange a window of time when I can go do it, but it has not yet worked. Each time I try, those things remain guarded.
Watcher1 >> I see. So, what you need is to make a distraction? Something to get people away from the cars and the generator?
D.Ryder >> Aff. I’m waiting for the chance. It’ll come eventually.
Watcher1 >> Oh. 10-4, I understand. Please expect assistance from the 20s shortly. You’ll know the distraction when you see it—then you’ll have the chance to follow orders and accomplish your mission. Be ready. TTYL, Ryder.
<
What the hell did that mean? Ethan frowned. It didn’t sound like anything good, whatever they had in mind. He sure would be ready, but not for their reasons. He’d be looking for the chance to thwart whatever plan the 20s had for him. Experience had shown him that when it came to the 20s, their assistance usually cost a lot more than it was worth. Whatever their plan, this was trouble. He decided that he had better tell Frank and Cassy about the odd exchange, pronto.
* * *
General Ree sat behind the desk in his office, his feet set heels together and his spine ramrod straight. “Thank you, Corporal,” he said to the soldier who had delivered the reports. Ree waved him away, a bit irritated. Only once the door had closed behind the departing soldier did Ree allow himself to relax again. Appearances were vitally important to the rank-and-file soldiers, Ree believed, and he only maintained his own position by exuding confidence. Here in America, showing weakness could be fatal. Not much different than back home, actually…
He rifled through the reports and frowned. His new vassals—his colonels, to whom he had given land and workers—had taken in more people than they could feed from what they grew themselves and from their shares of Central Park’s bounty. This was partly because the bulk of the food wouldn’t be ready for harvest for another month or two, but mos
tly it was due to their greed and mismanagement.
Major Pak Kim, who sat silently opposite Ree, narrowed his eyes as he searched Ree’s face. It almost made Ree smile, because of course, he only showed Kim what he wanted the man to see. This was basically a choreographed conversation with Ree as director and lead actor, but Kim didn’t know that. Kim’s concern was genuine when he said, “Excuse me, Great Leader, but you seem troubled. Is there something I can assist you with?”
Ree allowed his frown to fade and slowly nodded, then ripped his gaze from the reports to look Kim in the eyes. “Perhaps, little brother,” Ree said, gracing Kim with the honorable-yet-subordinate title. They weren’t actually related. “It seems my colonels have mismanaged their Worker Army citizens and now have too many mouths to feed. They request increased allotments from the Central Park production. Have you an opinion on this matter?”
He did actually value Kim’s input. Kim was methodical and effective, but unimaginative. Ree already knew what Kim would say, but it was important that he was allowed to say it, and that Ree make it a factor in his decision. And occasionally, Kim connected dots Ree had missed.
“My general, of course you can’t give them more. It would leave your own people wanting. Your first responsibility is to manage your people and care for your workers, because this helps them to align their will with yours. Let those who mismanage their people suffer their own consequences, rather than putting them off onto their leader to resolve for them.”
Ree nodded slowly, wearing an expression of deep contemplation. Finally, he placed a faint smile on his face. “Your advice is invaluable as always, little brother. Perhaps soon you too will be one of my colonels.” Dangle the hope in front of him. “However, I think there may be another way to approach this.”
Major Kim leaned forward, listening intently. “Yes, my leader? Will you share your thinking with me, so that I may learn from you?”
Ree smiled and nodded. “Of course. What if I were to respond by telling them that I will take all the people they currently have but cannot feed. My colonels will take one-tenth less in their allotments, to help me feed the people they send. Also, because of their mismanagement, they may accept no new Americans unless they come as a result of securing new territory. You recall that such territory is mine to keep or distribute as I see fit, but they already know that I tend to give it back to those who took it. They are hungry, my colonels, and will be motivated to expand our territory.”
Kim’s jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure. Ree didn’t show his disgust at the spontaneous display of emotion, though Kim’s impressed response was gratifying, too.
Kim said, “General, your idea is brilliant. Of course that is what we should do. But what of the civilians we take from your colonels? They already don’t have enough to feed the Americans they’ll send to you, so your ten percent will achieve nothing, and so it still will put you behind. It only moves the shortage from their shoulders to your own, which I must advise against. And taking more territory will give them more desperate mouths to feed.”
Ree allowed a smile to cross his face, but this time it was genuine. “This is a simple matter. I will not consider the people they send to be part of the People’s Worker Army. They are only refugees. I will place them on half-rations and then use them to finish my many planned walls. Those who survive that ordeal, if any, will be placed into my Worker Army units at full rations and full citizen rights.”
Kim’s lips curved up faintly at the corners. “Ah, yes. That is a wonderful plan, my leader. You stabilize the colonels’ situation to ensure their loyalty. And since the people they send will be worked to death for the good of the People, you gain much food production from the colonels at no cost to yourself—and they will thank you for it.”
“Such is my thinking.”
Kim smiled again. “Only Hoboken will be an issue, sir. No one has seen Colonel Kang since the night before last. To whom shall I direct your orders in the Hoboken Territory?”
Ree placed a concerned look upon his face, and slowly shook his head. It was true that no one knew what had happened to that treacherous snake, Colonel Kang—no one but Ree. “It saddens me to think he may have abandoned his post. Perhaps he has decided to risk the journey to Alaska, and thus be homeward bound. I am told his personal bodyguard squads left with him, wherever he may have gone.”
Kim nodded, and took a deep breath. “I have heard that as well. If true, it seems a desperate plan, but who knows the mind of another?”
Ree stared at Kim for a long moment, until the man looked ready to squirm beneath that gaze. Then Ree said, “Perhaps I will need a new colonel to take that position. Someone I trust, who will take their duties seriously. Obviously, it will need to be someone capable of dealing forcefully with any rival claimants that Kang may have left behind.”
Kim, looking grave, said, “There is only one way to deal with division, my leader, and that is to cut it out. Like surgery, it hurts, but it leaves greater wellness in its wake.”
Inside, Ree chuckled. That was Kim letting Ree know that he was capable of dealing with the situation the way Ree would expect him to. He was throwing his hat into the ring for the promotion. “You are correct, of course. Provide me a list of candidates, please, so I can consider my options. I trust your name will also be on that list.”
Kim was practically bouncing as he saluted and left Ree’s office. It would be burdensome to be without Kim, but Ree needed someone utterly loyal in control of Hoboken, as it in turn controlled access to the City. He had no doubt that Kim, as a colonel, would be utterly efficient and analytical in deciding who to keep and who to cull, which parts of the territory to defend, what to conquer, and what parts would be best let go wild. Ree decided he would push the decision off for as long as possible, however. Perhaps one of Kang’s ambitious majors would be a better choice than Kim. Time would tell.
Thinking of Kang, Ree felt a growing irritation. The man had been a fool to try to gouge Ree with “tolls” for supplies and troops crossing through his territory. Ree smiled as he looked forward to playing with Kang after lunch. Ree didn’t do it for information, since Kang had none. It was just entertainment, and Karma. Ree would probably end the games today, and was already bored with Kang’s weak-minded crying and howling in pain. An officer of Korea should have more discipline than that, which made the torture process so much more gratifying.
* * *
Nestor looked up over the trees all around him, taking a moment to enjoy the view of Dillsburg’s outskirts. The residents were either too few or too stupid to post sentries along the creek his guide called Dogwood Run, east of town. It ran downhill from the village.
“Ratbone, I don’t need to tell you how important this one is, do I?”
The bespectacled man beside him shifted from foot to foot with nervous energy and smiled as he replied, “No, boss. Dillsburg didn’t get sprayed by the ’vaders, so the farms all around it are still good. And they’re Empire all the way, so we get to do our ‘thing’ on them.”
Nestor kept his face neutral. Ratbone only looked forward to exercising his deviant desires on someone. Would he skin someone alive this time, or start by cutting off toes one by one? Someday, Nestor would let the Other deal with the little psycho, but Ratbone was still too useful. There were times when those in command needed a subordinate with a taste for getting their hands dirty.
Nestor returned his attention to the path ahead. The creek was said to run pretty much right up to Highway 15, bordering the north end of Dillsburg. It was only lightly inhabited because it had few homes there, being mostly light industrial and warehousing before the war. Now, with dusk racing by, most of the workers should have left for home. Fewer people would mean easier pickings.
“Listen up, people,” Nestor said loudly. This would be his last chance to give instructions before the attack, so he wanted to cover the basic plan yet again. He didn’t want any screw-ups. “The top of this creek sits between a big lumber
yard and a strip mall. If there’s going to be people there, they’ll be in the strip mall. Third Platoon, you’re in the lead, and I want you to secure that whole area as quietly as possible. Don’t let the rest of ’em hear us coming.”
Nestor looked at the third platoon’s commander, who nodded, then continued, “We then cross the highway, moving straight across. That’s southeast. It’ll take us to an orchard with a thick, tall privacy hedge to the south to screen our movements. We group there into squads and move east. Hopefully we’ll have complete surprise, if third squad pulls off their part without noise. Remember, people, this place is full of loyalists. They made their choice—they’re the damn enemy.”
Ratbone spoke up then, asking, “Will we have you for our commander during this op, or that…Other guy?”
It was a reasonable question. The answer would tell his men and women what sort of tempo this op would have far more effectively than any speech he could give. Nestor grimaced, clenching his jaw. “You will be under the command of the Other this time. Dillsburg gets attacked his way, and they deserve it. We need to make this as messy and dirty as possible. This op will send a message to all the loyalists out there—the Empire can’t protect you bastards, and if you support them then you will get what Dillsburg got.”
Ratbone frowned, but nodded. Weird… Nestor wondered why he didn’t seem happy to hear the Other was coming out to play. Ratbone was usually eager for that, but then again, Nestor’s guerrilla army usually fought actual troops and militias, not civilians who were clearly noncombatants. Ah, so that was the problem. If even Ratbone had an issue with it, how must the rest feel? Nestor’s guerrillas were merely people doing what they had to in order to survive, not monsters like him.