EMP Retaliation (Dark New World, Book 6) - An EMP Survival Story

by J. J. Holden

  Ethan nodded slowly. He had often had similar thoughts. “So, we have two options as I see it. First, we can flip them the bird. Or B, we can give them the illusion that I left, and I never leave the bunker again until this is all over.”

  Cassy shrugged. “Eh. Not really. You couldn’t go online or they’d know you were here, and if you aren’t doing your Dark Ryder thing, I know you’d be bored to tears down there. That only leaves us with giving them the bird. Got something in mind?”

  “Sort of. It would definitely turn this thing into climax-mode and get it over with one way or the other.”

  Cassy wrinkled her eyebrows. “If we can stretch the conflict out, though, that works in our favor. Fighting their whole, fresh strength all at once doesn’t sound like the best strategy.”

  “Actually, it might be just what we need. What they don’t know is that I’ve already hacked NORAD, before the exile thing came down. I put in a backdoor so I can get back in easily, but I’ll only get one shot to do anything inside their systems. Once they realize there’s been a breach, they’ll find my backdoor and close it.”

  “So, you figure you can do something useful, but only once, and if they’re all coming at us at once, hacking NORAD will help us on the ground here? Do I have that right?”

  “Yeah… more or less. I’m not sure what I’ll do once I’m in, but I’m still studying the huge mounds of system and configuration data I liberated from their network. All of this assumes you want me to stay, though. If you want me to leave, hoping it’ll keep the conflict at a low intensity as long as possible, I understand. I might even agree with you. Either way, I’d do as you say.”

  “Of course you would, Ethan. Otherwise why would you have even told anyone about this? You could have just stayed, and we’d have been none the wiser. But you didn’t.”

  Ethan felt his heartbeat spike a little with anxiety. Staying would bring risk into the Clan, but it was possible that leaving would expose the Clan to even more risk. “I’ll have to hold off on using that backdoor until the last possible moment. We may face increased pressure before that climactic, critical moment.”

  Cassy gave him a faint smile and said, “So finish your coffee with me, then get back into your cave and do your thing. Just a day like any other.”

  Ethan nodded. “Alright.”

  “And, Ethan…we never had this conversation.”

  * * *

  General Ree stood in the newly constructed tower and stared out to the west. A stream of troops and officers trudged toward his fortified gate. An hour ago, he had received first word of his colonels’ defeats at the hands of the American peasants. He was angry enough to spit, but to his troops he showed only steel, hard and cold. A good officer never showed emotion accidentally.

  To Major Kim, he said, “It is a pity I must execute the officers—they may still be of use.”

  “Of course, sir. But failure of this magnitude cannot be left unaddressed.”

  Ree nodded. “Some might also say the failure was mine, for making them vassals. For giving them responsibility beyond their capabilities.”

  “Yes, sir. Some might. But not in public, not if they know what is best for them. The fault is theirs, not yours, unless they wish to admit they presented to you a false confidence—at which point the fault is again theirs for the deceit. If they weren’t certain of their ability, they could have turned down the assignment as I did.”

  Ree nodded at him. He had made a good point. “Very well. How many can we admit? I know we cannot feed them all without their civilians and their lands, two things they lost. They left with only their guns.”

  “And their lives, sir.”

  “Which is something they will lose soon, too.” Ree struggled to keep his anger contained.

  Kim had the good sense to pretend not to notice. “We can support them all only if we can hold Central Park, my leader. If we lose that, then we can support very few extra mouths.”

  “We should plan on losing Central Park. It’s exposed on every side, vulnerable to a riotous population. My vassal who holds this side of the New Jersey route has reported that he too is under siege. He is holding it, but suspects he can keep it only long enough to allow the others to cross from New Jersey into the City on their way to safety here. He will follow them shortly thereafter.”

  “A calamity, my leader. I imagine that your plan is to admit them all, and then use them recklessly. Those who survive your missions will have earned their food and their place.”

  “And if I were to issue such orders, what does my little brother think are the risks, and possible ways to control those risks?” Ree looked at Kim calmly. On these matters, he gave great weight to Kim’s advice, though the final decision would be his own.

  “Sir, the core of any resistance will come from your vassals’ popular senior enlisted and experienced lower-ranking officers. It will come from those who had experience before this war, and who have done well for their own small units in these hard times. Only they have the personal relationship with their soldiers to command loyalty enough for treason.”

  “I see. And how would you resolve this issue?”

  Major Kim was stone faced, and Ree appreciated his discipline. Kim said, “We have such ranking soldiers in your personal forces who are not so effective. Some have created questions about their loyalty to you, their Great Leader, because they have not aligned their will to yours. Send those men out on a mission and bring your vassals’ possibly troublesome men in. Also allow them to bring in the troops and underlings for whom they wish to take responsibility.”

  Ree nodded. Such a decision would have many implications, some far-reaching. But making them responsible for the acts of those they bring would ensure they chose only those soldiers they trusted completely. “Very well. If we are to lose New Jersey and the western City, we should not resist that, but embrace it and turn it to my own advantage, so that it makes us stronger rather than bleeding us to death.”

  Kim placed a deliberate smile on his face, and Ree nodded in approval. Kim said, “I will make the necessary arrangements, and create a list of missions on which to spend your men’s lives.”

  Ree said, “Yes. Focus on securing Central Park. If we can hold it until harvests, we will be fine for winter. Redouble the fishing fleets in spring.”

  “I will make it so. Your wisdom will carry us through, sir.”

  Ree dismissed Kim and focused on properly experiencing his tea, noting in his journal the flavor characteristics, the aroma, the aftertaste. He had analyzed dozens of teas, and had many more left to go, but it was important for that knowledge not to be lost when the tea was gone. His notes would be his legacy to culture and civilization. Compared to that knowledge, the lives of a few soldiers and even the loss of half his territory meant little to Ree.

  * * *

  Nestor moved freely among the horde of refugees heading west. His had been a suicide mission, playing rear guard to the Free Republic people fleeing east, but he had succeeded in buying them the time they needed to get to Johnstown. When the enemy threw troop battalions at Johnstown from the south—fresh Mountain troops, tired from marching but unbloodied—he and his newly reinforced Night Ghosts had been cut off, but as a result most of the Free Republic troops escaped and continued to flee eastward, toward the Confederation.

  The Night Ghosts, however, had only one direction in which to flee. They had moved at double-time to the north. But then, they had been hit from the north, first by more refugees on bikes and then by the bike and cavalry troops who chased them. Together, the refugees and Night Ghosts had broken their attackers, but more were coming. Nestor had been forced to turn west.

  He had spent the day riding as fast as he could in the Night Ghost vanguard of four hundred people on bikes. Only those with bikes had escaped… Now, he was exhausted and his legs burned like they were on fire as he made his way up yet another hill. Once past the summit, the whole pack rested their legs as gravity took over. Nestor drew deep, grate
ful breaths.

  Two riders rode toward the pack on the road, some of his outriding scouts. He made no effort to go meet them, and just kept enjoying his ride downhill until they reached him. One pulled up beside him, keeping pace, sweating profusely. The man panted as he reported, “Nestor, we got news. An enemy train is coming, but it’s moving slow. Four rail cars, being pulled by like twenty damn horses. There is a U.S. flag on the lead car.”

  “General Houle’s. Where?”

  “A mile south of us, and the train is coming from the west. If we hurry, you can intercept it.”

  Nestor nodded. It would be worth the effort. Four rail cars potentially held a crap-ton of supplies, all probably heading toward the quickly shifting front line. It moved inexorably toward the Confederation. “Lead the way.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said. The poor guy was exhausted, but he obeyed and swerved off the road, heading south.

  They rode for fifteen minutes across the rough terrain before Nestor saw the train in the distance, with the tracks downhill below. He called his unit and the refugees to a halt. Of the four hundred people with him, only a hundred were even armed, his Night Ghosts survivors. The refugees may have been Free Republic fighters, but they had mostly ditched their empty rifles to lighten their load when they had routed.

  He called out, “Ratbone, take twenty rifles half a mile east, in case the train gets past us. Have the rest of our armed fighters lined up along the crest of this hill. When the train approaches, we’ll ride down and board it. Make sure no one shoots those damn horses, either.”

  Minutes later, as the train pulled even with them, eighty or so armed men and women on bikes swept down from the hill crest, whooping and hollering. Atop the cars were maybe a dozen defenders, along with a man and woman up front to guide the team of horses. Horse-drawn trains moved slower than Nestor had expected.

  At the sight of so many attackers, the people on the train’s roof dropped their rifles and held up their hands. The train took a quarter mile to slow to a stop, even going so slowly. Nestor hoped to hell that meant it was stuffed to the brim with something heavy and useful. He barked orders to secure the guards, and they were quickly zip-tied on their knees off to one side, along with the teamsters who had driven the team of horses. None had resisted, so they hadn’t been roughed up yet, but they looked plenty frightened.

  Let’s scalp them. Mount their heads like antenna balls.

  “Shut up, Other,” muttered Nestor.

  You put on the most boring shows. Let me out to play.

  “No,” Nestor shouted, grabbing his head. The Other struggled to get free, to take over the meatsuit, but Nestor grit his teeth, tuned everything out, and beat back the chaos, the evil. Eventually, Nestor felt firmly in control again.

  When he looked up, his troops were standing around looking anywhere but at him, while the dozen prisoners stared at him with eyes wide in fear. Nestor forced himself to show them a feeble smile while the color returning to his face. “Sorry, folks,” he gasped. “Don’t mind that guy. He wants me to use your heads as antenna balls for the train, but he’s not in charge of us. I am.”

  They didn’t look any less frightened, which made him want to chuckle.

  See, you do enjoy scaring people.

  Nestor ignored the Other’s voice in his head. He walked up to the teamsters and eyed the man for a moment. “Where were you going, where did you come from, and what’s on board?”

  The woman shook her head and looked at the ground. The man glanced at her, then looked up at Nestor. “Mister, we’re coming from a depot in Morgantown, West Virginia, which is loyal to the leader of the United States, General Houle. We’re going to Johnstown, recently liberated. The cargo is to resupply the troops there, who must have used up most of their supplies by now.”

  Nestor nodded. “Well, this train isn’t getting to its destination.”

  The woman finally looked up at him, anger in her eyes. “If this train doesn’t make it, my family is their hostage. My daughter. My son. And my sister. You understand what you’re doing to them, right?”

  Nestor nodded, and his brow furrowed as he bit his lip. “That’s unfortunate, and I feel for you, but things are what they are. The Mountain King has cost my friends a lot more lives than that, and you support him. I can’t help you.”

  Ratbone turned to some of the Night Ghosts and ordered the cargo containers be opened, and Nestor walked behind them to see their contents for himself. He left the prisoners on their knees, under guard.

  When he saw what was inside, however, he shouted out a loud victory whoop. The first car contained crate upon crate labeled as M4s, ammo, boxes of grenades—stacked end to end, floor to ceiling. “Damn,” he said with excitement. “Get a count on these.”

  He went to the next car and was equally impressed. The entire boxcar was filled with MREs and boxes of various canned goods. He couldn’t begin to guess how many there were, but easily a week’s worth of full rations, for his whole force and the fleeing fighters he had linked up with alike.

  He slid the heavy metal door shut and went to the final car. Inside were cardboard boxes with all sorts of labels. First-aid kits. Backpacks with water-container inserts. Those amazing Lifestraw water filters that weighed damn near nothing. Aluminum mess kits. Night-vision goggles. Boots. Myriad supplies of all sorts. He closed that door, too, and turned to Ratbone.

  Ratbone stared at him, eyes wide, with a silly grin on his face. “Boss, we got an army’s worth of supplies here. And lo and behold, we got an army that needs supplies. You’re back in business.”

  Nestor felt himself smiling back. “Yes indeed. Find out who wants to join the Night Ghosts, and dole out supplies to everyone who joins us. Those who want to leave can go, but they leave their supplies with us.”

  Ratbone said, “For sure. What do you want to do with the prisoners? We can kill them and leave their bodies in the rail cars, if you want.”

  Nestor shrugged. “See who wants to join us. The rest, send them off with their own gear, but no weapons. Let’s get the cargo unloaded and distributed. I want to be done with all this by dawn. We got a fight to get back into.”

  As Ratbone strode away to follow the orders, Nestor thought about what this stroke of luck meant for him. For one, their pursuers would be in for a terrible surprise when they caught up to him near dawn, if they were still tracking him. For another, he’d now have a full battalion of armed guerrillas to throw into the war to the east. The enemy didn’t know where he was or how many fighters were under his command, now, which made him once again the thing he most loved being—a wildcard.

  About time you got your balls back.

  Nestor grinned. Not even that psycho in his head could bring down his mood that night. “It’s time to get wild again,” he replied. “So many targets, so little time.”

  - 17 -

  0400 HOURS - ZERO DAY +385

  CARL WOKE UP to the sound of tapping on his door. He rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand. “What is it?”

  The door opened a crack, then wider. His assistant for the early morning shift poked his head in. That meant it must be after 2:00 a.m. He said, “Alpha, scouts have returned with a report on Sunshine’s location. I thought you’d want to know immediately.”

  Even before he had finished his sentence, Carl had staggered out of bed, searching for clothes. He got on a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, but didn’t bother with shoes. “Let’s go.”

  His assistant led him downstairs. Two women stood near the door, talking quietly, but they stopped when Carl came down. Both put their clenched right hands over their hearts for a second. One said, “Alpha, we found her.”

  “Where is she?”

  The two women exchanged a glance. “She was seized by a small force of Mountain troops. SpecOps, we think, but can’t be sure. They took her, then holed up just outside of Harrisburg across the river. Now they’re just camping, like they’re waiting for something. She’s bound, but she’s alive.”


  Carl felt his pulse spike, and the room suddenly felt hot. Sunshine was alive, for now. Why the hell would the Mountain kidnap Sunshine, of all the Band leaders they might have targeted? He realized it must have just been because her Band’s territory was the one closest to the west wall, least defended area through which to infiltrate. Nothing else made sense.

  “How far from here?”

  “An hour. Maybe two. There are twelve soldiers, seemingly divided into groups of four.”

  The assistant returned, and Carl gladly accepted a cup of coffee. “Very well. Gather our fighters and our battlecars. That whole area is a moshpit right now, with Empire, FreeRep, guerrillas, and Mountain all duking it out. We may have to fight our way through. Horses for my Guards Company. Bikes for as many others as possible. Move out in one hour.”

  His assistant left, and Carl gave cups of coffee to the two scouts while they waited for word the fighters were mobilized. They accepted with wide, amazed eyes—what better way to ensure loyalty than the occasional undeserved gift? Coffee was like gold, now. Then he went upstairs to get dressed and ready for a fight.

  While he was upstairs, the scouts left to muster with the other Timber Wolf fighters, and Carl spent the rest of the time going over maps and intel reports. Johnstown had fallen, and the entire area between there and Harrisburg was a mess. The Mountain’s well-equipped soldiers were turning the tide against the Free Republic and their Confederation allies.

  In fact, there was a report that at one key moment in the battle for Johnstown, two fighter jets had basically incinerated the west edge of town, clearing the way for enemy soldiers to advance into town. That report was unconfirmed, and there hadn’t been other such reports, but it was cause for concern. He decided to treat it as truth even without corroboration. That meant that any battle he hoped to win would have to be an all-or-nothing assault en masse to avoid giving jets a good target. Air power now was more of a game-changer than ever before, yet assaults like that meant high casualties on both sides. It sucked.