Karl shook his hand and smiled his mouth full of gravestone teeth.
“Sir Commander, the pleasure is all mine. Let me introduce you to my officers.”
Karl turned to his men, and full and proper introductions were made. The commander slicked back his dark hair with a palm and introduced his lieutenants, Viktor and Ivan. All three men were of similar stature, yet the lieutenants both had blond hair in contrast to the commander’s. Ivan walked with an obvious limp, and his right ear was chewed up with scars.
“I can say for myself and for my men,” Karl said, raising a wineglass from the table, “the journey was well worth the effort to be received with such a considerable welcoming.”
The men all found and raised their glasses.
They stood lingering for a time as the commander spoke to Sultan about his travels. Then at his instruction, they took their seats. A small table was set away from the long one, and Karl sat with the commander alone. Soldiers came out from the nearest building, carrying large plates of breads, dried meat, and grilled fish, and placed them on the table before the men, who tore into the food with their dirty fingers and combat knives, largely ignoring the present cutlery. Talk and laughter rose from the table as the wineglasses were drained and replenished. Separate plates were brought to Karl’s table, the steam from the fresh-baked bread lingering in the air like something that could be felt, seen, and touched.
Karl and the commander spoke of trivial matters, of travel, survival, and of the disease, as the first bottles of wine drained. The eternal question of why was pondered, much to Karl’s dismay. Why did the disease happen? Why did humanity have to perish? Rubbish questions, which Karl found both infuriating and overthought. The answer was simple: it happened. Case closed.
The commander refilled their glasses and said, “Sultan informed me that you discovered a settlement south of here.”
“That’s correct,” Karl said, and took a tear of dried meat.
“That settlement is known to me. It goes by Hightown, and the men behind those walls are fierce.”
“I gathered as much. Military, I presume.”
“That’s right.” The commander stopped to sip at his wine. “Our own scouts discovered it last fall.”
“I have to say, your English is impressive. Your accent is barely a whisper.”
“I spent several years in the US when I was younger.” He put his glass down. “Now, this town, Hightown, we’ve been watching them for months. They not only maintain a strong number of fighting men, they have something else at their disposal even more valuable than all their vehicles and equipment combined.” He paused and took another sip of wine.
Karl patted his pocket for a cigar and said, “You can spare me the dramatic delay, Sir Commander. Go on.”
The commander gave him an amused look and said, “Please, General, have one of mine.” He motioned to a soldier at his side and the man arrived carrying a box of cigars. “Hightown,” he continued, “controls the import of fuel. It arrives by ship on a regular basis. The ship travels from the south, from where, I do not know.”
Karl’s eyebrow rose. “You don’t say?”
“I do. Not only that, but they trade their fuel for a steady supply of clean water and fresh food from our friends in the south, Alice.”
“Hmm,” Karl mumbled, and struck a match to light a cigar. “We saw one of their cargo transports during our march here. But tell me, why haven’t you intercepted the fuel boats?”
“Several reasons. One is that they travel escorted by two warships.”
“Warships?” Karl waved across the horizon. “That shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
“It wouldn’t be if we had sufficient fuel ourselves, but we only have enough to power two ships for a short duration. We could run out before the battle is won. Do you know how much fuel these ships burn?”
Karl didn’t answer.
“The other reason is this; if we attack, if we capture the cargo vessel and steal their fuel, we would eliminate what appears to be a steady supply. We could perhaps track them back to wherever they’re coming from, but for all we know, they’re arriving from an even more heavily fortified city than Hightown.”
“Surely the cargo ships would have enough to power some of these vessels, and keep your people happy for a long stretch.”
“But not enough for what we need.”
Karl took a deep inhale and let the smoke out slowly.
“And how much, roughly, do you need? Is your goal to establish a running navy?”
The commander shook his head.
“No, General.”
“It’s Karl. Call me Karl.”
“It is not my intention to start a navy. However, if you would like to start one, by all means, you are welcome to do so.” The man met Karl’s eyes and took a cigar from the box.
“You’re stepping down?”
“No,” the commander said. “Not stepping down. Leaving.”
Karl smiled. “Leaving? Ha! Have you been out there, in the world? You have it pretty good here.”
“Home, General—”
“Karl.”
“Home, Karl. I’m going home. Myself along with Ivan and Viktor—we were still traveling to the US when the sickness hit and spread. It was decided mid-trip to continue to America instead of turning back, since we were closer by a margin. By the time we docked, over three-fourths of our men were dead, thrown overboard. Two days later, the radio stopped working and the phone lines wouldn’t connect to Russia. We were stranded here with no crew and not enough fuel for a return trip.”
“What do you expect to see when you get home? It won’t be any better, I assure you.”
“Perhaps. But this is the way we see it: we can die on foreign land or we can die at home. Perhaps we have some family that was spared.”
“And your men, they are willing to go with you?”
“Some, but not all.”
Karl looked at the scene around him, the table of his soldiers and the soldiers of the docks. A dozen or so stood nearby with platters of food, alcohol, and cigars. He looked to the boats, sitting idle.
“How many men do you have?”
“You’ll have to ask Viktor for the exact number, but it’s about eleven hundred.”
“Out there?” Karl pointed. “In the boats?”
“Yes. Mostly. There is no need to keep the men on land. A revolving guard watches the perimeter, and if anything other than a few wanderers comes to our fences, the men fall back, and the boats act as our fortress.”
Karl nodded. “Like I said, you have it pretty good here. How many men want to leave with you?”
“Out of the group, only five are Russian. Another hundred or so are eager to follow me, to see if the rest of the world is as broken as it is here. I’ve spent months teaching them how to operate the ships. The rest would like to stay. I made it clear that they are not being abandoned; they will be provided with adequate leadership. Before finding Hightown, seeing the fuel come in, we had every intention of merging our groups and attacking Alice for our mutual benefit. Plans have changed.”
“I think I see where this is going.”
The commander exhaled a cloud of smoke and finished his glass of wine. A man promptly came to his side with the bottle. The commander put his hand over the glass. “I believe something harder is in order. Karl, do you have a preference?”
“Whiskey. Any kind.”
The soldier turned and left.
“The men can all be yours,” the commander continued. “Along with the fleet.” He motioned to the docks. “All of the boats are in working order. With fuel, you can scour the seas, sail to Florida, Bermuda, or Cuba in no time at all. You would have a floating city with the best protection available—the ocean.”
Karl took a puff of his cigar as the soldier returned with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. He poured a shallow drink in each and stepped back.
“Come here,” Karl said, and took the bottle from the soldier’s h
and. He filled their glasses to the rim and put the bottle on the table.
The commander laughed and picked up his glass.
Karl drained half in a gulp, then said, “So tell me, Sir Commander, you are presenting me with both an army and a fleet of ships … what’s your price? What do you want from me?”
“I think it’s obvious,” he said. “Fuel. I need fuel, and plenty of it. I want you, Karl Metzger, to get it.”
“Why not get it yourself?”
“You’ve seen the walls of Hightown. You know it would be a hard battle.”
“And you want me to fight it for you?”
“Not exactly. From what I’ve been told, you are crafty, to say the least. You’ve gotten inside of other settlements, destroyed them from within without heavy losses. What I have for you is a proposition. You get me the fuel supply and you will have the largest known army in the world. A navy. Renegotiate whatever the trade deal is that they have going on with the fuel ships. You can have unrestricted access to the seas. Your officer, Captain Liam, is it?”
“Yes. Liam Briggs.”
“Captain Briggs. I’ve been told that he can operate a vessel. I will catch him up to speed with our fleet and train some of your men on how to operate them. We can start tomorrow if we make a deal tonight.”
Karl finished his glass and remained silent. After a pause, he poured another drink and said, “Hightown is powerful, but I think we could win a fight if we use one of your warships, use what fuel you’ve got. We could attack from the water and the front at the same time. From what we know of Alice, they’re not as capable as Hightown, and they’re not genuine military. They may not counterattack, but if they do, we can defend the town with our vessels.”
“No,” the commander said. “I can’t risk burning what fuel we have. If it weren’t to succeed, the docks would be left with little defenses.”
“And if I attack the front alone, I will be left with nothing.”
“That is why this is a proposition. We are not joining forces quite yet; we are coming to terms. However, if you agree, I will supply you with incentives. A bonus, if you will.” He stopped to sip from the glass.
“And that being…? What did I say about pausing for dramatic effect? Just fucking talk.”
“Ha! That’s what I like about you. An upfront man. All right, here it is. I will supply five hundred men toward the initiative, along with a number of ground vehicles. We don’t have any tanks, but there are dozens of jeeps and hummers in storage. I will provide what fuel I can spare for those vehicles, but you will have to supply the rest. I’m under the impression that you have some yourself, and I believe you aim to attack Masterson in the foreseeable future. Our scouts have reported the same as yours: an indication of fuel consumption, power, and electricity, albeit they seem to be small in number.”
Karl leaned back and put his boots up on the table, a slab of dirt falling to the wooden top.
“And what’s to stop me from taking what you offer and disappearing?”
“Well, for starters, the five hundred men are loyal to me. They will follow you to war without so much as a pause, but they will not accept treason and deception. Secondly—and I believe this is the stronger case—you, Karl, want this. You need this. The world can only get bigger for you through force and war, and once yours, you can inflict upon it whatever you desire. I’ve been told something about you. The other men—all other men—they take treasure from their forays. Some collect objects of sexual desire, others seek narcotics, and there are the more twisted who amass physical objects, such as teeth, or cut away the ears of their slain. From what I understand, you are something of a frugal man, despite the riches your army encounters. You could have whatever you want, yet you sleep alone, and desire only cigars, whiskey, and a solid meal. But you don’t stop moving forward; your feet continue marching. I believe your true ambition, the treasure that you receive, is the battles themselves. You’re addicted to warfare, deceiving your enemy, and the thrill of victory. Am I reading you correctly?”
Karl flicked an ash from his cigar. “Perhaps,” he said, amused. “Or perhaps I’m content to see the world come to its knees, one inch at a time. As far as how to attack Hightown, I again must implore you to reconsider using one of your warships. They’re sitting idle, a tremendous waste of firepower: floating death machines. But if an attack on foot is the only recourse, I believe the key to bringing them down is through Alice. Make them fall first. Cut off Hightown’s supply of water and food, or use Alice’s own people to attack Hightown’s gates if their minds are pliable enough to be led in this manner. It still won’t be an easy fight, not by any means. Our numbers will be high, but against tanks and hardened defenses?” Karl puffed at his cigar and took a swig from the glass. “I’m starting to see this all come together.”
“I believe you are, General. You’re an observant man, to say the least.” The captain took a drink from his glass, and was silent in contemplation. Then he said, “Perhaps … perhaps, if Alice falls—”
“When Alice falls,” Karl corrected him.
“When Alice falls, I will lend more of my men to the ground assault … and maybe we can work out sending a ship or two into the bay. At that point, without the risk of a counterattack from Alice, we will be better suited to throw our full strength against the might of Hightown.”
“Captain,” Karl said, turning to the man. “Attacking from the land and sea, we would be unstoppable.”
“Karl, I do believe that we have a promising future. Working together, we will both prosper. Tell you what, how about we stop talking about such things for a while? How about we drink more, hmm? Let me give you a proper tour, show you the fleet up close. I have a fine selection of prisoners locked in the rooms for you and your men to enjoy. We can discuss plans later, tomorrow.” The commander leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the table.
Karl took a last inhale of his cigar and flicked the nub into the water, where it trailed a cascade of smoke. He tapped the half-empty bottle of bourbon with the toe of his boot. “Hope you got more of this,” he said, putting his hands behind his head, feeling the sun spread warmth on his face.
“Plenty more.” The commander motioned to the soldier beside him and took another two cigars from the box. “Later tonight,” he said, “we will discuss our future.”
Chapter Twenty
Turncoat
For three days and two nights, the four scouts remained in the woods outside Hightown, observing from afar the recurring pattern of the guards, who walked in squads of three down a well-worn path, less than a quarter mile from Hightown’s front gate. They would begin in the easternmost section, first thing in the morning, and then pass again in the early evening, peering from side to side for the slightest indication of a disturbance.
From deep in the brush, with binoculars pressed to their eyes, the scouts examined the soldier’s clean, dark green camouflage army fatigues, tactical helmets, and bulletproof vests. They were armed with automatic machine guns, holstered pistols, and full ammunition pouches on their belts and vests. The crackling of their handheld radios could sometimes be heard, faint across their distance, yet in startling contrast to the calm wilderness.
On the third morning the plan was set in motion. A half hour before the guards were expected, three of the scouts took up position behind an earthen mound, directly on the path of the oncoming soldiers. They’d been instructed to begin shooting once the guards passed a sycamore tree that had been marked with a notch. Sergeant Iain Marcus crouched several yards to the south, so that the path was right before him, and his three men behind the mound were far to his left.
The scouts waited as instructed, one of them peering out at the sycamore tree. They were ordered to fire precise, clean shots, and not spray the guards with bullet fire, so as to not ruin their uniforms with an abundance of holes and blood.
The seconds ticked away in the quiet. The slightest chirp of birds or scurrying of small woodland animals sent Iain�
�s senses darting through the thicket. A small black tick with a fat torso and a head like a poppy seed scurried across his hand and down his forearm. He flicked it away … and then he heard it. The crunching of boots. The low murmuring of whispering. He peered out, saw through the vertical slats of trees the three guards make their lazy round as the sun rose up from behind them.
Each step they took seemed an eternity as Iain clicked the safety off his machine gun and pressed the butt of the stock against his shoulder, ready to spring to his feet.
The guards passed before him, three distant drifts of dark camouflage, and continued toward the awaiting scouts. He saw the sycamore tree … saw the three men step up to it …
One pop cut through the air and the branches above fluttered with the sudden evacuation of birds. One of the guards fell backwards, making a half spin to land facedown. The two other soldiers instinctually dropped to their stomachs and scurried off the path. They grabbed their fallen comrade by the collar and dragged him behind the side of a fallen tree.
Bullet shots rang out from both sides. Iain watched the leaves and branches between the two fighting sides quiver, and chunks of wood and bark shot out from where the bullets struck. The guards shouted, but whatever they were saying was lost to him.
Staying low, Iain closed his eyes. He sharpened his hearing as the nearby bullets whizzed back and forth, and took a deep breath … then he snapped his eyes open and jumped to his feet, running, weaving through the trees.
He was behind the guards, and beyond them, the helmets of his three scouts stuck up from the mound, their rifles aimed. At sight of their sergeant, they peered further out, waiting for Iain to finish off the soldiers, as was the plan.
One of Hightown’s guards caught sight of Iain standing behind them, and his eyes flashed in terror. The remaining two soldiers lay in pools of blood, one unmoving and his eyes unfocused, the other clenching a wound on his thigh, his free hand holding a pistol. The uninjured soldier swung his rifle in Iain’s direction just as the sergeant released a volley of bullets in three methodical pulls of the trigger.
Butcher Rising Page 12