Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall (18 page)

“So you aren’t going to tell me to stay and fight? At the meeting you said you’d like it if I stayed, but now you don’t have an opinion?” Cassy smiled at Choony. The last few days had seen them speaking like this more often. Choony was a good guy to bounce ideas off of, it had turned out.

“Of course I have an opinion. I think you should stay, because I don’t trust this Peter to keep his word. That being the case—and given the Clan’s determination to fight back if needed, rather than flee or submit and hope it wouldn’t end horribly—they need your leadership. On the other hand, if you believe Peter would honor a deal and you feel your life is worth giving to avoid more bloodshed, I would honor your decision. To give your life for theirs has great honor, and I’d earnestly hope to see you in my next life.”

“But you don’t think I should go. I can tell,” Cassy said. “Otherwise, you would have said that. I don’t always agree with you, but I believe you always tell the truth as you see it.”

Choony said, “Peter’s kind is poisonous on the inside, and their poison withers everything it touches. I don’t think you believe his intentions either, not fully. And I think you came up here to talk yourself into going. You’re telling yourself that it’s for the good of your family—”

“It is,” Cassy interrupted.

“But sneaking out in the night doesn’t shout confidence,” Choony said. “It tells me, if I’m right about how you process information and decisions, that you have given up. You despair of victory, so for the sake of your family you will surrender and hope it goes well. I think
you
think that some chance is better than none. You want to believe in wishful thinking, but you find it’s harder than you expected. That’s why you came up here. Though whatever you decide, I think you know the deep honor I will hold you in.”

Cassy pursed her lips and furrowed her brow in frustration. “Dammit, Choony. You are as confusing as ever. What the hell should I do with that gem of wisdom? Of course I’d rather give my people a chance, any chance, even at the cost of my life.”

Choony didn’t reply at first. He chewed on his piece of straw, leaned back on both elbows, and sat in silence. Finally, he said, “Cassy, if you sneak out to surrender, coming from despair and fear, you only
think
you do it for your family. In fact, you would be doing it because you’ve given up, not because it was your Right Thing. If you do that, you only drive fear and despair into your people. You’re their leader, and they’ll follow your lead in whatever you do, but the fear that drove you to submit would infect them all. Do you suppose a man like Peter would miss such a change in their aura? If you don’t believe in auras, call it their ‘vibe’ or ‘energy’ or ‘body language,’ whatever. The point is, you may delay their doom by submitting, but you will practically guarantee it comes, and soon. That’s just how I see it, of course. What do I know? I’m just a chemistry major who won’t pick up a gun.”

It was Cassy’s turn to sit in silence for a while. Damn that Choony, he was probably right. About all of it. It was really hard to think clearly through all the fear, uncertainty, and doubt she felt dragging at every thought. She really would be taking a coward’s way out by surrendering, as counterintuitive as that felt. Would her people have the iron will to fight and persevere if she did what she’d intended? To be honest—and damn that Choony anyway for making her face it—she really had intended to sneak out and surrender with no one watching. Maybe she wanted to convince herself that her mind hadn’t been made up, but in her heart of hearts she knew the truth. And of course, Peter would strike hard when he saw the fear and confusion among the Clanners, no matter what his intentions were originally. If he’d ever intended to keep his word. Choony didn’t believe that and really, neither did Cassy.

She turned to Choony and smiled. “Thanks for coming up. I think I’ve come to respect your opinion, and your motives, despite our earlier conflict. Or rather,
my
earlier conflict. Anyway, let’s go back down to the farm. I’m sure people will be wondering where we went if we’re not back soon. I think maybe tomorrow we’ll have a party, a celebration of life. It may be our last, after all, and I have a barrel of apple cider that we should drink while we can. I don’t intend for those looters to have it if things go sideways.”

She hopped off the haystack, waited for Choony, and the two walked side by side back to the homestead, leaving the animals asleep behind them. For some reason, she felt good now, better than any time since Peter’s insanity arrived at their border.

* * *

0200 HOURS - ZERO DAY +27

Cassy woke to the sound of gunfire. It came from up on the hill where their chickens, goats, and hogs rested—when they weren’t being used to intensively graze a plot of land—but it didn’t sound like the shots were aimed at the homestead. Hard to tell, with the rifle reports bouncing off the hill, the trees, the buildings. She scrambled to her feet, grabbed the M4 next to her bed, and charged out of the farmhouse. Outside, a trickle of other Clanners was turning into a flood as just about everyone awoke and came out with their weapons ready. Cassy observed with a chill that they looked afraid. A lot would depend on how she acted now. Damn.

“Michael, get defenses organized! Mueller and Sturm, recon that hilltop!” Cassy shouted over the din, her voice rising high and clear.
 

The milling, frightened Clanners seemed to suddenly change gears at the sound of her voice directing them. People sprinted away toward their positions, determination clear on their faces, while others quickly but calmly herded the children into the bulletproof earthbag house. The rest formed a perimeter, prone in the dirt, and the sentry in the little guard tower sounded the airhorn. “A little late, whoever’s on duty,” she muttered to herself, then called to those who could hear, “That’s great, people. Now let’s make our practice pay off!”
 

She heard random shouts in return as she ran to her own position inside the farmhouse, at the upstairs windows.

A couple minutes later, her little hand-held radio crackled. Mueller’s voice came through the static: “Scout team to base. OpFor has retreated. They’ve seized assets—our pigs and goats—and faded away before we could engage them. There is also a note here. Scout team exfiltrating engagement area, returning to base. Stay frosty, people.”

Cassy heard two brief exchanges over the radio between Michael and Mueller, then her radio again went silent. She waited for Mueller and Sturm to return, and the two minutes it took seemed like two years. Finally, Mueller entered her upstairs room with a paper in his hand. She wouldn’t leave her post until Michael cleared everyone to stand down, as Mueller knew, so he had come to her. He handed the paper to her, his face a neutral mask that Cassy couldn’t read.

She looked down at the folded piece of printer paper and saw crude handwriting in blue pen. It read simply, “Consider this a warning. Decision is due by next dusk. If you comply with terms, we will consider these animals to be part of our half of your supplies. Those who stand against our just cause will be dealt as you’d expect. We are coming for the spy in any case. Lovingly yours, Peter Ixin, White Stag Farms.”

A flood of relief washed over Cassy, and the room reeled. She’d almost surrendered to this monster, yet he couldn’t even honor the time they’d agreed upon for the Clan to decide. Thank God Choony had talked her out of going… No, the die was now well and truly cast, and Cassy swore to kill that sonofabitch before this mess was over, even if it cost her life to do it.

- 10 -

0600 HRS - ZERO DAY +28

CASSY LISTENED AS Michael briefed the defenders. His voice was calm and level, yet it carried over the crowd, and Cassy again marveled at that military bark of his. “Remember, Clanners, if you have one of our M4s it’s because you’re a
good shot
, but this weapon will fire up to sixty times faster than its ability to cool down. What this means is that on burst, its
sustainable
rate of fire is only twelve or so per minute in a lengthy firefight. If you engage in prolonged intensive fire, then you must provide adequate cool-down time or it will overheat. Remember your training and fire deliberately. Your goal is to
kill the enemy
, not fire off all your ammo. Remember to use your pistol if your primary weapon gets hot! We can’t replace those M4s. Any questions?”

A woman’s hand rose. She carried a Remington 700 rifle—bolt action, slow, but accurate. “Are there any more of the M4s? This rifle is painfully slow.”

Michael didn’t even break stride to look to see who was speaking when he replied, “No, they all went to the top marksmen among us. But there’s no such thing as a bad weapon, only bad warriors. No one here is a bad warrior, but we only have so many Mil-grade weapon systems available. Next?”

No more hands went up. It had been a lengthy briefing as Michael and Cassy went over every aspect of the defense plan with the assembled Clanners. Over a dozen with M4s, and two dozen with other weapons ranging from bolt-action hunting rifles to shotguns. Grenades were given to those with military training, but there could never be enough of them to make Cassy feel well supplied.

As Cassy ran through the plan and contingencies in her head, Choony walked up to her, a tense smile on his face by way of greeting. “Hi Cassy, got a minute?”

“Not really,” Cassy said. “We have more things to do than time to do it in, as always. But what’s up? Walk with me while I inspect the foxholes. Or ‘fighting pits’ as Michael calls ’em.” Cassy walked toward the first of the pits, with Choony at her side. He seemed calm, not frightened, and she wished she had that kind of courage. He and Mandy both seemed to have it. Maybe it was a “faith” thing.

“While we still have the chance, Cassy, I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to stay. I know I disappointed you when I declined to take part in the gun violence, but I assure you I’ll work hard and will be useful in other ways. Michael tasked me with running ammo to the field positions, if anyone runs out, and getting any wounded to our makeshift first aid station in the unfinished earthbag house. You can believe me when I promise I won’t fail our people in this duty, so long as I still breathe.”

Cassy stopped mid-stride, then turned to face a rather surprised Choony. The guy was rock solid, and here he was thanking her for putting him into what Michael said was one of the most dangerous roles in the coming battle. She spared a quick prayer of thanks that God—if He was up there listening—had put them in the way of meeting this amazing young man. Cassy put her hand out to shake his, and when he took the offer and shook, she gave him one slow nod of approval.
 

And then she was on her way again, with more things to do than time to do them in. Peter was coming, at an unknown time and with an unknown plan of attack. Michael had put their odds of survival at fifty-fifty, and Cassy hoped that wasn’t overly generous.

* * *

0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +28

Cassy stood with Michael in the guard tower, which gave them the best view of the property. They wouldn’t stay there when the fighting started, of course; she and Michael would be in the loft of her house manning radios and issuing commands, keeping track of the battle’s progress. They’d both swapped their M4s for bolt-action rifles, good for sniping from their position and freeing the more combat-effective weapons for the people doing most of the real fighting and dying. Hopefully more fighting than dying.

Cassy looked out at the vista of her property and the land beyond, and felt a certain solid pride at all she’d accomplished in turning the property from an overgrazed wasteland into a verdant oasis. The house sat halfway up the gentle slope that distinguished her property. The earthbag house now under construction, the guard tower, several sheds, and the tent enclave all sat with the main house in a roughly circular cluster on the gentle hillside.
 

North of the house, farther uphill, was a series of swales and berms where the farm collected and channeled rainwater, slowing it down so it could infiltrate the soil thoroughly before draining as runoff into the collection ponds. The entire area was a food forest—fruit and nut trees with dozens of companion plant varieties. Beyond that, at the top of the hill, were grassy paddocks for livestock, though the animals were now gone thanks to Peter’s earlier raid. Normally, the animals’ natural wastes would leech into the ground or flow down into the swales, keeping their nutrients in use as they meandered down the hill over time.

The problem with that setup was that the food forest blocked the view to the north and gave any approaching enemy excellent cover and concealment. Michael had constructed the sniper nest he wanted and also a second one, there in the trees. Those snipers would hopefully hold off any approaching attackers, who had to travel over open ground to get to the trees, and the trees themselves blocked the enemy from sniping at the farm’s defenders from the hilltop. It was still their weakest area, however.

To the east and west of the homestead lay interconnected ponds with thick foliage growing on their shores, holding the soil together and incidentally making attack from those directions difficult. The sniper nests in the woods to the north each overlooked one of the ponds as well, and they’d create a high casualty rate for any enemy trying to swim across the ponds.

To the south, the other half of the homestead consisted mostly of the Jungle, that maze of growing things and food plants carefully balanced by Cassy to keep the soil renewed and healthy. Its seemingly arbitrary lack of pattern had been dictated by the curves, dips, and rises of the land itself and by the nature of the surrounding plants. Now the resulting Jungle would impede movement unless they followed the network of paths, which branched out repeatedly the farther from the house they went. Anyone coming through would be channeled into only a handful of exit points as they approached the house, and Michael and the Marines had densely booby-trapped both the paths and, especially, the growing areas between them.