July 17th, 2016
We had been travelling for over two weeks, pushing the horses as fast as we dared in the intense heat, and we were only halfway to Maine. The reports I had received were infrequent and grim; the Canadians were still providing extra fighters to the rebels who were fighting against those men and women in Augusta who were trying to surrender to the Republic.
Timing, however was with us. We had crossed over into Canada this morning, and the weather had cooled and dampened, rain falling as fog rolled out before us, hiding our presence as we approached the fort that held the Canadian allies we were here to stop.
The small town of Hamilton had been turned into an enormous fort with high walls, preventing anyone from entering unless they had enough heavy artillery to break down the walls. Unfortunately for us, we didn't have more than shotguns, handguns, bows and arrows, and one or two automatic weapons—not nearly enough for an assault against the fort.
What we did have was surprise on our side now that night was falling. The Plains Nation fighters and our militia worked together to create grappling hooks, securing them for our assent over the walls as the sky darkened fully.
From the rear of the lines I watched as the men and women scaled the walls, their boots barely making a noise against the wood. Each was equipped with multiple guns, knives, bows and arrows, and a few very nasty surprises.
Nearly five minutes passed before we heard the sound of shouts from within the fort, quickly escalating to screams. I watched as flashes of gunfire went off, the screams growing more frequent, shouts for help echoing through the night as the battle seemed to grow more pitched.
I leaned forward on Beda, squinting to try and see what was happening. Small figures were rappelling back down the walls, others running out of the now open gates. I watched in earnest, counting softly beneath my breath, nervously waiting for our people to make it out of the fort safely.
"710, 711, 712" I whispered, eyes firmly on the fort. "713, 714, 715, 716…come on you bastards, come on!" I hissed. Less than five seconds later there was an enormous thumping noise, followed by a rush of air as multiple explosions ignited within the fort, blowing holes within the walls and setting the fort afire.
"Yes! Damn right!" I crowed, slapping Beda's neck eagerly. As our men and women returned they eagerly dumped guns and ammunition in the wagons, as much as they had been able to carry before the fort was torched.
Destroying the fort and killing those within it wasn't the first option or even the third that I would have chosen, but when it came down to making a decision, it was the best for taking out a troublesome spot of rebellion along the Republic's border, despite how distasteful I found it.
As the men and women of the militia came back safely with minor wounds, the Plains Nations fighters mingled in with them, I had to admit that the plan my advisors had suggested had worked.
Nudging Beda gently, I turned her back towards my tent and waved to the returning fighters, murmuring words of praise and encouragement, knowing that we may have lost people this night and they would need to know that I cared about them and their sacrifice.
Dismounting, I began to brush down Beda, having ridden her bareback to watch the night's events.
"Ambassador Flynn?" a hesitant voice spoke from behind me, male and soft. I sighed, recognizing Dale's voice.
Pasting on a false smile I peered at him over my shoulder, "What's up Dale?" I replied. He smiled back hesitantly and stepped closer, tucking his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching forward.
"My dad wanted me to get fighting experience, and, well; I haven't really gotten any so far." He glanced up at me apologetically as he explained, as though I would start yelling at him and I repressed an annoyed sigh.
If I wasn't expecting the kid to turn on us and lead an internal rebellion, I might actually feel bad for him and like him. Shaking my head gently, I smiled at him, "Dale, we've talked about this. You're going to lead the fight in Augusta. You've been extremely helpful in the tactical meetings—it was your idea to bomb the fort!" I encouraged him.
Dale smiled, looking more at ease, his shoulders straightening, his jaw firmer as he nodded, "Yea, okay, thank you. Uh, let me know if I can help any more, okay?" he offered.
I nodded, "I will, thank you Dale. Good night" I murmured firmly, effectively dismissing him. He nodded eagerly and turned, walking away quickly, leaving me in relative peace once more.
Hobbling Beda and tying her close to my tent, I patted her on the neck as she cropped grass contentedly before I entered my tent. "Hello Ambassador," a dry female voice spoke from the dark corner.
My heart pulsed and squeezed in my chest and I pulled my gun from its holster, searching the darkness for a figure, trying to get my eyes to adjust.
The woman scoffed, "Terrible technique, who the hell taught you?"
Irrationally, I started to grow angry at the unseen person. "Someone who was very good with weapons, much better than I'll ever be," I snapped back. As my retinas adjusted to the gloomy light in the tent I could see a lumpy figure in the corner rise and begin to approach. I focused my gun on center mass and frowned at the woman's unflappability in the face of a weapon in her face.
When a sliver of faint light from outside fell through a crack in the tent and across her face I lowered my gun, exhaling sharply. "Fucking Christ Maggie, you scared me. What the hell was that about?" I demanded.
She eyed me solemnly for a moment before shaking her head, "Better question is, why the hell is that kid still alive?" she demanded.
I holstered my gun and shook my head, "Maggie, I can't just have him killed; we'd lose the Plains Nation fighters. We need them in Augusta. When we get there I'm making sure that it's taken care of. Don't worry."
Maggie frowned deeply at me, "I do worry. You're not a spy, and you're not a killer. You're supposed to be a diplomat. You sure you can make these decisions?" she asked firmly, staring me steadfastly in the eye.
I stared into her eyes and felt my mouth grow dry at her words. I swallowed hard before answering, "I've killed people Maggie, trust me, I've got blood on my hands. I can make sure this gets taken care of," I assured her.
Her lined face became, incredibly, more furrowed as she frowned at me. "We'll see," she murmured, her gaze thoughtful. She stepped carefully around me and headed for the tent flap, pausing for a moment at the entrance.
"How many people have you actually killed kid?" she called back to me softly.
I inhaled sharply and thought rapidly, who counted? Did Joe? I didn't get him medicine soon enough, that was my fault…What about Hannah and her family? I could have saved them! No…she means people I've actually, purposefully killed.
After a moment I spoke, my voice soft, wary. "35" I murmured, my stomach twisting, acid burning my throat as I remembered each and every face that I had ever taken. I lifted a shaky hand to my mouth, biting back bile and the need to vomit.
Maggie nodded slowly, "Let me know how you feel when you add that fort to your conscience. And all the people that this militia kills to build your Republic. Famine, plague, war…it's a lot of blood to build an empire," she murmured.
I took deep breaths and tried not to let her words overwhelm me, trying to focus on all the good we had planned for the Republic, all the people we had helped.
"You're a regular ray of sunshine Maggie," I muttered, running a hand over my face as I sat down on my cot, too tired to stand any longer.
"I won't sugarcoat shit kid; you got too many people to do that for you. You need to know what it's really like to build and control an empire. It ain't pretty, easy, or fun. If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, get the hell out now."
I nodded and tugged my hair out of its tight bun, sighing in relief as it spilled to my shoulders, "I'll keep that in mind, thanks Maggie."
She nodded and a moment later there was a soft brushing noise as the tent flap opened and whispered closed, her exit as quiet as her entrance.
I sat for a long time that night, listening to the fort burn, my own heart on fire with the words that Maggie had put there. The stench of burning wood and flesh pervaded my dreams, torturing me with images of blackened hands, reaching for me, pulling me into the flames as faceless men and women screamed for revenge.
Come morning I had dark circles beneath my eyes but I was prepared for the road ahead. Tucking my hair into a tight bun I brushed through my tent flaps and nodded to the militia guards standing outside, heading for the smoldering remains of the fort.
By the time I arrived there I had a contingency of thirty men and women with me, gathered from within the camp, some with shovels, others with nothing but their hands. I looked over the group collected before me and nodded grimly, "What we did here was necessary, but it shouldn't be considered the good thing to do, or the right thing to do. Killing shouldn't be easy. It should weigh on us, make us question who we are at night. Today we will bury the dead."
I turned and walked into the remains of the fort, walking carefully on the muddy ground as I approached a fallen corpse, lifting my bandana up over my nose. Crouching down, I stuck my hands under the woman's arms and lifted her, aided by a militia man, and carried her outside the remains of the walls.
Those with shovels began digging graves as we pulled bodies, and soon a rhythm was found. When those who were finding bodies needed a break, they took over digging graves. When nearly four hours had passed, I called a break for everyone, encouraging them to eat and take time away from the fort.
I sat by myself under a large oak tree, enjoying the cool wind that blew across my sweaty face, gnawing on a stale piece of bread and an even harder piece of venison jerky, wondering what Bass and Miles were up to, missing them.
I ran a hand over my stomach absently, feeling slightly hollow and sad. I had written a letter to Bass explaining what had happened, but had been unable to send it with the packet of others; it had seemed far too heartless a way to tell him he had lost yet another child.
I found myself over the past weeks of travel missing that which I had never even had; a pregnancy, the ability to hold a child in my arms, hearing its soft cries and smelling its sweet skin. I wondered if the baby would have looked like Bass with his sharp blue eyes, or have my darker complexion.
I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning back against the tree more firmly, imagining a time when Bass and I might actually have a family. A slight smile crossed my lips at the thought of Bass holding a dark haired little girl on his hip, her bright blue eyes shining up at him in delight.
"Ambassador, I'm sorry to disturb you, but the men and women were wondering when we are going to get back on the road. The Plains Nation fighters are growing restless."
I sighed and opened my eyes to find one of my advisors standing over me nervously, hands behind his back. I nodded and stood, wincing as my entire body ached. "I understand. I want to leave by nightfall, after we've finished burying everyone from the fort. If they would like to move faster, they're welcome to help us."
I smiled at the young man and walked away, knowing he would carry the message to the Plains fighters. They may have been hardened men and women, brutal fighters, but they were often irritable and hard to keep in line while we camped, seemingly always eager for a fight.
Hopefully that bloodlust could be put to good use during our campaign in Augusta; I didn't want to have to use brutality to discipline the Plains Nations fighters for continuing to start fights among our people, or for stealing rations, or any other number of infractions that had cropped up since their arrival.
Lifting the bandana back above my nose I walked back into the charred remains of the fort, searching for more bodies as the sun rose higher in the murky sky, the air humid and rank with the smell of burnt wood and charred flesh.
It was a dark and painful way to reinforce the lesson that Maggie had told me last night; an empire was built on blood.
August 5th, 2016
Three days. Three bloody days we had been fighting a civil war in Augusta, rebel against rebel, Plains Nation fighters and pirates and Militia slaughtering the holdout rebels who refused to join the Republic…and we barely had anything to show for it.
Canada had reacted to the fort bombing by sending more troops to Augusta so that we were outnumbered 5 to 1.
Five of our horses had lamed up on the trip, our forces were taking heavy losses, and we were running desperately low on ammunition as we waited for reinforcements from Philly.
Overall, it was a shitshow.
On the bright(er) side of things, Dale had gotten some combat action finally, and seemed happy about it. Natasha was watching him closely, ensuring that any sign of treachery was reported, though at this point we were all too buy for him to make any moves unseen.
I stood on a hill, looking down at the low-rise apartments where the anti-Republic forces were gathered, frowning as I studied their tactical advantage. Most of their forces occupied the upper floors, sniping our forces when we tried to approach, even under cover of darkness.
We needed a way to take them out, and soon.
Grass rustled behind me and I whirled, gun in hand, to find Maggie approaching. Lifting a brow, I lowered my gun again and nodded briskly at her, "Coming to see me in daylight?" I asked wryly, "Isn't that against spy craft 101, or something?"
She rolled her eyes and stood next to me, crossing her arms and studying the building below us, seemingly ignoring my question. By this time I was used to it, her pervasive silences. I had slowly learned that it didn't mean she didn't like me, hell, Maggie didn't really like anyone, she just didn't enjoy talking to most people.
I think she was mostly okay talking to me.
The silence ticked away as bugs swirled around us, biting and buzzing, the damp air and infrequent breezes doing little to keep them away. Finally Maggie broke the silence.
"I think I can help," she whispered.
"What do you need from me?" I asked softly.
"That idiot from the Plains, and his people. If we can use them to create a distraction, I can get in undetected. Give me thirty minutes of good firefighting from them and I can buy you a victory."
I nodded slowly, if we used our ammo right, we could make that happen. We would have to be judicious though, and not send any militia weapons with them, just in case. "We can do that." I murmured back.
She nodded sharply and without ever looking at me, turned away and left me to watch the building below.
Typical Maggie I thought with a grim smile.
Hours later I watched as the Plains men and women hunkered down behind a fallen bus, firing up at the building, others having circled the building successfully to draw fire at the back so that the occupants were busy on multiple fronts.
Maggie had declined to share her plan with me, other than letting me know it required dark, so once dusk had fallen I had ordered the Plains Nation fighters into position and prayed that whatever she was going to do would happen quickly.
The sound of gunfire being exchanged was deafening in the small town, even from my perch on the small hill. I counted each second precisely, each moment exact as I counted down to thirty minutes, praying that Maggie could help.
At twenty-eight minutes the pit in my stomach grew heavier, the Plains Nation fighters were running out of bullets—I could hear them rationing out their shots. "Come on Maggie…Come on," I whispered, pacing along the hill, my eyes glued to the building below.
When I was sure that we were at minute thirty-two and counting I swore, there was no sign of Maggie or anything else. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a red bandana, attaching it to the long stick I had laid on the ground and began waving it, hoping the Plains Nation fighters would see and would remember the signal to retreat.
Moments later I heaved a sigh of relief as their people began to fall back, still exchanging fire with the rebels in the building. Running a hand over my face I groaned in frustration, wondering what the hell had happened to Maggie.
Morning dawned cold, grey and rainy, after an equally long night of thunderstorms that had blown away half of the tents and spooked a good number of the horses. No one within camp had slept, and we had lost two more injured in the night.
I sipped on a scalding cup of something that was supposed to be coffee and struggled to eat the bread that was staler today than yesterday, desperately wishing for home.
"Ambassador! Come quick! Ambassador!"
Desperate shouts for me were unusual under normal circumstances; here in the field they usually didn't mean anything good. Hurrying to my feet I followed the group of militia men and women down the hill, hesitating as we approached the low-rise.
"Uh, not to question your judgment, but this doesn't seem safe," I pointed out, indicating the dead bodies littering the roads.
The female militia member nearest me nodded, "That's what we thought too ma'am, but when we came down to scout this morning before dawn, no one shot at us. We checked every side of the building, and there's no movement."
I frowned, instantly suspicious. "Could they have snuck away in the night?" I demanded.
She shook her head, "No ma'am, we've had a perimeter around it that they would have had to cross."
I nodded thoughtfully and after a moment indicated for them to lead us into the building. As we picked our way through the mud, the scent of something foul assaulted my nose, hitting my gag reflex hard.
I turned away, coughing and fighting the urge to throw up. To my relief, the militia members didn't seem to be faring much better than I. After a moment we pulled ourselves together and walked into the building where the scent was stronger.
As we climbed the stairs, searching for the rebels, it soon became apparent what the smell was.
Death.
Each and every rebel had been killed.
Some had been stabbed, others had throats slit, and still others had bellies hanging open, the source of the terrible smell. As we climbed higher we saw others with no wounds, but dried foam around their mouths, and vomit on the floor, and indication of poisoning.
We cleared each and every room, finding only death.
As we climbed back down the stairs I headed for the back of the building, waving the others on so I could have a moment of fresh air in private. The cold damp air hit me in the face like a slap, but I welcomed it after the stench of the building.
Staring down at the mud caking my boots, I noted blankly that it wasn't the normal dark brown, but a rusty red, tainted from the blood that had been spilled on the earth. Shaking my head, I tilted my face up to the sky, trying to clear my head.
Taking a deep breath I opened my eyes and turned to go back, pausing as a figure by the dumpster caught my eye. Stepping closer I noted with detachment that her throat had been slit, spilling blood down the front of her shirt and onto the ground below.
Without realizing it I sank to my knees beside Maggie, gently reaching out to touch her cheek, so cold and firm in death. Strands of her grey hair were tangled across her throat, forever stained.
The rain pattered down around us, filling divots in the ground, mixing with the blood of the fallen to create murky pools.
I leaned against the wall beside her and sat, wrapping my arms around my knees, unable to feel the rain or the cold. How many more people do I add to my soul for this battle Maggie? How did you ever survive?
How do I?