One Year After: A Novel by William R. Forstchen

the certain knowledge that our nuclear boomers are still out there under the seas ready with swift retaliation if there is another launch against the United States.”
    “Wish we had made that message clearer before the Day,” Makala said softly, her voice filled with bitterness.
    “We all do,” Dale replied.
    John said nothing. Was it really Iran and Korea, or were others involved? Those were questions for which no one had a clear answer. If it had been Russia that provided technical support for the attack, they were suffering now as well because an EMP burst, which—believed by some to have been off course—had detonated over Eastern Europe rather than what many assumed was the target of Western Europe. Moscow and Saint Petersburg had ceased to exist in the months afterward, the same as every major city in America.
    “But here,” Dale continued, “we are struggling to regain our national borders. The rhetoric with the so-called Chinese aid and fraternity mission is clearly transitioning into a permanent occupation force. The president has decided that we must mobilize for this national emergency, and thus the letters arrived here in Asheville shortly after my own arrival. John, I wish I had been able to establish better community relations with everyone after arriving here before these draft notices hit. All our regular military assets and the army that existed prior to the attack that have returned to the continental United States are being shifted to our southern and western borders. The new Army of National Recovery is therefore needed to help reestablish order and government control in the rest of the country. I heard how you organized the fight against a group called the Posse and soundly defeated them. John, there are still scores of Posse-like groups wandering the countryside, some of them in our own backyard, such as these so-called reiver groups harassing law-abiding communities like yours.
    “I tell you…” He sighed, sitting back down in his chair, taking a long drink of cold water, and then setting the glass down. “This was not what I thought my job would be when I first got here. I thought it would be to help network communities together, stitch back the fabric of our society, getting us working again as a single team as we did in the old days, and our flag would again represent a real working nation and not just a memory. It was a shock to me when orders came down to mobilize several thousand out of my district for national service and that my first job was to be the bearer of these tidings.”
    He nodded toward the draft notice resting on the desk between them, his features remorseful.
    “Whoever thought this up—the selection of personnel—I assume it is not you?” John asked.
    “Oh, definitely not. Most definitely not.”
    “Well, whoever did is clueless about the situation here. We barely hung on by the skin of our teeth when the Posse hit us a year and a half ago. I assume you are aware of that situation?”
    “I know about the fight you put up and your leadership. A masterful victory.”
    “It was a bloody slaughter for both sides. If that is the definition of victory, I pray I do not have another like it. The young men and women receiving draft notices are the backbone of our own internal defense force. We’ve had a dozen incidents since with raiders, gangs of thieves, and now these reivers just on the other side of Mount Mitchell. Strip out the backbone of my command and we are defenseless.”
    “Your command?” Dale asked softly.
    John hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, I am commander of the local self-defense force.”
    “Isn’t it perhaps time that we began to shift that a bit, to work together more as a team, bring back state and federal authority? That is the intent of the Army of National Recovery—a federally organized force to bring stability back to America nationwide. When fully in place, local communities will no longer have to fend for themselves. I would think