Dark New World (Book 2): EMP Exodus by J.J. Holden, Henry Gene Foster
Authors: J.J. Holden, Henry Gene Foster
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Okay, maybe not so stunning to everyone, though she was cute by anyone’s standard. But her strong inner self shone out, and she lit up his world when she smiled, which only made her more beautiful. If only she would just tell him what she wanted… Ethan turned away to stare at the fire, his emotions jumbled and conflicting.
- 7 -
1930 HOURS - ZERO DAY +7
TAGGART FIRED TWO rounds and ducked back behind the derelict subway car. The ping-ping of return fire struck the car almost immediately. There were ten enemy soldiers when the shooting started, but now only one remained. Too bad this wasn’t Taggart’s mission target. It was only an unpleasant surprise along the way to the real ambush.
Captain Taggart’s men for the mission consisted of Pvt. Eagan, two new resistance recruits, and two “experienced” resistance fighters. Taggart now understood that being experienced was code for Militia members, and so he didn’t trust them at all. Still, they had been obedient and disciplined so far. The Resistance was the only game in town for food, unless someone wanted to volunteer for slave labor with the enemy. Plenty of people did, despite the risks, now that the food was mostly gone.
The crack of a rifle signaled the end of the engagement when one of the Militia members, ordered to circle around the other side of the subway car, took off the enemy’s head with his Remington 700. A damn fine hunting rifle as far as Taggart was concerned, and today they were hunting in earnest.
“Listen up,” Taggart barked. “Gather their weapons, ammo, and any radios or food they have on them, and stash it in the conductor’s car. Toss these bastards into the passenger car. Eagan—don’t forget our new orders to spray paint the ‘Circle R’ so they know who did this. We go in three mikes.”
They were done in two minutes, and Taggart resisted the urge to smile at the eagerness with which these civilians followed his orders. Of course, the invaders hadn’t been able to fire back much this time, having been taken by complete surprise. How his civvies would handle being shot at by enemy soldiers on the bounce remained to be seen.
Well, he’d see soon. They were only a few blocks from where they would pop up from the subway into the city above, then it would be time to set up their ambush of a supply convoy heading out of New York to go to God-knows-where.
Twenty minutes later they were above ground and in place for the Op. Taggart and a Militia guy in a second-story window; Eagan and a new recruit behind a dumpster filled with rubble; and the last Militia man and recruit in another building on the first floor. The triangulation of fire would hopefully ensure the quick demise of the convoy defenders, without confusing his own untrained men. But before the shooting would start, two sticks of dynamite in a shoe box on the roadway would stop the convoy cold once Taggart pushed the button. Hopefully.
In ten mikes the convoy should go by (according to Mr. Black’s intel, which might well have come from the 20s, whoever they were). Taggart hated this part. As always, the waiting made it the longest ten minutes of Taggart’s life, at least until the next time. The minutes ticked by, each seeming like hours, but eventually he heard the roar of engines approaching. He clicked his radio. “Heads up. OpFor inbound. Tiger One, ready.”
The radio responded. “Tiger Two, ready.” Then, “Tiger Three, ready.”
There was a noise behind him; the scuff of shoes on linoleum. Taggart spun, bringing his M4 to bear at the same time. It took half a second to understand what he saw. Four civilians crept toward him carrying a bat, a chain, and two kitchen knives. They had hunger in their eyes, and desperation.
“Halt. Disperse immediately. This city is under Martial Law by decree of the Commander-in-Chief, and you are required to vacate the area immediately,” said Taggart with his best “Sergeant’s bark.”
Behind him the hum of an
- 7 -
1930 HOURS - ZERO DAY +7
TAGGART FIRED TWO rounds and ducked back behind the derelict subway car. The ping-ping of return fire struck the car almost immediately. There were ten enemy soldiers when the shooting started, but now only one remained. Too bad this wasn’t Taggart’s mission target. It was only an unpleasant surprise along the way to the real ambush.
Captain Taggart’s men for the mission consisted of Pvt. Eagan, two new resistance recruits, and two “experienced” resistance fighters. Taggart now understood that being experienced was code for Militia members, and so he didn’t trust them at all. Still, they had been obedient and disciplined so far. The Resistance was the only game in town for food, unless someone wanted to volunteer for slave labor with the enemy. Plenty of people did, despite the risks, now that the food was mostly gone.
The crack of a rifle signaled the end of the engagement when one of the Militia members, ordered to circle around the other side of the subway car, took off the enemy’s head with his Remington 700. A damn fine hunting rifle as far as Taggart was concerned, and today they were hunting in earnest.
“Listen up,” Taggart barked. “Gather their weapons, ammo, and any radios or food they have on them, and stash it in the conductor’s car. Toss these bastards into the passenger car. Eagan—don’t forget our new orders to spray paint the ‘Circle R’ so they know who did this. We go in three mikes.”
They were done in two minutes, and Taggart resisted the urge to smile at the eagerness with which these civilians followed his orders. Of course, the invaders hadn’t been able to fire back much this time, having been taken by complete surprise. How his civvies would handle being shot at by enemy soldiers on the bounce remained to be seen.
Well, he’d see soon. They were only a few blocks from where they would pop up from the subway into the city above, then it would be time to set up their ambush of a supply convoy heading out of New York to go to God-knows-where.
Twenty minutes later they were above ground and in place for the Op. Taggart and a Militia guy in a second-story window; Eagan and a new recruit behind a dumpster filled with rubble; and the last Militia man and recruit in another building on the first floor. The triangulation of fire would hopefully ensure the quick demise of the convoy defenders, without confusing his own untrained men. But before the shooting would start, two sticks of dynamite in a shoe box on the roadway would stop the convoy cold once Taggart pushed the button. Hopefully.
In ten mikes the convoy should go by (according to Mr. Black’s intel, which might well have come from the 20s, whoever they were). Taggart hated this part. As always, the waiting made it the longest ten minutes of Taggart’s life, at least until the next time. The minutes ticked by, each seeming like hours, but eventually he heard the roar of engines approaching. He clicked his radio. “Heads up. OpFor inbound. Tiger One, ready.”
The radio responded. “Tiger Two, ready.” Then, “Tiger Three, ready.”
There was a noise behind him; the scuff of shoes on linoleum. Taggart spun, bringing his M4 to bear at the same time. It took half a second to understand what he saw. Four civilians crept toward him carrying a bat, a chain, and two kitchen knives. They had hunger in their eyes, and desperation.
“Halt. Disperse immediately. This city is under Martial Law by decree of the Commander-in-Chief, and you are required to vacate the area immediately,” said Taggart with his best “Sergeant’s bark.”
Behind him the hum of an
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