Issue 45 – Into the Badlands
- Somewhere in Texas, early December, 2039
The few vehicles they had left were lined against the gate of a small facility, well hidden amidst the barren, rolling hills of northern Texas. There wasn’t much to look at – a massive bunker entrance at the end of a long gorge, a merge of concrete and steel, towering threateningly in front of them, surrounded by a few support buildings, cisterns, trucks and cars. Impossible to find unless one knew where to look.
And in front of it all, a Crimson Reaver squad, standing in silence, awaiting their next move.
The trip hadn’t been as exhausting physically as it had been mentally. The train moved fast, but the Seahawks had to disembark several times to clear several obstacles blocking the railway. Nobody bothered them but they all had heard the news of Clayburn forces landing in Jacksonville – once the radio transmissions reached the communications, the information spread like wildfire. They’ve also seen trails in the sky and many of them prayed to whoever would listen for just a tiny bit of luck.
But their prayers fell on deaf ears – the Reavers had beaten them to their destination. It wasn’t a large outfit, but big enough to hold them off for a while. The perfectly clean Clayburn Industries machines stood in stark contrast to the worn-out vehicles; the last leg of the journey hadn’t been kind to their vehicles either.
Kathryn Grey sat on top of the turret of her tank, eating an apple. To her right, the only other functional Abrams the Seahawks had left, the ‘Hephaistos’, was being inspected by a maintenance crew. Two men poured the last drops of fuel into its hungry maw from the fuel canisters they had dragged with them. Three remaining Strykers, including Seagrove’s own ‘Avenger’, were parked nearby, waiting for the opportunity to pounce on the enemy. The rest of the Seahawks were still arriving – a motley assortment, resembling a warband far more than an actual former corporate unit, or even a mercenary company.
They had long since abandoned any pretenses – a Bradley here, a few trucks there, half-stripped Humvees, even a few civilian cars. Seagrove thought that it was amazing how much a difference the last few months make.
The only person seemingly unaffected by the stress of the journey was, as usual, Blackwood. He strode around, observing the enemy, talking to the Seahawks, radiating self-confidence. His calm demeanor lifted the spirits of men and women around him – after all, he had taken them this far, surely they’d see this through with him once again. One last action. Once more unto the breach and then – salvage and disperse, to each a share of the bounty, enough to make the travel to the western coast, to the mythical tech paradise of Greater California, north, towards the American Midwest and its great plains, or – for the most adventurous of souls – the war-torn south with its eternal combination of tropical paradise and conflict.
The battle plans were made at dinner, consisting of tea and stale bread. “Don’t worry, tomorrow, we’ll be dining something better,” Blackwood reminded them. They all chewed their food in silence, hidden from enemy sights by the shadow of a nearby rock. Without waiting for their reaction, he continued.
“Here’s what we’ll do. Joshua, Kate, I want you to spearhead the assault. Nothing fancy – the bunker’s at the end of this gorge, we don’t have much room to maneuver anyway. Missile teams will sneak into the hills at night. When you charge, they’ll attack the Reavers from all sides. We have to strike hard and fast before the main Clayburn force gets here. We’ll crack the bunker, load what we can and run. They’ll never catch us.”
Seagrove couldn’t help but think that something was off. It wasn’t the entire situation – the plan was simple and made sense. This is what they had been talking about previously. But, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. It all felt very straightforward in a world where few things had been.
But, he conceded, perhaps it was finally their turn to strike the jackpot.
Their meal was interrupted by one of the scouts, bringing the news of Clayburn forces leaving Jacksonville. They’d be there soon. It was time for action.
