“Indeed. Some buildings are still powered by old solar panels, and others have generators or batteries, but Verdancia lacks an electric grid or long-distance communication devices. The country relies on homing pigeons. However, it grows an abundance of corn, and what isn’t eaten by humans or animals is processed into ethanol. Some factories have been refitted to run on the fuel, but most rely on water or steam power. The army and the crown have a scattering of working vehicles, and engineers have finally redesigned a functioning locomotive engine, which would be news—if Verdancia had enough tracks intact to matter. They don’t,” Pickett concluded with a slimy smile.
“Bullet trains,” Venz muttered to himself as he tapped his tablet. “Lost genius.”
“You said you know the troop counts, where they’re stationed?” Irons asked, ignoring the scientist’s eccentricity.
Franklin Pickett proceeded to share detailed military information, down to the number of rounds to fit each firearm. Maddox was surprised at how exposed the southern coast and stretches of Verdancia’s borderlands were. While he dreaded the idea of marching his major force past the radiated red zone ruins of old Memphis, if he did, they could easily avoid Stonevale, take Tupelo, and attack the enemy’s army at Marchland from the east—the easiest approach.
I wonder if Lady Cade has considered my proposal?
While Pickett rattled off numbers and resources, Vexler slunk back to his chair, chewing the end of a matchstick. The thumping and moaning had ceased. Maddox disagreed with Vexler on many points—especially his reliance on torture. Still, the colonel got results.
“Mr. Pickett, I’d like you to join my family for dinner tonight in my dining hall as our honored guest,” Irons invited. “A member of my staff will escort you back to your quarters or take you on a tour of our capital. I’m certain you’ll be impressed. Shall we say seven o’clock?”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” Picket stood, bowing toward Irons. “If you have more questions, I’ve no doubt I can answer them for you.”
“Excellent.” Irons cocked his head. “We’ll schedule another session for later this week. I can’t wait to introduce you to my lovely wife and strapping sons this evening.”
When he had gone, Irons glanced around the table. “Well, what do you think?”
“I have questions about Verdancian society, the state of the church there,” Quell said. “I know the Old Religion is still practiced, but are they doing it correctly?”
“I’m more interested in how they run an economy without rationing,” Dalia added. “He started sharing about their transportation and agriculture a bit before you dragged him into military talk.” She shot Maddox a mockingly accusing look. He lifted his palms, returning her gaze with innocent charm.
“All that matters is that we devise a strategy to defeat them swiftly, expending as few lives and resources as possible.” Irons frowned, pointing a finger in an arc at them. “You mark my words. The Oligarchy has something up its sleeve. I trust them even less than Queen Frost. If we weren’t in such desperate need of food, I’d be inclined to go after them first. Unfortunately, even a mountain full of computer cores won’t replenish our dwindling rations.”
“Mr. President, if I might change the subject.”
All eyes turned to Vexler, who sat on Irons’ left. Luther quirked a questioning brow at him. The colonel leaned in, hand cupped to the president’s ear, and whispered for several minutes. Irons nodded, occasionally inserting, “Uh, huh,” and “You don’t say?” The others occupied themselves by checking notes or twiddling their thumbs. Maddox’s thoughts drifted to his son Marcus.
They’d had a good, if brief, visit when he and Colt escorted the munitions supply to Fort Rustin. However, he’d been disturbed by Marcus’ blind faith in Luther Irons. “He should be elected for life,” Marcus had declared, repeating a growing movement among the president’s staunchest supporters.
“But then we wouldn’t have a democracy anymore, son,” he’d argued. “Upholding democracy is the prime directive of the Republic.”
“Standing behind a powerful leader is even more important,” Marcus had countered. Maddox let the topic drop. He didn’t want his visit to be spent talking about his ambitious boss.
“General?” Maddox blinked, returning his attention to the blowhard at the head of the table.
“Yes, sir?”
“It seems we have an uprising on our hands.” Irons assumed a posture of command, shoulders back, chin up, one arm laid across the table. “Colonel Vexler has just informed me what his operative learned from the prisoner downstairs. I need you to take a brigade up to Chickasaw, by Arbuckle Lake, and squelch the rebellion. Put Colt in charge of a company,” he stipulated. “I want to see how he handles command.”
Irons’ insistence on micromanaging military decisions irked Maddox, his displeasure showing on his face.This is how the Germans lost World War II,he thought.Why is it nobody knows their history?
“What’s wrong, Crane?” Irons fixed him with an icy glare. “If you aren’t up to the challenge, I’ll appoint another head general.”
“No, sir, that isn’t it,” he answered as respectfully as possible. “I would just like to hear the intel for myself, send my scouts to assess the situation. We don’t want to pull an entire brigade to put down two dozen rabble-rousers. Likewise, if the entire territory is up in arms, I might require a larger force. Sir, with all due respect, you placed me in charge of making military decisions. Let me do my job.”
“You can do your job, soldier,” he countered haughtily, his voice dripping with threat, “by obeying your commander-in-chief’s orders. Pull half the troops from the Dominion Guard and the other half from Fort Amarillo. Send word for General Garcia to meet you in the field.”
“But Mr. President.” Maddox sat back, his bloodshot hazel eyes bulging. He rubbed his salt and pepper beard, staring at Irons in disbelief. “Those are our least-seasoned soldiers. If we meet with heavy resistance—”
Irons slammed his fist on the table, leaned across it, and snarled, “If you ever question my command again, it will be a court-martial for you. Is that clear, Crane?”
The arrogance of this man!Maddox wished he’d turned down the appointment, retired to a quiet emu ranch on the edge of the city. But no. He thought he was being patriotic, doing the right thing, advising a president with no military experience—one who’d listen to his better judgment.No such luck.
A vein throbbed in his neck, his whole body wound tight as a drawn bow. “Yes, sir, Mr. President. I understand. Please be assured that I’ll keep a close watch on Captain Irons.”
Darts shot from Luther’s beady eyes. “You’d better.”
