Chapter thirty-two
Truth in Ashes
Choctaw, The Red River Republic, three days later
Captain Colt Irons rode a brown and white paint horse, leading his company over the rough terrain under a blazing sun. The brim of his hat shaded stormy blue eyes, burning with questions about the mission. The army had taken a train north to the Red River, but the railroad bridge hadn’t been completed. They requisitioned horses, motorcycles, and Jeeps for the officers, and trucks for equipment on the other side. The soldiers marched.
Colt had kissed his wife and daughter goodbye, assuring them he’d return safe and sound. Yet, the closer they got to their destination, the less certain he became. After grueling hours across barren prairie—just cottontails, prairie dogs, and one mangy coyote—hills finally rippled on the horizon, leafy trees rising in the distance. Green meant water—the lake and streams that supplied Chickasaw.
A mule nickered nearby, almost drowned out by the whine of the motorcycles and the rumbling purr of the Jeeps. Dust clogged Colt’s nose, but he could imagine the fresh smells ahead. It was hard for him to fathom the folks here in open rebellion. Sure, the population was mostly comprised of minorities—Natives, Hispanics, and Blacks—and they had proclaimed Chickasaw a haven for persons of mixed race, who, due to the current religious climate, hadfallen under persecution. And in conversations around the dinner table, the fact that their politics leaned heavily toward the Unity Coalition and Verdant Font tendencies was not a cause for an armed revolt.
Colt gritted his teeth, keen eyes ahead. He wished he’d heard the report for himself, received some details on what to expect. Had they acquired firearms? Did they kill government officials with offices in town? Had they engaged in acts of terrorism? How many would oppose them? And what actions would General Crane order them to take?
Wheels churned alongside the steady clomp of boots as hills swelled closer, shade trees dotting the roadside.
“Halt!” shouted Crane over the din, his gloved hand shooting into the air. Trucks turned off their engines. Colt shifted in his saddle, focused on the general. He respected Crane, both as a military legend and a man of integrity. A shadow fell over Colt—a formation of ducks flapping overhead, flying north toward the vast lake. He’d read that Chickasaw was a community of fishers, goat herders, and small-scale farmers who exported clay bricks and smoked fish. He’d never heard of them causing trouble.
Crane talked to a slender woman on horseback wearing a scout’s uniform. She galloped ahead, dust billowing from her palomino’s hooves. Then he addressed the army from the back of his Jeep with a megaphone to his mouth. “Ten-minute rest break. Do what you need to do.” Then he climbed out of the Jeep, walked stiff-legged around to its front. Colt took the hint. He dismounted, stretched his legs, gulped water from his canteen, and looked for the best bush he could find, watching out for sidewinders.
By the end of the ten minutes, the scout cantered back into sight, pulling up beside the general’s Jeep. Colt offered his horse the other half of an apple he’d been munching, then hoisted himself back into the saddle. Crane nodded to the scout, stood tall in the back of his Jeep, and spoke through the megaphone again.
“Five kilometers. Keep sharp and as quiet as you can. When we hit one kilometer, we’ll move to double time. Do not engage until I give the order. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
“I know this will be the first actual fight for many of you, where foes might shoot back. Don’t be afraid. You’ve trained for this. It’s also possible that when they see you, they’ll lay down their weapons and surrender. Remember, these are your fellow countrymen. We will treat them with dignity and respect so long as they remain peaceful. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
Waving his hand forward, Crane shouted, “Move out!”
Engines rattled, wheels rumbled, and footsteps boomed. Colt glanced at the two hundred soldiers in their ranks behind him, the ones he commanded. The weight of authority pressed against his chest as he waved them forward. Drums pounded a cadence in the rear, keeping marchers in step.
Plagued by uncertainty, Colt led his troops with a confident posture. He couldn’t be Luther Irons’ son without learning something about leadership.Always project strength,his dad had taught him,even if you’re about to crap your pants. Your followers must believe in you before they can believe in themselves.
As the army advanced on the town, more trees, green grass, and grazing livestock came into view. The aroma of baking bread wafted on the breeze from a flat-roofed adobe house on the left side of the road. A Black man in patchwork clothes and a broad-brimmed hat rushed his wife and children inside, their eyes wide with fright. All wore colorful scarves, their hair in tight braids.
Tromp, tromp, tromp—the steady pound of boots behind him. Their column wound between high hills thick with timber, a perfect place for an ambush. Nothing but wind rustling the leaves. General Crane’s Jeep led the way across a wide, shallow stream into another grassy meadow. If the map was correct, the town lay beyond the next set of hills along the banks of Lake Arbuckle. Nerves crawled across Colt’s skin like an army of ants, while sweat ran down his back, soaking his shirt. He thought about Chloe’s bright smile, Emily holding the baby in her loving arms. He’d promised he’d come home.
Shots rang out in booming reports. The clank of steel on steel. Frantic shouts and cries echoed through the valley. Colt’s gut clenched so hard it stole his breath, the image of Emily and the baby flashing behind his eyes.Did GeneralGarcia’s battalion arrive first? Did they start the battle without us?he wondered. Blood pounded in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his veins.
“Double-time!” Crane yelled, his Jeep zipping forward.
Colt clicked to his mount, hastening to a trot as images of battle filled his mind.Who started it? How many guns do they have? What will meet us around that bend?
At the same time in Dominion
Luther Irons strutted to the podium on a platform lowered onto the outer wall of his keep. A massive crowd had gathered in the square below, lining the streets and balconies. From here, Luther took in all of Dominion within the Iron Ring of the city walls—factories, businesses, houses, and more, dark smoke billowing from stacks, palo verde and mesquite trees guarding the few green areas, distribution centers, and Unity Stadium. Flags and patriotic banners flapped over the people’s heads as they eagerly awaited the president speech.
Irons raised his hands, every ginger hair in place. The assembly roared. He basked in their adoration for a beat longer than he should have—God, it felt good. The people loved him, worshiped him. He had them wrapped around his little finger. After a deep, self-indulging breath, Luther waved them down. Silence.
“I have just learned that our brave men and women in uniform are battling for their lives in the northern province.” Gasps erupted. Women clutched their chests, men wrapping protective arms around them. The children must still be in school. He hadn’t thought of that.Note to self: suspend school during speeches.
“Only a few days ago, our intelligence reports revealed a rebel group operating out of Chickasaw was planning to commit terrorist acts against the government and lawful citizens of this great Republic. These traitors have perverted the peaceful tenets of the Unity and Green Parties to which they once belonged, calling themselves ‘Seeds of Change.’ In fact, they are dangerous anarchists, hellbent on destroying our way of life.”
Murmurs rippled through the thousands—maybe tens of thousands. Luther spoke into a microphone, while amplifiers blasted his voice in all corners of the capital. Even those who hadn’t come in person would hear him.
“You might have seen soldiers boarding the northbound train a couple of days ago,” he continued. “Now I can reveal to you where they were going and why. I have dispatched troops from Fort Resolute and Fort Amarillo to quell this treacherous rebellion before it escalates out of control. Keeping the good citizens of the Red River Republic safe from foes, foreignanddomestic, is my primary job, and I’ll see it done, come hell or high water!”
