Dead Land
St. julian and the new Salvation army: The fall of drum City
By Kalju Lee
Copyright ©Kalju Lee
Smashwords Edition
-St. Julian and the New Salvation Army-
The Fall of Drum City (Part 1)
In the first light of morning Saint Julian stood on the hill and watched Drum City’s walls through his binoculars. He looked to his companies, surrounding the fortified outpost. The tiny figures of guards ran back and forth on the rampart, setting up defenses. Tracked vehicles filled with the troops rumbled into position; all roadways had been blocked off, just as he had ordered. He lowered the binoculars, satisfied with the results of his army. Over eight feet tall, Saint Julian cut an intimidating figure. He wore a broad cape on his power armor, his bald head exposed. Some of his fellow saints felt it more fearsome to be featureless, thus appearing entirely inhuman, but he disagreed. It was good for the men to see his face, even in a pitched battle. Especially in a pitched battle.
The Saint walked back down the hill to inspect his men. He passed his saluting soldiers, glancing to check for imperfections. Many of the men on the front line were conscripts from various villages and cities, armed with bolt-action rifles and peasant weapons. They looked ragged and fearful. His knights rode on hover bikes, holding up their assault rifles, shouting orders.
“Corporal Franks!”
The man he addressed stood from his work, turned and immediately saluted.
“Yes, your grace?”
“How are your men, corporal?”
“Ready for the fight, your grace.”
“Do they understand the rules of engagement?”
“They can repeat them to you, your grace, but whether or not they have sunk in, I don’t know.”
Saint Julian smiled.
“That’s what I like about you, corporal. You don’t try to placate. Ensure they understand we are taking this city in order to save it. I will not have its buildings razed or citizens killed unnecessarily.”
“I will keep them under control, your grace.”
“See to it.”
Saint Julian dismissed the soldier and made his way back to the command post. The TOC was established in a tent not far from the front lines. Outside the entrance was his guidon, a large red flag with the New Salvation Army crest emblazoned on it. In the tent he found Colonel Barry and his company commanders going over the maps of the area. Colonel Barry looked old and tired. He had joined the Salvation Army as a conscript a long time ago, and had fought alongside Saint Julian ever since. The first man to see him enter called the tent to attention, and everyone snapped rigid immediately.
“As you were, gentlemen. Are all preparations in place, Colonel?”
“All companies are in position, your grace. Artillery has its targets. We are waiting on your order to cycle the lasers.”
“Keep the lasers powered down, but have the crews ready. The lasers should not be necessary, but we’ve already underestimated this city once. I want to be prepared for any contingency.”
The initial attack on Drum City had been conducted weeks before. A typical Armed Missionary party had been sent to take the city. These forces consisted almost entirely of local conscripts, with only a handful of NSA officers, but were more than enough to occupy most human settlements they encountered. Drum City’s unexpected use of heavy machine guns quickly wiped out the “missionary” force, requiring Saint Julian to take the city himself. Drum City was a large walled human outpost built around an old army base that once belonged to the United Royal States of the Americas, and had existed even before then, in some dimly remembered military capacity. They had access to weaponry and ammunition rarely seen post-boom.
“Have we gotten any reply to our request to speak with the city’s leaders?”
“No, your grace. Well, no real response. They quite literally shot the messenger.”
Saint Julian shook his head.
“These arrogant men force bloodshed when there should be none. Alert my security detachment, I will go down there --”
“Your grace!” yelled a soldier, as he rushed into the tent, out of breath.
“What is it, private?” Saint Julian asked, as he turned to face the private, bringing about complete dread in the boy.
“Your grace, I apologize for the interruption. We’ve caught a deserter.”
Saint Julian sighed and looked at the colonel.
“Foolish arrogant men, my old friend. I will deal with this. Ensure we have a proper plan to clear the city in an orderly fashion, with minimum collateral damage.”
“Yes, your grace.”
Saint Julian turned to the rag-tag soldier.
“Very well. Private, show me to this deserter.”
The private led Saint Julian out away from the command post, into the interim tent-village where the mass of NSA soldiers occupied, and where the prisoner, bound by rope, was being kept. The fright was obvious in the deserter’s face as the armored giant approached with his escort.
“What is your name, soldier?” Saint Julian asked.
“John Towers,” the bound man replied, attempting to compose himself.
“And you are intent on deserting your post?”
“I won’t fight for you! I will escape!”
“Do you no longer believe in what we’re doing here?”
“I never did! You people are insane! Barbaric! Insane! I won’t fight for you! Not any more!”
“I suppose that much is true.” With inhuman speed Saint Julian punched the man once in the chest, crushing his ribcage and sending him flailing back into a pair of guards. He collapsed to the ground, dead.
“Take him, put him on a pike where all can see. Hang the sign on him.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“You, private. Go back to the TOC, get my security detachment. Tell them to meet me on the front line.”
“Yes, your grace.”
In Drum City Hall, Mayor Orange talked with his security advisers.
“Do you think we can beat them off?” he asked.
“We did last time, we’ll do it again,” Officer Tillway replied. Tillway was Drum City’s Officer of the Guard, in charge of the defense of the outpost.
“This is different. Have you seen the force out there? This isn’t a bunch of half-starved hillbillies with guns, it’s an army out there!”
“And it’s an army in here. No one has ever breached our walls, and we have plenty of ammo for the machine guns. I assure you, we are safe.”
Mayor Orange didn’t respond, but looked less than confident about taking on the NSA.
“Even if you’re right, even if we don’t stand a chance, what do you propose we do? Just let them in?” Tillway continued. “The city is surrounded; there is nowhere to run if we wanted to. And I for one am not willing to give up this place.”
Mayor Orange was about to counter when one of the tower guards entered.
“Excuse me, Mayor, there is someone who wants to talk to you.”
“Well, send him in.”
“No, sir, he’s outside the wall. I think it’s one of those Saints.”
“What? How can you tell?”
“Well, you’d have to see for your self. He’s… big, sir.”
“Big?”
“Yes, sir, very.”
“Tell him I have nothing to say to him. No—Tell him I want his forces away from my city.”
“I tried, sir. He insists. He says he wants to talk to you about a peaceful solution.”
The mayor held his head, then looked at Tillway.
“What do you think? Is it worth bothering about?”
“If there is a way to resolve this peacefully, we should look into it.”
Mayor Orange stood up and collected his jacket of the coat rack.
“Very well. But if I get shot out there, I’m blaming you,” the official said, and followed the messenger to the city wall.
Mayor Orange looked down over the embrasure and saw an up-armor humvee without a gun, flying a white flag. Next to it stood Saint Julian.
“What do you want?” the mayor asked defiantly.
“I am Saint Julian, and I am here to discuss the terms of your surrender.”
“Surrender? Are you insane? I could have you shot where you stand.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I want to avoid any unnecessary killing. You will agree there are few enough people left on this Earth as it is.”
“You want to avoid killing? Go home, then. Leave us in peace.”
“You have no need to fear assassination. I assure your safety in our negotiations. If they fail, then I will meet you honorably on the field of battle.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Get the hell out of here, because I sure as hell don’t assure your safety!”
“If you are not comfortable meeting me in a traditional setting, I am willing to discuss terms here and now.”
“For the last time, get lost or I’ll open fire!”
Saint Julian paused for a moment, then continued.
“It pains me to see that you are so blind and unyielding. May God have mercy on your soul, for the deaths that are to follow shall be on your head.”
With that Saint Julian got into his truck and was driven back towards his troops. Mayor Orange breathed a sigh of relief.
“Well, I think that went rather well. You?”
Tillway smiled.
Saint Julian walked into the TOC and immediately got on the radio.
“Guidons Guidons Guidons, this is Saint Julian. Attack will commence in fifteen minutes. Ensure your forces understand that we are not fighting robots today. Those are men and women, lost souls who have not yet heard the Word of God. Show resolve; use restraint. Respond in sequence.” He gave the hand mic to the radio operator and turned to Colonel Barry.
“I take it, your grace, negotiations did not go well,” the colonel said.
“We will bring order and holy sanctity to this city, and we will do it by force. Ensure the artillery is ready to fire. I am going to the front to lead the charge.”
“Will you take your weapon, your grace?”
Saint Julian had an old 240B machine gun as his personal weapon. It sat in the corner of the tent, clean and oiled.
“No, I will use my sword this time. The men’s morale will benefit for it.”
“If I may say so, your grace, you men’s health may benefit from your full lethality.”
The Saint’s eyes narrowed and he replied in a stern tone, “Do not question my lethality, old friend, or you will find yourself on the end of it.”
Out on the field, the artillery guns loaded their first salvo. The companies surrounding the fortified city loaded their weapons and prepared for the charge. Facing the front gates of the city, Saint Julian stood tall over his men. High above him hung the dead man, John Towers, wearing a sign,
“Such is the fate of all who turn from the word of God.”