[center][img]http://i66.tinypic.com/33cwsq8.jpg[[/img][/center] [b]Rock Hill[/b] Mark Rogers put the spurs to his horse and held tightly to the reigns. The bay-colored horse snorted and its hooves clopped against the dirt road that had once been Highway 21. It ran concurrent to the long bending road they once called an Interstate. A century after the bombs fell and the interstate was still a mess of rusted cars and chunks of ripped up asphalt. Mark gripped the horn of his saddle as the horse galloped over a hill and the town of Rock Hill came into view. Its taller buildings were starting to crumble from the century of wear and tear, but the smaller buildings and homes were being kept up by the people of the town. Rock Hill stood as the second biggest city in the Upstate with a few thousand inside its borders. Now there was a few thousand more, Mark thought to himself as he bounced in the saddle. Below him, a long line of horse-drawn wagons were rolling down the dirt road towards the city. He clicked his tongue and started the bay down the hill towards the town. Each wagon was pulled by two horses and held a half-dozen soldiers with full kit and equipment, along with duffle satchels. He saw the rifles sitting in each soldier's lap. Mark raced by them until he came to the wagon at the front of the line, already in the city and heading towards the center of town. Six soldiers watched him in the back while the driver looked straight ahead. Riding shotgun with him was a middle-aged man with silver crewcut and an eagle emblem on his collar. He stood as Mark's horse trotted beside the wagon. "Sheriff Mark Rodgers, York County," he said politely enough. There were more than a few long looks his way. He expected that from people not from the area. Last he could figure, Mark was the only black sheriff in the Republic. The Republic wasn't exactly the old South, and it sure as shit wasn't the Neo-Cons, but black people in positions of true authority were still rare in these parts. "Sheriff," the man with the crew cut said with a curt nod. "I'm Colonel Alexander Jeffrey commander of the SCDF's 31st Infantry." Jeffrey reached into his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper, gingerly passing it to Mark as they continued down the street. Mark glanced at it while he held on to his horse with just his legs. "Signed by the President and General Thurmond," Mark said as he passed it back to Jeffrey. "Yes, sir. Where's the best place we can make camp, Sheriff?" "There's a space on the other side of town." Mark pointed straight ahead. "Just keep going straight and it'll be on your right. How many deep are you?" "Two hundred are coming today," Jeffrey replied. "We expect to have another thousand encamped by week's end." "We'll talk when y'all get settled." Mark tipped his hat. "Colonel." "Sheriff." Mark squeezed the horse's side with his legs and led his nag away from the wagon train at half-speed. The people of Rock Hill were out on the street watching the line of soldiers riding through town, plenty of eyes were on him too. He dismounted in front of Sammy's. Sam Calhoun stood in the doorway with a towel slung over his shoulder, the apron around his waist was spattered with eggs and bacon grease. "What's going on, Mark?" "Military is moving in for some goddamn reason," Mark said with a spit in the dirt. "Got official orders from Sumter and Columbia that they're to camp outside of town for the foreseeable future." "First you hear about this?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow. "Of course. I gotta send a letter to Columbia to see what the hell is going on. Twelve hundred soldiers are coming into town and all I got is three deputies. Four if I include you." Sam's face broke out in a grin. "If I want to be included. I'm only a reserve, sheriff. I don't know how I'll do if something happens..." Mark put a hand on Sam's shoulder and laughed. "I'm sure you'll make all the difference if we have to face twelve hundred liquored up soldiers. Is Hobby in the back?" "Washing dishes." The two men went inside Sam's small diner. Most of the regulars had their eyes glued on the wagon train going by outside. Sam went behind the counter while Mark sat down at the counter, his hand resting on the butt of his revolver on reflex. Hobby, the skinny and pimply kid who worked for Sam came out the back with gloves on. "Sheriff?" "Go run and find the mayor for me, son. Tell him to come to Sam's so we can talk." Hobby shucked off his gloves and hurried out the diner. From behind the counter, Sam fixed a cup of coffee and passed it to Mark. The men kept eye contact as Mark took a long sip of the hot coffee. "Say it," Mark said after he finished with his sip. "Say what you're thinking, Sam." Sam shrugged his shoulders and wiped the counter with his rag. "I'm just thinking what you and everyone else in town is thinking. Soldiers in town, this close to the border, might mean more trouble than a couple of drunk privates fighting with townsfolks. It could mean movements against the Commune. You ready for that?" "No," Mark said bluntly before taking another long sip. "But who the hell is?" ---- [b]Charleston[/b] Jerry Hunley stood on the deck of the [i]Palmetto Rose[/i] and welcomed his crew as they walked up the gangplank. The ship was one of the new hybrids the South Carolina Navy created a few years earlier, a mix of wood and metal with sails that made it fast and strong. It was a sloop-of-war with tweleve guns that could outrun bigger ships and tear apart smaller ships. It was Jerry's first command and he was nervous about it. Jerry had worked as a junior officer and XO before, but never as a skipper. All told one hundred and forty men crewed the [i]Rose[/i] and got her out to sea. He was responsible for the lives of those men and keeping them safe. Their mission wasn't the most dangerous, but it wasn't certainly a cruise down the coast. "Skipper," Lieutenant Sturgeon, Jerry's XO, said with a salute. "It seems all men are accounted for. Orders?" "Call them to the deck," Jerry said as he started towards the helm. "I'll give them a talk." "Now hear this!" The XO announced once every man had gathered on the deck below Jerry. "Skipper?" "Men," Jerry said with an easy smile. "Welcome to the SCN [i]Palmetto Rose[/i], your new home. I'm Lieutenant Commander Hunley and I am your skipper. Our mission involves pirates. Reports have them harassing ships around Myrtle Beach. The Navy wants us out there to flex a little Republican muscle. We're to patrol, find, and take out any pirate vessels we find. Let's show them what this ship can do. Make ready to set sail." Lieutenant Sturgeon barked orders while the men scampered around the deck and back down below to get to work. Twenty minutes later the [i]Rose[/i] was under way across Charleston Harbor. The ship fired a one-gun salute as it passed Fort Sumter, headquarters of the SCDF. "What's our heading, sir," Helmsman Price asked once they cleared the harbor. "Set a course north," Jerry said with a grin. "Keep the coastline in sight, but steady on towards Mrytle Beach. Let's see what kind of trouble we can cause." ---- [b]Calhoun Falls[/b] A mostly cloudless night gave the half=moon ample opportunity to shine on the waters of Lake Russell. The chosen cove was tucked away far from the bridge and the SCDF troops that stood guard on it. Billy Brown stood on the muddy red banks of the cove and watched for any sign of movement out across the water. Harper, his man from Georgia, had come into the Slab House two days ago and ordered his usual. That was the sign that a new shipment was due to come across the lake. Harper lived across the border near a placed called Ruckersville. He was the last stop in Georgia before Billy took over the shipment and smuggled his cargo through the Republic. The sound of lapping water made him narrow his eyes. Movement appeared somewhere out there and started to get closer. A lantern flashed and then disappeared out on the water. Billy lit up his lantern and let it shine for a few seconds before he killed it. Five minutes later, the flat-bottom boat came into view. He turned his lantern back on and saw the boat clearer. Harper piloted the boat with the rudder at the rear. Two men in the center rowed with oars while three women and two men sat on makeshift benches. Besides Harper, they all wore tattered rags for clothing. Billy saw one of the men still wore manacles on his wrists. Harper hadn't been able to strike them free before the trip across the lake. "Ladies and gentlemen," Billy said as the boat softly ran aground in the mud. "Welcome to freedom." He helped the runaway slaves out the boat one by one before Harper was left alone in the boat. "There were supposed to be eight," he said with a shake of his head. "But one of them got caught in between Athens and Ruckersville. That's going to hurt our bottom line." "But seven is going to get us a lot of good money," Billy said softly. "I'll see you next week with your cut." Billy pushed the boat back into the water while Harper started to row away across the lake. Billy turned around and looked at the grouping of scared faces looking back at him through the dark. There was fear there, but Billy also saw excitement underneath it. His talk of freedom wasn't bullshit. Slavery was outlawed in the Republic and although they were on good terms with the Neo-Con, they didn't exactly help them retrieve any runaways. If you could make it across the Savannah River, you were free. "Alright, guys. I've got a place you can stay for a few days. From there, we'll go to Abbeville and you'll meet the man who paid to get you out of slavery." Billy was part of the smuggling pipeline that got slaves out of the Neo-Con, but only because he was a smuggler. Slaves, drugs, ammo, and weapons were all the same to him. Contraband and cargo were contraband and cargo. He wasn't a fan of slavery, but Billy never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. It was nice to do a good thing like this, but it was even nicer to get paid doing it. "But for now, y'all are gonna rest up and enjoy freedom. Let's go."