Under the Golden Eagle

Under the Golden Eagle

By: Z4ch4ry M1L35

I don’t know when it happened, or why, or even how, but this place, the United States of America, wasn’t always like this. It used to not be barren and covered in ash. People used to not have to worry about whether or not they would see tomorrow. In fact, it used to be a sprawling nation. Millions of people working together instead of against each other. United. Just like the hills I live in used to be. They used to be called Kentucky. At least that’s what they teach us, I wouldn’t know. The hills I know are inhabited by tribes and gangs always warring with each other; fighting for no better reason, it seems, than just to fight. I’m am part of the tribe know as the Louval Tribe, named after a city to north that now lies in ruins. I’ve been there several times to scavenge supplies like food or meds, but there’s not much of the city left standing. I guess that doesn’t matter, though, because we still fight to the death for every square inch of “our territory.”

As an adult male, I’m expected to carry a weapon and defend our “boarders.” I’ve spilled the blood of people in every tribe in the area, and for what? Some blasted out buildings or a hilltop or two? The tribe to the south is called the Subterran Tribe. They live in a gigantic cave system called Mammoth Cave, hence the name. They’re fierce expansionists and cause us the more problems than any other group.

The tribe to the east is the Rupp tribe. They’re named after some sort of building they use as their town hall. We used to be at war with them, but over time, necessity bred an un-easy alliance. We need they guns and ammo they have so much of, and they need the gasoline we’ve managed not to use. Still, altercations are a regular occurrence between our trading caravans.

To the East, there’s the Black Tooth Clan. We don’t deal with them much but every so often they send a scouting party to spy on us. It’s never been more than we can handle, though. From what we’ve heard through the Rupps, they devote a majority of their effort, time, and resources to fighting with the Florentines, a tribe of religious nut-jobs residing in the old city of Florence to the north-east. They don’t bother us much either for the same reason.

Last of all, the Swamp Rats recently moved into the territory south-west of us. The Swamp Rats are a gang of marauding cannibal hicks originating out of Missouri. I’ve heard stories of them that make me sick to think about. Awful, awful human beings those Swamp Rats.

So here I am, gripping my AK-47 headed to defend our boarders from a group of Subterrans poking around Louval territory. To my right is my little brother Jack, and to my left is my childhood friend Stuart. Of all the guys in our party of twelve, they’re the only ones I trust with my life. When we get to an old diner at the edge of our land, General Mick Southerly, leader of our “military,” orders us to take defensive positions inside and on top of the building. “Alright guys, those damn Mole-People are gonna be coming up this road any second now. Stay frosty, and for Christ’s sake, don’t open up until I give the order.”

We see the Subterrans coming around the bend. “Steady…,” whispers General Southerly. There’s seventeen of them on the ground and three in a pick-up truck with a .50 cal in the back. They came packing heavy. “Steady…” As they pass directly in front of the building, one catches a glimpse of us. “ASS HOLES. NINE O’CLOCK!!” he shouts and opens fire on our position.

“Shit! Weapons free!” yells General Southerly and we return fire.

A hail of lead proceeds. I keep my head down. The .50 cal is deafening as it tears into our position. I pop out of cover and train my sights on where I predicted the machine gunner to be. A slight adjustment later and I squeeze the trigger. Five rounds speed out the barrel and rip into the man’s chest. He falls out of the truck bed and when he hits the ground, he tries to crawl behind the truck for cover. I put one round into the back of his skull, splattering his brains on the tires. I aim for another Subterran taking cover behind a scorched tree trunk. I squeeze off three rounds none of which connect. He notices me and points his hunting rifle towards me. My reflexes take hold as I duck down under my window. Without exposing myself, I point my AK out the window and fire in every direction until my magazine runs dry. I reload. When I poke my head back up, the one behind the tree has to reload. I take aim but bullets from above me take him out before I can. I pick another target, aim, squeeze the trigger and drop him like a deer. With all the men in the truck dead, and only five of them left, their apparent lead turns to his guys and shouts, “Fall back! Fall back! There’s too damn many of them!”

“Keep on ‘em, boys,” General Southerly orders, “Don’t let them get away.” As they retreat, we fire at their backs, taking out the remaining Subterrans.

“That’ll teach you to fuck with us!” Dan Mills yells when their all dead.

“Yeah! Fuck Subterran!” Mike Simpson

I look over and Stuart is grabbing his side. “Oh shit. Stuart! Are you ok, man?” Blood is leaking in between his fingers.

“Yeah. Just fine,” he says weakly, “Shit, man, I bet I can make it through twenty more batt-“

I don’t allow myself to cry. I shut his eyes and lay him on the floor.”

General Southerly addresses us, “Alright, let’s get any guns, ammo, or provisions back to the village. Luke and Jack Hightower, see if the truck is still running. If it is, get it back to the village, if not, siphon the gas.”

Me and my brother in unison, “Yes, sir!” As we ride back to the village, I ask my brother, “You alright, Jack?”

In reply, “Look (or Luke; I can’t tell), I’m not a little kid anymore. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you to look after me anymore.”

“You’re, right, you’re right. I’m sorry, man. I just… now that Stuart’s gone, you’re all I’ve got left.”

Silence.

We get back to the village and everything is business as usual, or at least as close as it gets in post-apocalyptia, for a few months.

***

They came into Louval territory without our knowing. They surrounded our village; guns at the ready, carrying banners adorned with a large golden eagle, and took the whole village hostage. I sit here beside Jack and Stuart as their leader and his bodyguards step out in front of us. “Be not afraid, savages, my intent is not harm, but the assimilation of your tribe into the New American Empire. I am your Emperor, Benjamin Washington. And you now represent the Golden Eagle.”

Chief Ellifson spits on the ground at Washington’s feet, “The Louval Tribe is strong and independent. We don’t want or need your damn empire or your eagle.”

“I expected as much,” he replied. ”Guards, gather up all of the men!” The guards drag us, hands bound, out of town. They’re going to execute all of us and probably take the women and children as slaves! We keep walking. And walking. And walking. As we near Black Tooth Clan territory, we see smoke on the horizon. We arrive, greeted by the foul smell soot and death. We pass by burning building after burning building until we reach the center of town. There, in the middle of the town, is a giant pile of corpses. I feel like I’m going to puke but I stop myself. Dan Mills can’t stop himself and violently expels the contents of his stomach on the ground.

Washington addresses us, “You tribals only play at warfare; some raiding here, a little pillaging there. But this,” he begins gesturing towards the burning buildings and body pile, “is REAL warfare. This is the wrath of the Golden Eagle. And, this,” he gestures again, “is the only alternative to assimilation. So, what will it be?”

We assimilated.

At home, all the women and children are taught what it meant to be a citizen in the New American Empire. All of the buildings now fly the banners with the Golden Eagle. Every man was drafted into the Imperial Army. All of our possessions were burned and we were issued three sets of uniforms, a steelpot helmet, and an M4 assault rifle. We were trained how to properly use and maintain various weapons as well battlefield strategy, guerilla warfare and small unit tactics, and counter-insurgency tactics. We became cogs in a well-oiled war machine.

Emperor Washington is a brilliant man. He decided to first deploy his new Louval soldiers against our biggest enemies, the Bullet Counters. “Sergeant under the Golden Eagle” Evans, our leader on this mission addressed his troops. “Men, the tribe to the south was offered salvation from their savage ways. They were given a chance to rise up from the dirt and become part of something great; to be taken under the wings of the Golden Eagle. Knowing good and well the consequences, they rejected our offer. We’ve been assigned the glorious task of wiping these filthy, sub-human, savages off the face of the planet. We ship out in five minutes.”

“Sir. Yes, Sir!”

We march towards Subterran territory. They had set up look outs, but our snipers are able to take them out before they even know we’re there. We get deeper into their land, and eventually come across the whole of their forces. They open up on us from defensive positions in the buildings. The fighting is fierce but completely one-sided. I get down and take aim at one of the windows. When a Subterran raises his head, I splatter it all over the man behind him. I then take aim at one taking cover in a door way. I squeeze off one round aimed at his torso, but it hits low and takes out his knee. Blood running down his shin, I pop off two more rounds. Striking true, they rip his stomach open, allowing his intestines to spill out. Our superiority in both weapons and training, as well as having the numbers advantage ends the battles in no more than a few minutes. The force that had contested Louval’s power for decades was just crushed like a small bug in the hands of a giant. After removing the corpses the buildings, we torch them. We carry the bodies to the middle of town, torching every building along the way, and pile them in the center of their village, just like at the Black Tooth Clan town. We then line up all of the rest of the people in the village, men, women, and children, and slit their throats. Once they stop bleeding, we add them to the pile, and return home feeling satisfied.

On the way back to the New American Empire forward base in Louval, Jack comes up to me, “Is what we did right?”

I reply, “What do you mean, we were given orders and we followed them. Besides, those fuckers got what they deserved.”

“Maybe, but back there, we slaughtered innocent people... women and children, man. Isn’t that just outright murder?”

“I don’t know. You might be right, but what’s done is done. No use worrying about it now.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I just hope that we don’t have to go on another one of those missions.

We’re going on another one of those missions. This time it’s to the Swamp Rat territory. We suit up, and ship out. The Swamp Rats territory is little more that the buildings they live in and their “holding pen.” We get there very early in the morning so we manage to catch them off guard. We come up on one taking a piss on the ground. Everyone, including Jack and me, put bullets in him. We woke up the rest of them who come stumbling out of their housing, sleepy and confused. It’s a slaughter. Some of the Swamp Rats took cover in one of the buildings and now they’re shooting out at us. Corporal Higgs fires and RPG into the building and decimates it. Very soon, all the shooting stops. From the “holding pen,” constrained humans cry out and plea for our help. We pile the bodies and torch the buildings all the while the people begging for us to set them free. “What do we do about the captives over there?” Higgs inquired of Sergeant Evans.

In reply, “Well, they’re not going to kill and pile themselves.”

“But sir, I don’t think they’re Swamp Rats. Should we not assimilate them?”

“No. Pile them with the others.”

“Yes, Sir.”

We begin to corral the captives out of their pen. They thank us profusely as we lead them over to the pile. We line them up and take aim with our rifles. One of the captives, “Hey. What the fu-“

We open fire killing every single one of them. We stack them on the pile one by one. All of a sudden, gun shots come out of tree line! There must have been a group of Swamp Rats out scavenging the woods or something. I feel a warm liquid splatter the back of my head. Blood. I turn around to see who it is and to my horror, Jack is lying on the ground, grabbing his thigh and wincing in pain.

“JACK!”

“Luke.”

“You’re alright, man. You’re going to make it.” Gunshots all around us.

“Luke. I know it doesn’t seem like it all the time… But you’re my big brother and I love you, man.”

“No. Don’t you dare fucking talk like that. You’re gonna be fine, you hear, me? Fine.”

Blood. All over my face. Warm as it runs down. Jack’s face is no longer recognizable. He’s dead. The gun shots drown out as tears create two trails down my cheeks, washing away the blood. Bloody tears fall to the ground and pool. It’s as if the ground refuses to absorb any more blood. A rage fills my chest. My head feels numb except for my cheeks which feel like they’re on fire. I pick up my M4 and fire blindly into the woods. My clip runs empty so I throw my weapon on the ground, pull my combat knife out and charge the Swamp Rats. I reach one who is reloading his shotgun. I pull the gun out of his hand, and smash him in the face with it. Then I take my knife and stab him twice in the gut, the serrations on the blade sawing through his organs. Then I slice his neck sending more blood on my already-soaked face. He drops to the ground dead. Another one has his sights trained on me. I dive towards his feet as he fires over head. I stab him through the shin.

“Mah leg! Mah goddam leg!” he screams, going down and grabbing at the wound. I take the opportunity to stab him through the bottom of his jaw, up through his toothless mouth, and into his brain. I look up and see the last Swamp Rat trying to flee. I grip the bloody knife by the tip of the blade and send it flying towards the fleeing hick. It hits him in the back of the head and pins him to a nearby tree. His limbs twitch. I run up to the tree, pull the knife out, and let him fall to the ground where I stab him over and over, weeping hysterically.

***

“And for your valor and courage in battle, I, Emperor Benjamin Washington, Commander-in-Chief of the New American Imperial Army, grant you the rank of Sergeant under the Golden Eagle. Congratulation, Sergeant under the Golden Eagle Hightower”

I reply as I am supposed to, “Thank you, Sir. It is truly an honor.” I don’t care. I am all alone. I buried the last person who ever gave a shit about me the day before and everything since has been a blur.

Later that day the officers get their orders. Tomorrow we are to address the troops that we are going to contact the Florentines, and present them with the ultimatum: assimilate or be destroyed. I’m to lead the squad that will position on the south-west side of the town. I also learned that while we were gone fighting the Swamp Rats, a detachment was sent to our allies, the Rupps, and they chose to assimilate.

I don’t sleep at all that night. I haven’t since Jack’s death. We brief the troops and ship out to Florence. We get there and surround the town, but the Florentine leader, comes out to greet us, “We’ve seen the horrors committed by your people to the heathens of the Black Tooth Clan. For that we are ever in your debt. With your permission and that of Fire, god of power, The Florentines would like to join your forces.”

Sergeant Evans, “Good. Good. Your Emperor will be pleased to assimilate your tribe into the New American Empire. Sergeant Hightower, sir.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You may have the honor of returning with your squad back to Forward Base Louval to let the Emperor know that all of Kentucky is now under the Golden Eagle.”