Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall Read Free Page B

on them, and Jew them out of their rations at poker. They ready to fight?”
    “They’re all pissed as hell at the ’vaders,” Eagan replied. “Most of them lost people, whole families sometimes, so yeah, they’re ready.”He frowned at Taggart. “That Jew remark was racist, sir. Jews fight harder than Mexicans or a certain Irishman in this room that I could name. I, sir, am deeply offended. Deeply, and I wear the Crown of New York. Sir.”
    Taggart snorted, “Shut up and get me some November Juliet.”
    Eagan chuckled and walked over to the coffee machine, an ancient percolator they’d cut the cord off of and set on a small “rocket stove” to get to bubbling. “That’s racist, too, Sarge. I mean Captain. I’m sure both our black soldiers don’t much like that term.”
    “November Juliet? Eagan, shut up. No, wait—tell me what our friend, Mr. Black, is up to.”
    “He’s busy reorganizing his Resistance supply network. We aren’t the only ones hurt by that traitor Spyder’s takeover of Black’s territory.”
    “Good, he won’t be around much. Make sure he’s gone, and then get all our men and women together. I want to talk to them. We’re just about ready to launch something awesome. On our own.”
    “How ’80s of you, sir. Aye, Aye, I’ll go gather the cannon fodder. I hope you have a rousing speech prepared, sir. If you don’t, I’ll look for a copy of that movie where General Patton says they’re not supposed to die for their country, the other guy’s supposed to die for his country. Helluva speech.” He shrugged. “They’re eager to fight, but maybe not so eager to be shot back at.”
    “Don’t end your sentences with a preposition, shitbird. Get going.”
    Eagan stood tall and saluted, with a grin so loud Taggart could almost hear the “fuck you” behind it, but he didn’t say anything. The private was wired tight when the bullets flew, so no room to chew his ass. Oh well, maybe next time. “Get the fuck out, Eagan.”
    Eagan left, and Taggart slid his hand under the desk to pull out a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 whiskey he’d hidden there. “Hello, darling,” he said. Turkey was the best mass-produced whiskey on the market as far as he was concerned, and he licked his lips in anticipation of the mellow burn sliding down his throat. It was medicine, he figured, and he prescribed it for himself whenever he had to deal with his civilians. No doubt those unsat smokers and jokers would have something sarcastic to say when he gave his speech. Fuckers. And God bless ’em for stepping forward to fight for their country because most of the sheep out there were content to starve before they’d risk their necks right now to fight for America. Reverently, he poured two knuckles’ worth of whiskey—now that was a proper shot!
    Then the door opened and Black’s sidekick, Chongo, walked in looking none too pleased. Taggart let out a sigh, then said, “Hello, Chongo. What can I help you with?” Taggart eyed his shot glass longingly, but waited.
    Chongo replied, “Sir, Mr. Black wants to know—and I’m quoting him, don’t get pissed—when the fuck you are gonna do something useful with all the people we’ve gathered.”
    Taggart frowned. “You mean the people I gathered? Tell your boss that I’m totally on board. We’re getting ready for a pretty major operation. I’ve got a platoon and a half with guns, and we’ve been coordinating with other Resistance groups through some guy out in rural Pennsylvania who’s part of those 20s we keep hearing about. He’s not the only one who knows the 20s anymore.”
    Chongo nodded. “You know I hate it when he sends me to ask you stuff, right? He don’t like to come himself, on account of not wanting any conflict between you two roosters.”
    Taggart chuckled. “Yeah. Please tell him that I’ve got things in motion that will at least put a thorn in the side of our enemy. We’re going to move out tonight on a series of raids, but I