It would be easy to remove Godfrey; perhaps just as easy to get rid of him in a more permanent manner. Despite the trouble he caused, Trevor knew Godfrey did an excellent job helping newcomers settle into homes, cutting through red tape to find specialized medicines, and a plethora of similar good deeds.
Evan Godfrey was a pain Trevor learned to tolerate for the greater good.
Another pain was Lori Brewer, but for different reasons. She often told Trevor what he did not want to hear, usually about himself. She went by the title of “Chief Administrator.” Her staff tracked and processed liberated/saved people and worked with Evan’s teams to find appropriate housing. Lori kept her finger on the pulse of everything happening in the slowly building nation. Her bull-in-a-china-shop attitude got things done, even if she ruffled a few feathers.
Her husband, Jon Brewer, acted as “Military Chief of Staff” and coordinated all combat operations. The various Generals reported to him. He held responsibility for organizing and supplying the troops who waged the war to take back the planet.
He had done an excellent job to date, particularly considering that more than ninety percent of his soldiers had no military training prior to the Apocalypse. Jon’s troops were yesterday’s accountants, store clerks, waitresses, and insurance salesmen. Trevor was often surprised at how well- how naturally — people took to fighting. It reinforced his theory that mankind may be the best of the universe’s warriors, a thought that also scared him.
Jon built a huge support structure that included training facilities, weapons caches, vehicle pools, air bases, and more. He played the role of de-facto second-in-command, a role he held since the early days of humanity’s counter-attack.
Dante Jones, Trevor’s best friend in the old days, served as “Chief of Internal Security and Secretary of Justice.” A long title for a simple job. He coordinated security inside the front lines of the war. This meant organizing local police forces and investigators to handle human on human crime. It also meant coordinating Hunter-Killer teams with the military to eliminate hostile predators and other non-earthly animals.
Like his other good friend-Lori Brewer-Dante often sounded like Trevor’s conscience. Indeed, sometimes he could almost feel Lori on one shoulder and Dante on the other when he faced hard decisions. They swapped the angel and devil costumes depending on circumstance.
The “Justice” word in Dante’s title added the responsibility of finding and appointing judges and arbitrators to adjudicate cases, sentence criminals and solve disagreements.
In the new world, people worried most about eating or being eaten, resulting in a greater sense of camaraderie and less disagreements.
Very few cold-blooded murders occurred while rape occurred at a much lower rate than in the old, ‘civilized’ world. Robbery happened with far more frequency and often in various shades of gray.
Those guilty of crimes against other people-particularly murder or rape-found no second chances. Hanging returned to many public squares or- in more merciful jurisdictions-the sharp report of a firing squad.
Defendants received counsel and serious crimes involved a jury of peers. No code of laws for lawyers to twist and bend existed; parole boards and appeals processes mere memories. Each judge set the rules for his courtroom using his or her sensibilities as guide. Dante Jones’ regional supervisors could remove those who demonstrated poor sensibilities while abuses of power ended with adjudicators facing the gallows of their own construction.
A harsh system for harsh times. Perhaps that harshness deserved credit for low crime rates. More likely, the fact that everyone-even the most petite teenage girl-carried a firearm, probably served as the greatest deterrence.
Whatever the truth, atop that system sat Dante Jones who earned his position due to Trevor’s trust. Dante worked with computers in the old world, not law enforcement. Yet Trevor relied on his judgment and always found him a fair person.
The last member of Trevor’s council was also the most recent addition.
Gordon Knox, “Director of Intelligence.”
To say that Trevor’s forces had saved Gordon would paint the wrong picture. Knox had ruled a small settlement of his own, hidden in the back woods of Maryland and surviving quite fine, thank you very much.
However, Gordon signed on enthusiastically when he saw the level of organization, the aggressiveness, and the hawkish intent of Stone’s armies.
In his old life, the Central Intelligence Agency employed Gordon Knox first as a field agent, then a paramilitary soldier (one of the first into Afghanistan during the American invasion), and eventually in middle management.
Balding with a fluffy mustache, he exhibited a positive attitude for the work.
Stone loved Knox because he expertly found information, enemy positions, and what-in the old days-they would have called “actionable intelligence.”
Gordon had quickly organized a new network of spies and reconnaissance. He also used the handful of submarines at their disposal to insert recon teams along the coast and overseas.
Even then, as they gathered for a big meeting, Gordon coordinated dozens of spies not only behind Hivvan lines, but also in Africa and Europe to explore and understand the nature of the changed world.
Conversely, Knox loved Trevor because Stone turned him loose. No red tape, no books filled with legalese, no pesky lines of distinction between foreign and domestic spying. Knox was free to do what needed to be done- everything that needed to be done-to protect humanity’s war effort.
He utilized children as young as nine to infiltrate slave camps to ferment rebellion. He identified a series of Hivvan regional leaders and had them assassinated. And-to everyone’s surprise-he uncovered a small network of pro-Hivvan human sympathizers sent to spy on the growing nation. Trevor never asked where Gordon hid those bodies.
Council meetings were often long, often rough, and heated. On occasion, Trevor would drive those meetings and be the only one speaking for hours on end. Other times he sat and listened while debates raged.
Nonetheless, somehow or another the council met the needs of the growing population and kept the war machine grinding away.
The meeting that day, however, threatened to be one for the ages.
Eva got things started working from a series of hand-written notes. She spoke in a formal, professional manner. They all knew she held little tolerance for bullshit; she considered her time too valuable to waste.
“The corn harvest in central Pennsylvania and Maryland will be 10 percentage points lower than last season. This comes despite a substantial increase in the number of farms producing corn. The reason is due to insect infestations. We have been dealing with a lack of pesticides. This will have a cascade effect over the rest of this year. Corn is the primary ingredient in farm animal feed. We anticipate needing to slaughter more animals because we will not have the feed to keep them eating through the winter. Needless to say, this will result in less meat yields per animal.”
“Now that is a cruel twist of fate,” Reverend Johnny said. “A bounty of meat this Fall because we’re running out of corn.”
“Furthermore, we will have less offspring and fewer animal products such as milk and wool. Enjoy your lamb chops this Fall, Reverend, but I hope you don’t freeze to death from a lack of a coat in February.”
She glanced from her notes and saw the audience hanging on her every word. Military speak and industrial output sounded cooler, but all of that meant nothing without food to eat.
“This situation will aggravate food supply problems in New Jersey, Delaware, and eastern Maryland. We estimate that as many as fifteen thousand souls in those areas will be subjected to rations below subsistence levels by October.”
“Wow,” Jon Brewer broke in. “What about fishing? Those areas have access to the Chesapeake, Delaware Bay, and the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Jersey.”
“We have shortages in fuel to run fishing boats,” Eva responded. “There are two other considerations. The first is that so many of our foodstuffs were forwarded to Southern Command. Second, our facilities have recently come under aggressive attack from hostile animals. In the last week alone, I had distribution centers in Vineland, New Jersey, Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, and Denton, Maryland wiped out. Two trains were also hit by creatures, one resulting in lost cargo and a gutted crew.”
She took a deep breath and then hit them with another shock. “If you check your casualty reports you’ll find
