Ash: Rise of the Republic by Campbell Paul Young

the squat cylinders were still filled with
crude piped in from the oilfields or pumped from the holds of huge
ships in the prosperous years before the pillar.
    The Captain gazed out over this cluttered
vista and thought about the world they had lost. There was a time
when this rusting maze of pipe and steel had churned out barrel
after barrel of gasoline and diesel, LPG and fuel oil. A thousand
different petrochemicals were distilled and seperated, catalysed
and hydrocracked in the forest below. The country and much of the
world relied on this region to produce all of the vital ingredients
of industrial civilization. Now, all of that vast refining capacity
lay in disuse, slowly rusting. All but the one small plant he had
helped bring back to life. A square mile of machinery,
painstakingly scraped from the ash and cobbled back to life with
cannabilized parts, sweat, and blood. A faint glow reflected from
the bellies of the clouds to the east. It was a lonely beacon of
progress; a reminder that civilization was not yet dead.
    ****
    The rangers were greeted with grim news at the gates
of the Refinery. Two more shipments of fuel had been ambushed and
destroyed, all hands brutally gunned down. The hardened colonists
were in a fury. The families of the murdered crews pressed around
the troop, hoping for news of vengeance against the outlaws who had
torn their lives apart. The young rangers told of their ordeal, how
they had found an army of bandits and burned their lair. Tears
threatened as they described their fallen comrades and their hungry
flight through the suburbs. When their tale was told, some of the
women took pity on them and whisked them away to the bunkhouses for
hot food and hot showers.
    The Captain and his wife set off on their
own, heading to the large building in the center of the complex. As
they approached, a tall, familiar figure rushed out, flanked by
hulking armed men. A toothy, dimpled smile stretched across a
handsome face framed by close cropped brown hair.
    "Mom, Dad!” He hugged his mother tightly.
"It's good to see you! It's been too long."
    The Captain shook his hand. "It's good to
see you too Brian. Any word from the Governor? I hear two more
trucks were attacked."
    "Yes, I'll fill you in, but first let's get
you fed, you both look like you could use it."
    "A hot shower first," replied Deb with a
smile, "and a kiss from my grandbaby!"
    "She and Lucy are down at the bunkhouse,
I'll take you over right now!"
    The two old rangers followed their only son
to a sprawling collection of mobile homes. As Colony Director,
Brian McLelland was afforded a larger house than most. It wasn't
much by pre-pillar standards, but was comfortable. His security
detail stopped on the porch as they entered, settling in to stand
guard.
    An hour later, freshly showered and groaning
with full bellies, the Captain and his wife relaxed around a small
kitchen table with their son and his young wife. A rosy cheeked
three year old girl, all curls and dimples, sat giggling on her
grandmother's lap. Deb cooed and tickled, reveling in the small
child's delight. Brian took a sip of whiskey and cleared his
throat, glancing at his father.
    "We got instructions from the Governor
yesterday," he began, "He’ll be wanting a report from you I’m sure.
He's going to call up the militia. He thinks this is more than you
and the rangers can handle. We're already gearing up a company to
support them. We put the word out to the commune downtown and we've
sent riders to all the farms in the region. I think we can raise
around two hundred or so, although we're pretty short on
ammunition."
    "That'll be a good start.” The Captain
stared into his glass for a moment. "He's right about it being more
than we can handle, I'm not ashamed to admit it. The band we ran
into was the strongest I've seen in years. They were well armed,
and they weren't being stingy with the ammo. We need to make a
strong move here, throw everything we've got at them. I think