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The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:43 AM
Fallout


COPYRIGHT – no reproduction without my express consent

__________________________________________________ __

It was hot. Beastly hot. One of those days when the air feels like a thick wool blanket and sweat forms before one leaves the shower. Moisture clings to every surface and the heat radiates upwards in wavy lines.

In other words, it was a summer day in the south.

The attractive young brunette parked her car outside the City Hall building and began the arduous journey to her desk. Much had changed in the past half year. At one time she parked near the entrance of Shelton’s City hall, walked in the main doors and quickly arrived at her desk outside the sheriffs main office. It wasn’t that way anymore.

It seemed like a lifetime since Sheriff John Ketch roamed the hallways of City hall. Since his disappearance, two different military contracting firms had tried to take over control of the town. Both of these firms had failed spectacularly despite the wishes of Senator Donovan.

Senator Miles Donovan, a wily politician had seized control of three southern states shortly after civil war had broken out in the north. While that battle raged he craftily consolidated his power to a total of six states. From Florida in the east to Arkansas and Louisiana in the west Donovan’s power was complete.

Being a streetwise politician, however, he had played his cards masterfully. President Alan was slow to grasp Donovan’s power play until it was too late. While he was battling the traitorous liberal, Jackson Crutchfield in the north for control of the Republic, he hadn’t been able to grasp the scope of Donovan’s schemes to his south.

Now, nearly a full year into the conflict President Alan had little choice but to kowtow to Donovan to avoid further problems. He would deal with the Southern Senator when the time came.

Now with all these changes Julie parked nearly a full three blocks from City Hall. The State Troopers had seized control of the county, and those around it and turned Shelton’s City Hall into a veritable fortress replete with gun emplacements, barbed wire, rooftop firing positions and truck barriers. Business and buildings around city hall were sized from the rightful owners and destroyed creating a wide-open area around the complex.

What once was an open park area between City Hall and the High School had been converted into helicopter landing area to replace the older, less defendable pad. Several mortar pits had also been placed there as a further defense against attack. The defenses extended around this area over to the High School, which formed the far end of the citadel. Barbed wire and other barriers prevented entrance into both the open area and the High School.

As she approached the main guarded entrance to City Hall Julie could feel sweat dripping on various parts of her body. Most of the sweat as due to the heat, but a large part of it was the direct result of the scrutiny of the security checkpoint. Utilizing equipment that would make an airport TSA checkpoint blush, the Troopers scanned, poked and prodded everybody who sought admission to the building.

It didn’t help that Julie was young and attractive, while the Troopers were men a long way from home. It was rare when liberties weren’t taken.

Finally passing through the groping and sneers she made her way into the building. It was like walking into an icy tomb.

What used to a somewhat friendly and jovial workplace had been turned into a cold and austere environment. Guards were posted at regular intervals and people’s access to various parts of the building was segmented according to the level of clearance they had obtained.

“Morning Julie” said one of her coworkers, almost under her breath.

Smiling back at her Julie merely nodded her head in acknowledgement. She started her computer and arranged a couple files that she needed to process. Before long she simply and robotically began the process of enduring another day.

****

At the outbreak of the conflict Julie’s life was empty. Like a lot of pretty women in small, rural towns, she felt trapped between no opportunities and the constant ham-fisted attention of the local men.

That all changed when a contingent of Army troops came to town. Soon she found romance with one of them and before long small bits of information were finding their way from her desk to his ears.

As his situation changed those meetings became more difficult but she had graduated from pillow-talk purveyor of information into full-blown spy. The meetings, drops, and signals added some modicum of excitement to her life. It helped ease the time between the liaisons with her solider.

While her intentions were noble, Julie was still naive. While she found the intrigue intoxicating she didn’t fully grasp the danger she placed herself in to help funnel information to the resistance movement that had sprung up in the county.

As she completed another mind-numbing spreadsheet the intercom on her desk suddenly beeped, startling her back to reality.

“Ms. Dawson” came the lifeless voice. “Please come to my office”.

“Yes Mr. Lehman” she answered efficiently.

Standing and smoothing down her blouse she prepared to enter the office of a man she despised.

****

Alec Lehman was the commanding officer of the contingent of State Troopers sent to Shelton to quell the burgeoning resistance in the area. He was a cold man. Ruthlessly efficient, he wouldn’t hesitate to burn down someone’s home under the slimmest of pretext. People had been killed and shipped off to camps based on his signature alone.

Like all small men who are handed power, Alec reveled in the intoxicating haze of complete control. He imagined himself more as a Prussian General more than law enforcement official. His impeccable uniform, forced sense of politeness and complete lack of empathy for those in his charge completed the picture of a man not unlike those cast as Imperial leaders in the Hollywood move Star Wars.

After making her wait an uncomfortable period of time, Lehman stopped what he was doing and looked her over from head to toe. Shivering inside Julie pretended not to notice as he visibly humiliated her for the joy of it.

“Ms. Dawson, please file these reports. Also, I’d like the updated troop strength reports on my desk before lunch please.”

Taking the paperwork from his grasp she politely said, “yes sir” and turned to leave.

“Ms. Dawson” he called out as she prepared to open the door to the tomb he called an office. “You are handling some sensitive information in the reports I gave you. Please be sure to follow the security protocols.”

“Of course sir” was the only reply she could muster.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:45 AM
It was later in the morning when Julie picked up her phone to make a call. The chill in the air from her previous meeting with Lehman hung all over her office as she pecked the numbers into the phone receiver.

“Come on, don’t dawdle” she instructed the recipient of the call. She knew all the calls were monitored and she wouldn’t have much time before ears would be listening in.
“ClarMar farms” came the cheery voice at the other end of the line.

“Do you sell all-natural cover honey?” asked Julie with as cheery a voice as she could muster.

“Why yes we do, sweetie. We sell it between 1pm and 3pm. And you’re in luck, we have a fresh batch made up for today”.

“Why thank you,” replied Julie. “I should be there about 2pm then”.

The sweet voice replied back from the other end of the electronic conversation. “We’ll see you then sweetie. Thank you for calling.”

Julie hung up the phone with a sigh. She had about an hour until lunchtime and that’s when she’d make the meeting.

****


”Good grief is it hot,” she mumbled as she slid into the front seat of her car. It was hot enough already that she had to start the car and let it run to allow the air conditioning to stop blowing superheated air in her face.

As she backed the car out of her assigned space she could feel the eyes of the parking lot guard on her. It was a new man, a younger one. She didn’t recognize him at all and he wasn’t wearing a trooper’s uniform so he was a regular contractor. Lehman had continued to augment his troopers with military contractors for mundane tasks such as roadblocks, building security and guarding parking lots.

The State Troopers were the Waffen SS to the contractors Wehrmacht.

Putting the car in gear she drove off down the length of the City Hall complex. Its transformation from a southern small-town City Hall building to a military fortress was shocking. Some days she had to remind herself that she still worked and lived in America.

She did have to laugh at the silliness of it all. Here she was, small town girl, in love with an Army deserter turned freedom fighter and smuggling secrets out of City Hall in her brassiere. She patted the thumbdrive memory stick that she had tucked into the bottom of her brassiere against the underwire.

She found out about the scanner flaw almost by accident. One of the guards casually mentioned that the underwire of women’s bras would obscure the images of their scanning equipment. It was some sort of software flaw that was in the process of being corrected. That day she found the smallest thumbdrive she could find and sorted through all her undergarments until she found one suitable to the task.

“I’m like Layne Bryant meets James Bond,” she muttered to herself as she drove towards the outskirts of town.

Before long she pulled into the abandoned filling station on the outskirts of town. It was a perfect place for a drop. She could use the restroom as a ruse for pulling over should anybody be following her and her car was almost entirely blocked from view by anybody that might happen to drive by.

Scanning around and seeing nobody she walked quickly from her car to the ladies room. The handle to the door turned easily, as it always did, and she dashed inside. A tingle of excitement raced through her. Adventures like this beat the dullness of another night of TV reruns.

The gray tile walls of the dingy ladies room slowly came into focus as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Before long she found the light switch and was awash in a swath of bright light. It didn’t take long to find the broken tile behind the toilet. A corner of the tile had been busted out to expose the hallowed out cinderblock behind it.

As she had been instructed to do she placed the thumbdrive in the crack. Careful, as always, to cover her tracks, she flushed the toilet and then washed her hands.

Laughing at the sillyness of the entire situation she quickly left the bathroom, returned to her car, and after looking to ensure she was alone, backed out of the filling station. Before long her car had disappeared down the street, eventually to return Julie Dawson to the foreboding oppression of the City Hall complex.

****

As the trees refused to sway in the windless skies, and the heat of the day baked the pavement, the shadowy figure of a six-foot tall, two hundred pound man eased his way into the ladies washroom of the abandoned gas station. He had seemingly appeared from nowhere before disappearing inside the structure. After the appropriate timeframe he left again, quickly disappearing down a side street.

Within minutes he covered the distance back to his parked truck. Despite being bathed in sweat he moved confidently and with ease. He had found over the years the best way to appear suspicious was to walk around as if you were suspicious. Walk around confidently, and as if you had not a care in the world, and people tended not to notice you.

He slid behind the wheel of his pickup and within seconds was on his way.

John Miller wanted to get back to the farm to discover the contents of the latest batch of documents his source had provided.

****


As his truck approached the roadblock Miller slowed to the appropriate speed and prepared to wait his turn in line.

Roadblocks and inspections had become commonplace in the county. Previous groups of contractors who had been in charge had used them, but not to the degree the State Troopers had been.

He was fourth in line and he casually whistled a sad tune as he waited his turn. Experience told him that the guards were inspecting those waiting in line every bit as much as those at the front. Miller excelled at being easily casual, a trait that had helped him over the years and in various places around the world.

He eased forward as the line moved and resumed his wait. He almost felt sad for the Troopers, having to stand on the roadway in the baking sunlight in their heavy uniforms, heat radiating upwards through the polyester and fabric. It didn’t take long for that sentiment to pass, however. For as bad as the contractors had been, they had paled in comparison to the brutality of the State Troopers. Several of Miller’s compatriots had run afoul of the Troopers in some fashion and ended up dead. There were no questions to be asked or jury with whom to lodge an appeal.

It had been in interesting journey for Miller. He and his wife’s relocation to the south, the troubles in the North, shipping his family and several friends off to a safe place in Wyoming, the birth of a resistance movement; it had all happened so quickly. Before Miller knew it their group had linked with others in a coordinated effort to fight back against the tyranny of Miles Donovan.

But like so many things in life, too much of a good thing can often times be bad.

So far, none of their men had been captured, but several had been killed along the way. The worst was when a group of resistance fighters got caught off-guard and ended up fighting a running gun battle with the Troopers for nearly two miles before the group could disengage. It was a mistake the small movement could ill afford to repeat. Seven good men ended up dead as a testament to the seriousness of the fight they were in.

“License and papers” barked the guard as Miller pulled into the number one space.

Smiling and nonchalantly Miller passed over his identification and waited for the inevitable questions.

“Mister Sizer” growled the guard. “You’re doing work for ClarMar Farms. Where’s your supplies?”

“None going back this time,” replied Miller. “Was dropping off a broken ATV motor to Smitty’s Garage. Damn thing just won’t start.”

Eyeing Miller over with his best attempt at being intimidating, the Trooper simply returned his papers and waved him through.

As the checkpoint faded in his rearview mirror, Miller was left with a very uneasy feeling in his stomach. Something wasn’t right.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:45 AM
As the heat of the mid-afternoon baked the structures and inhabitants of the county, a small group of contractors finished up their detail along side a lonely stretch of country road. The group had been dispatched by the Troopers to do a routine patrol of a remote area of the country. As usual the contractors got the short end of the stick and pulled the grunt duty.

That’s how it had been since the Troopers had come to town. The contractors had been relegated to second fiddle and did most of the heavy lifting and unpleasant tasks. Lehman had little regard for building unity between his Troopers and the contractors. The best of the contractors were invited to join the State Troopers while the cast offs were relegated to support roles and other menial tasks. Nearly all of the contractors offered a slot in the State Trooper’s ranks took the opportunity.

As the small group of contractors finished up their assignment they returned to their truck to take a breather and hydrate. As they took turns downing the icy cold water, and in some cases pouring it over their shirts, the contractors slowly began to feel refreshed. The exertion of the patrol, combined with their uniforms and gear wreaked a physical toll on the men and it had started to show.

“Can you believe we got handed another shit detail?” exclaimed one contractor between long gulps of water.

One of his equally frustrated coworkers agreed. “I knew we were in for it when those Troopers rode into town. I heard from some guys with other companies that worked with the Troopers and said they were fine, but for the most part they are pricks.”

A third one, suddenly engrossed in the impromptu bitch session chimed in. “Yea, they turned me down for a slot with them. No interview, no PT test. Nothing.”

The griping continued, and the men slowly started emerging from the fog of being overheated but it was too late. Situational awareness had been lost.

Before any could react, rifle rounds tore into their bodies in one coordinated volley of fire. What rounds didn’t rip through their bodies pieced holes in the side of their truck. It was over before it started really. One second four men stood chatting, the next, their bodies lay dieing on a sun-baked roadway.

It would be the lack of radio call-in that would alert headquarters that something was wrong. It would be the plume of black smoke from the burnt-out truck that would guide the Troopers to the remains of the four men.

****

“What’s got you bothered son,” asked the elderly man as Miller stumped around the kitchen of farmhouse.

“Something’s not right” was the only reply Miller could muster as he poured an ice tea. Sweat quickly formed on the cold surface of the glass.

Greg Donner, and his daughter Clarissa, had operated ClarMar Farms for years. Everybody laughed when Clarissa expressed an interest in running the place, but she displayed a surprising acumen both at managing a farm and running a business. Within ten years the farm was one of the biggest employers in the area and well respected throughout the community.

The farm was sprawling and had ventures of all types, from cattle to corn, from hogs to honey. There was a greenhouse operation throughout the summer and in the fall haunted hay rides. Clarissa was willing to try anything and they had their fingers in a lot of sources of income.

Being such a large and respected outfit provided ClarMar a modicum of protection against the contractors. Previous contracting firms that ran the county had left them alone for fear of upsetting the local population. That protection had begun to evaporate with the arrival of the State Troopers.

It appeared past events in the county had awakened the darker side of Senator Donovan and he took a special interest in quelling the growing problems in the area.

Clarissa Donner was as shrewd as she was beautiful. ClarMar had always been a large and popular employer. In the past few months, however, she used the farms clout to make the case to Donovan’s people that ClarMar was an important enough to be granted exemptions to many of the rules he had put in place for businesses. He was trying to balance keeping an economy going with exerting control over the production of various goods. He was also trying to push certain businesses to produce materials that would be of benefit if the Southern District became embroiled in a longer-term conflict.

Her case to those in power was simple. ClarMar could be a source of influence for the Donovan’s people and help stabilize the economy in an already depressed area. Otherwise she would be forced to scale back operations and lay off people and they would not be happy with one Miles Donovan. As was often the case, Clarissa drove a hard bargain. She secured many exemptions that allowed her to operate the farm with less oversight and keep the State Troopers and contractors at bay. It was a form of protection.

It also didn’t hurt that Donovan was smitten with Clarissa Donner.

Whistling softly the older man replied, “pretty vague”.

Shaking his head Miller only replied, “just a gut feeling. The Troopers at the check point backed off the second they heard ClarMar farms”.

”Seems normal”.

“Not really,” Miller responded. “Usually there’s a few more questions. A little more busting of chops.” Miller sipped the tea and replayed the day’s events in his mind.

“Did you get what you went to Shelton for?” asked Greg.

Nodding affirmatively, Miller thought about the contents of the thumbdrive. He wanted to see what the latest haul of documents would provide.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:46 AM
As Tim Barnes heaved the line on the boat, and pulled it tight into the dock, he had too laugh. He was a former Reverend of a large church that had been destroyed by State Troopers. It was only because of a last second rescue by John Miller that he continued to breath.

Now, by some quirk of fate, or divine intervention, he was running a river ferry service up and down the mighty Mississippi River. If you had asked him a hundred different times what he’d be doing for a living, playing riverboat captain would have never made the list.

Thanks to Miller’s inventive bargaining skills, ClarMar Farms had acquired several decently sized boats capable of hauling people or a limited amount of supplies. Using some money donated from another one of Millers creative sources, a former crime boss, they acquired a larger vessel for their flotilla.

The situation on the river was a source of frustration to Senator Donovan. Overland freight travel was limited to major industries such that it protected his economy or avoided confrontations with President Alan. Smaller or independent fright lines were refused entrance or exit from the Southern Zone, but the river was a different story. He couldn’t limit traffic, or board any boats, for fear of creating an incident with another state.

Unless a boat ran ashore, or was in distress, his men could not board them for fear of causing himself trouble with other states. His control of the Southern District was tightening, but his overall strength was still too weak to risk a confrontation on a larger scale. So, while irritating, he left the river mostly untouched for now.

Clarissa Barnes and Miller both recognized the benefit of the boats. In addition to generating income by hauling freight up and down the river, the boats provided convenient transportation for other needs.

So Barnes was dispatched to Woodville to run the boat lines. He had a surprising skill at organization and soon all three boats were generating income moving freight and people up and down the river. Soon they would have enough money to purchase a fourth boat.

They still had to be careful. Miller knew that Donovan’s Troopers were keeping an eye on the office building. Moving freight was one thing. Moving people was quite another. If Donovan felt too many people were heading up the river, but not returning, he may very well move to shut down the operation.

But for now, the boats moved and generated large sums of money for ClarMar Farms.

****

It was another hot day and the Troopers were miserable. It was the early afternoon and already the temperature and humidity had risen to almost unbearable levels. The Troopers had been dispatched to a small farm in the southern part of the county after reports of “men with guns” were made.

So a small group of Troopers were dispatched to investigate further. Lehman tended to send contractors out on these lower level assignments but he had a team of four Troopers who were new to the area and needed more field experience. While sending out four troops was risky given all the attacks on his men, the southern part of the county had been relatively quiet.

Lehman felt it was a risk worth taking.

The men joked and bantered as they rode through the winding and twisting country road. They were given an address where they would meet with an informant and then proceed accordingly.

Informants were becoming more and more common as the Trooper’s presence became a fixture in the area.

As they neared the location where they’d meet their informant all four men became more serious and outward focused. It wasn’t beyond reason that an ambush was in place to receive them.

“Are you sure this is the right spot” asked one the men.

Looking down at his notepad the team leader responded, “This is it. Look sharp”.

The large SUV pulled into what appeared to be the remains of a gas station. The building had been utterly demolished in what appeared to be a large explosion. Debris radiated outward from the garage area of the building. The facility was not recognizable and the parking area was strewn with debris and wreckage.

Oddly, the gas station sign was still out front, largely untouched by whatever destroyed the building.

The Troopers looked at each other and silently acknowledged that something wasn’t right.

The team leader spoke up. “Alright, get out. Stay sharp. I’m giving our informant exactly two minutes to get here before we roll”.

The men dutifully piled out of their truck. As a precaution, the driver wisely left the engine idling in the event a quick departure was needed.

All four men fanned out, careful not to bunch up and began sweeping the perimeter to ensure they were alone. Dust clouds kicked up in the hot air and the occasional curse could be heard as men tripped over debris.

Glancing down at his watch the team leader shouted out, “times up! This is a wild goose chase”.

Before he even finished his instruction an old farm truck that appeared on the road captured the team’s attention. Still well off into the distance, the driver began honking the horn and waving his arm out the window in an apparent attempt to get their attention. The truck looked like a reject from the scrap yard. In addition to being old and beat up, large amounts of junked items were strapped into the cargo bed.

All four men glanced at each other in silent recognition of the silliness of the situation.

Still well off down the road the driver continued to blow his horn. One of the team turned to the other Trooper and began to make a quip.

He never completed the sentence.

Before the team leader fully recognized what happened, the man crumpled to the ground while a rifle shot rang out from the allegedly empty field.

All three men dove for whatever source of cover they could find. As they did several more shots rang out from the unknown source, one round finding it’s mark in the leg of one of the Troopers.

“Damn!” he yelled out as he fell to the ground, red blood gushing from a wound in his upper thigh.
“You find that shooter” yelled out the team leader who found limited comfort behind the wreckage of what at one time might have been another large SUV. “Simpson. Get to cover,” he advised his injured man.

Like mad hornets, rifle rounds zinged overhead and ricocheted off the chunks of concrete and steel that littered the once proud gas station and diner.

The trooper desperately scanned his limited view of the field looking for a rifle flash, the glint of sunlight off a scope, something that would allow him to identify the source of the shooter.

“Simpson, do you have that leg taken care of” again yelled out the team leader. He couldn’t see his man for fear of exposing himself to whoever was shooting at them. He had tried to poke his head out far enough to do so, but was rewarded with a bullet whizzing past for his effort.

“I….I think I have it…….I’m ok….,” stammered out Simpson. Simpson was tragically wrong, however, about his prognosis. What he didn’t recognize was that the rifle round had nicked a major artery in his upper thigh as it plowed a path of destruction through his leg. A bright spray of crimson spurted though the air as his life slowly pumped out.

He had gotten his tourniquet in place around his upper thigh; however he was late in diagnosing the true nature of his injury and before he could tighten it sufficiently his life bled out in the hot summer sun.

Distracted by the rifle shots neither remaining trooper recognized that the farm truck had pulled up almost directly behind them until it was too late. The team leader thought they were being given a respite when the rifle fire ceased only to hear the sound of automatic rifle fire in very close proximity and behind him. He almost jumped from the jarring sound.

The first short burst killed the third trooper before he fully recognized what happened. He had just turned his head and began grasping the situation when the man perched in the back of the truck, between the cab and the pile of junk, came into view. The trooper was just willing his body to turn and raise his rifle when the rounds impacted his body.

The team leader was slightly luckier. By dumb luck, their SUV was between his position and the mysterious farm truck that afforded him a modicum of protection. However, his situation was critical. He fought to control his breathing and fight back the panic rising in his belly.

He didn’t have to fight the panic for long. Just as he began to rise to engage the truck in an all-or-nothing gamble a rifle round crashed into his ankle and sent him crashing to the ground in searing agony. His scream was a guttural combination of fear and physical torment.

When injured, humans tend to look at their wounds as a natural reaction. Once he had recognized that his foot was nearly blown off by the high velocity rifle round, he returned his attention to trying to find who was shooting him. It was already too late.

He never saw the man who had fallen to the ground on the other side of the troopers SUV and shot at him from underneath it. He felt the first several rifle rounds crashing into his chest, the shock protecting him from the immediate pain. The third round crashed into his upper chest, just where it joins the neck. He tried to scream but despite all his effort nothing happened.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:47 AM
The two men from the farm truck checked to ensure all of the troopers were dead. Grabbing a few supplies from their victims, the man from the back of the truck placed a small device directly under the gas tank of the trooper’s vehicle.

Turning the dial of an old cooking timer he turned to the driver and grunted out, “let’s go”.

Soon the farm truck’s tired spun through the dirt near the side of the road where it had stopped. Dust clouds shot into the air as the tires finally gained traction. As the truck sped away it was clear that the equipment under the hood did not match the dilapidated exterior of the truck. The truck sped down the road with alarming speed taking both men to safety.

“He should be right up here” instructed the passenger.

“I see him,” said the driver as he pulled the truck over to the side of the field. Soon an older man popped up, seemingly from nowhere. He was a short, squat man with a crew cut and barrel chest. In a different time he’d look at place on a recruiting poster or yelling at new recruits in military basic training.

The man, rifle slung across his back, quickly approached the truck a jumped into the small section in the back carved out between the cab and the collection of junk.

As soon as the black man driving the truck heard the taps on the roof he accelerated rapidly. The engine between the farm truck gulped in air as its pistons heaved and launched the truck forward.

The truck had just crested over a small hill when the kitchen timer beneath the Trooper’s SUV reached zero. As the ringer stuck the metal bell inside the timer, it completed a circuit sending an electrical impulse to the package below the gas tank. Within a fraction of a millisecond, the package exploded, which in turn detonated the petrol tank beneath the SUV.

The thunderous explosion destroyed the SUV and reduced it to a hulk of twisted and burning metal.

****

As the farm truck pulled into a small wooded area off the side of the road, their passenger jumped down from the bed.

“Thanks for the lift. Give me your rifle. I’ll take it back on the bike in case you are stopped,” he instructed.

The driver dutifully handed over the weapon.

The older man looked up and said, “I’ll break them both down and they’ll disappear in a saddle bag. See you back at the farm.” With that he dashed off into the wood to retrieve a dirt bike.

Before he reached it the farm truck had accelerated out of sight and hearing.

“That went off better than I expected” announced the passenger.

“Ya think?” came the drivers reply.

Nodding his head the passenger said, “Sure do. For two reasons”.

Sighing in mock frustration the black man behind the wheel said, “ok…….”

“First off, that was a hell of a risk we just took. Sixteen different things could have gone wrong with that little caper,” he declared solemnly.

After a couple seconds of silence the driver was forced to ask, “And the second reason?”

Chucking, the passenger said “no damn fire-ants”.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:47 AM
The collection of cinderblock buildings formed a small compound. The single story buildings were beneath grade, and their green flat metal roofs only added to their natural camouflage. Located in a remote and thick portion of woods rendering the structures nearly invisible to from the air. From the ground the buildings were difficult to spot unless one almost walked directly on top of them.

For added effect, someone had pulled camouflage netting and tree branches across the roofs to break up their outlines, further disguising them from notice. Heaps of dirt and vegetation had been piled up next to what little bit of walls were exposed, in additional effort to prevent detection.

Short of having them pointed out they were nearly invisible to the naked eye.

The largest building served as both as the garage, headquarters, armory and team room. The others served various functions related to housing men and providing for all the attendant needs of living in the woods.

Inside the buildings, the feel was an odd mixture of clubhouse and bunker. With subdued lighting and military hardware serving as decorations it would be impossible to mistake the complex of buildings as anything other than the home of fighting men.

The planning room in the headquarters building was illuminated by candles and subdued LED lighting. Solar panels provided their energy but because of the thick woods they weren’t able to gather much of the sun’s power. But it was enough to energize the LED lights so that men didn’t walk into the walls.

“Oh hell I am tired,” exclaimed the man seated at the large table. The heat of the day lingered inside the room and bathed his warrior face in sweat. He could feel the dampness as he ran his hands through his hair.

Captain Mike DeMetrie had been a fighting-man his entire life. A combat veteran in the Middle East coupled with a clear aptitude for leadership meant that men were only glad to follow him. It further solidified his command that he was not afraid to get his hands dirty. Several men owed their lives directly to DeMetrie’s actions under fire and his commendations underscored the fact.

Like many in the Southern District, he couldn’t believe what had happened to the country. Using a core of traitorous Generals and military troops duped by the promises of financial rewards and political power in a new country, Jackson Crutchfield touched off a civil war in the north after his failed presidency. Using the simmering political divide in the country, and his abilities to manipulate people, he had formed a coalition of left-leaning Liberal states from the North East of the country. A string of quick military victories expanded his control into most of Pennsylvania and all of Ohio and Indiana. Some of Illinois, mostly around Chicago had also thrown their hat in his ring.

Meanwhile, President Alan had consolidated his control around the Virginias, Kentucky, Maryland, and North Carolina. He held in reserve the core of the US Military forces, battle sharpened by the seemingly unending conflicts in the Middle East. So far he had kept the forces muzzled while he tried to work out a diplomatic solution but it was becoming increasingly clear the strategy was failing.

Mostly, the midwestern and western states stayed out of the entire conflict, much as they had done in the first Civil War. The only exception was California who had made early noise of joining Crutchfield’s movement. That came to an abrupt end when the infrastructure of the entire state collapsed. Years of out of control spending and social programming had finally rotted the underpinnings of social order. Once the hard working and productive people fled to surrounding states the hippies, Marxists, Stateists, race baiters, social activists and illegal immigrants quickly overwhelmed in a tidal wave of reality.

It soon became apparent that the entire experiment launched in the 1960’s was an utter failure. As soon as the government dissolved, riots broke out and ultimately the state imploded into a wasteland. Soon, it became a killing field as the disparate groups turned on each other. It also became equally apparent the rest of the country was willing to sit back and let it happen.

DeMetrie was stirred from his daydreaming when Miller entered the room.

Nodding his greeting Miller came over with a notepad of information.

“A good haul of information this time” he declared as he poured himself cup of lukewarm coffee from a thermos that had been sitting around most of the day.

“Your source delivered again. Think she can keep this up?” asked DeMetrie. Generally he stayed out of Millers business, and Miller his. They had worked out a good leadership framework. DeMetrie was in charge of the military operation. Miller handled the big picture planning and intelligence gathering side of the resistance movement. He didn’t mind fighting, and wasn’t afraid to get dirty, but his skills and experience lay more in the clandestine side of things.

Miller glanced down at the chipped porcelain mug and studied it for a bit as he formulated his reply. “So far so good. I don’t want to push her too hard cause the Lehman character sounds a whole lot sharper than the contractor types. If he catches on he’ll cut her to pieces after he pummels all the information out of her he can. I don’t think she realizes how serious of a situation she’s in”

Miller didn’t paint a very cheery picture.

He added, “I’ll worry about her Mike, unless we need a last minute rescue. You don’t mind those do you?”

The Captain ignored the quip. “So, the information?”

Realizing the Captain was focused, Miller got to work. They spent several hours dissecting the haul of information Julie had provided via the thumbdrive. They worked well together and gradually they formed a clearer picture of what the Troopers might be planning in their campaign against their resistance.
Rubbing his chin the DeMetrie cut to the chase, “so in short, they are willing to take smaller unit casualties and are going to try to draw us into a larger scale battle of attrition. If they can get the military forces Donovan promised they’ll go hog wild.”

There was no way paint a happy face on the rather grim news Miller said, “Yea that about sums it up”.

It was not the news DeMetrie wanted to hear but knew was coming. They had been shadowboxing with the contractors and it was only a matter of time before Donovan released the hounds on them for real.

“How are the new guys working out?” asked Miller as he choked down the last of the horrific coffee.

DeMetrie and Miller had to be careful regarding whom was allowed access to their world. Anybody expressing an interest in joining the movement was forced to prove their intentions and kept at arms length until they could be vetted. The team had linked up with a couple other small groups of men who generally operated on their own but fell under DeMetrie’s overall command. They were good people, who didn’t like what Donovan was doing, but didn’t have the military skill to lead and organize. Thus far, everybody had agreed that DeMetrie would lead the resistance. Men from his team would go out to work with other groups as pseudo advisors to bring them up to speed. None of them knew the location of DeMetrie’s headquarters.

There were five or six men in addition to DeMetrie’s team, however, that had been housed in the other buildings around the compound. Whether because of a specialized skill, or another reason, they lived in the headquarters complex.

“Good,” was the straightforward reply. “Integrating well and so far paying off. It’s nice to not have to do every last thing ourselves,” replied the Captain. “Gives us more options.”

“I’m going to hit the rack. I have to drive to Woodville tomorrow to pick up another shipment of goods from up north” declared Miller. “You about done?”

Glancing up from the notepad Miller left for him to study DeMetrie replied, “No. The boys will be back soon and I want to hear how it went.”

“Seems like that group is working well.”

The Captain thought for a minute. “Yea, you were right about our new friend. He’s a good fit and the three of them have been solid.”

“It was the pork chops that won him over, not me,” said Miller with a wry smile.

He left the room leaving DeMetrie confused and wondering what his cohort was talking about.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:48 AM
It was going to be another beastly hot day in Shelton. The pavement in the City Hall parking lot protested against the searing heat despite the early hour of the morning.

Julie Dawson walked confidently towards the main gate that would grant her access to the icy tomb that her once enjoyable workplace had become. Despite the foreboding since of oppression that would soon befall her, she was happy. The more she thought about how she was helping her friends the more she felt alive inside.

As she approached the guard checkpoint she was pleased with herself and the successful transfer of information to her contact. The thumbdrive she smuggled out contained the information she was sure would do the Troopers harm.

Stepping up to the checkpoint she waited for the standard process to begin.

“Morning Dawson” grunted one of the more thuggish Troopers.

With an air of dismissal Julie barely acknowledged his presence.

As the unpleasant man went through the ritual of comparing her ID badge to her face Julie looked anywhere but at the man’s eyes. She could feel him leering at her with a look that only generated disgust.

“Well Dawson. Looks like we have a date today. The scanner is broken so we’re doing check’s manually”.

Knowing there was no winning the fight, she allowed herself to look in the Troopers general direction she spat out, “Very well”. She had been through the process before and hated every second of it. At nearly every airport across the country other women preformed physical pat-downs of women as common courtesy. This would not be the case at Shelton’s City Hall complex.

Stepping forward she handed her purse to a different Trooper, raised her arms to shoulder height and mental checked out. She felt waves of disgust rising through her as the Troopers hands coarsely ran from her hips up to her armpits. There was no attempt at modesty or hint of restraint in his touch.

His hands soon roamed across her chest. He made no effort to disguise what he was doing. To add an extra touch of humiliation, the Trooper purposely paused as his hands were underneath her breasts. Fiery waves of anger shot though her body as she screamed internally against the violation.

She stared straight ahead, eyes locked on a random part of the City Hall building, waiting for the humiliation to end. Soon his hands roamed over her buttocks and then down her legs. She had never noticed the fallout shelter sign above that particular entrance to the building before. Her gaze remained locked on the sign as the final, and most humiliating part of the search was performed.

“Alright baby, you’re clean,” the Trooper laughed as scribbled a note on some unseen document on his clipboard.

Julie took her purse from the outstretched hand of a different Trooper and walked from the gate utterly ignoring her tormentor’s leering stare.

“Thank God I wasn’t dumb enough to bring that thumbdrive into the building, just out,” she said to herself with a surprising humor given the circumstances of the past few minutes.

She wasn’t sure what she dreaded more, the humiliating groping at the checkpoint or having to work for Alec Lehman.

****

Despite his traitorous and vindictive ways, one had to be impressed with Jackson Crutchfield’s willingness to take risks and bold military creativity. It was an interesting paradox as his Liberal mindset led him to loathe the military at any time other than when it served his needs. But despite his self-serving appreciation for his fighting men, he was willing to listen to their suggestions and ideas.

Crutchfield had been set on his heals after a significant setback during an invasion of Kentucky. After quick successes through Pennsylvania and Ohio an abortive attempt to steamroll through Kentucky and into Tennessee was smashed when his leading armor elements overextended themselves and opened the door to counterattack. He was in a tough position where he had to strike boldly, but in doing so exposed himself to larger chances of set backs. His gamble failed to pay off.

Foreign powers, all unsympathetic to America’s best interests, made the decision to start funneling money and supplies in the Crutchfield’s war machine despite the disaster in Kentucky. Utilizing a number of means, both electronic and through more traditional routes, the fuel of war started pouring in through ports along the Great Lakes and ports in the North East. The supplies were still muted until Crutchfield could prove himself further, but they were assistance nonetheless.

President Alan had been slow to use the power of the United States Navy to blockade the North East. Further, much of the Navy had still been deployed around the world in an attempt to protect America’s far-flung interests in place of the Army and Marines. It was a patchwork solution to a bad situation as the ground forces had returned to America to deal with the internal crisis. Much of the Navy was tied up in and around the Persian Gulf desperately trying to protect oil shipments as America’s enemies in the region conspired to shut off the vital lifeblood.

To further complicate matters, Crutchfield miraculously lured one aircraft carrier group and a number of attack and ballistic missile submarines to his cause. While nowhere near as large as the Presidents forces, they were just potent enough to keep the Presidents depleted naval power at bay. In essence, there was a naval stalemate.

So he and his military council crafted a new plan. They didn’t have the military strength to go head-to-head with the Presidents troops in and around the Virginias and Maryland areas. The Presidents decision to marshal his strength there was turning out to be a wise move. This eliminated the chances for an attack from New York or Pennsylvania, which reduced Crutchfield’s options greatly.

West Virginia was deemed too mountainous and wooded for any attack to succeed. They already had the support of Chicago and the northern part of Illinois, along with Indiana, so a further drive into southern Illinois wouldn’t accomplish much either. It was becoming clearer that Kentucky was the new battlefield for this war and would offer the best chance for advance.

That is where his attack would center.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:49 AM
The plan had ringing similarities to one launched in the later stages of World War II. A small force of fast moving ground troops would cross the Ohio River into Kentucky at the town of Ashland. A small coal-mining city located near the border of Ohio, Kentucky and West Virginia, it offered several large bridges for a crossing. More importantly, it was as east as you could get before the terrain was deemed too mountainous to pass.

This brigade-sized force would then race one hundred miles westward along Interstate 64 towards Lexington, Kentucky. They would seize and hold the city long enough for the main armored thrust to jump across the Ohio around Cincinnati and drive strait southward to link up with the troops. There would also be a small contingent of reinforcements delivered via air into the Lexington airport once it was captured. The key to the entire operation was speed. The force from Ashland had to cover the distance to Lexington and hold it long enough for the reinforcements to arrive. And they had to do this all before the President could respond in force.

Crutchfield had limited intelligence capabilities but his friends looking to do America harm were only happy to provide what they could. It appeared that after his previous drubbing in Kentucky that most of the forces returned to Virginia while a strong presence remained in the Louisville-Nashville corridor. The central and western portions of the state were lightly guarded. Feints and diversionary attacks would take place further west, and along the main front in the east to draw attention away from the main gambit.

His overall plan was to capture Lexington and open a wedge into Kentucky. Into that salient he could pour resources and create a toehold into the state from which he could push onwards.

Ultimately he remained convinced that capturing Kentucky and Tennessee would allow him to further encircle the President’s force and cause his enemy to dilute his strength defending multiple avenues of attack. It was risky as the President could decide to drive towards Boston, his defacto capital at any time. At that point he’d need every last fighting man and vehicle he could muster. All of the troops dallying in Kentucky would be too far out of position to race eastward.

He had to capture Kentucky and Tennessee before the President found the resolve to crush his base of operations and entire movement. If he could do that, he might have the strength to sue for peace on his terms or defeat the President outright.

It was turning into a race against time.

****

The drive to Woodville was relatively simple for Miller. Other than passing through several checkpoints his route was unimpeded. The ClarMar Farms truck and his identification papers further eased his passage. Still, for good measure he wore a pistol and stowed his rifle behind the seat of the truck should he run into any issues.

His thoughts that morning had little to do with the journey. Miller was worried both about his source of information at City Hall and what Lehman’s next move might be. The ditch digging work of contacting the other resistance groups and forming a more solidified force had been completed. For the most part they were DeMetrie’s concern now. There was always work vetting new people and helping DeMetrie plan his next move, but the bigger picture looming was when and where Lehman’s big strike would fall. They didn’t have the strength to fight toe-to-toe so they had to anticipate it to avoid being smashed into oblivion.

Further, he knew he had been asking too much of a novice agent. While her desire to help was admirable, Miller knew she was in far graver danger than she realized. Getting her killed wouldn’t help anybody’s cause.

As the miles passed behind him, and his container of iced tea drained, another concern was lingering in his mind. Their group had grown to the size where security matters were becoming more pressing. As more people were added to the cause the risks of getting caught or general security leaks increased. More people also meant greater chance for a double agent in their midst.

So far he had no reason to believe anybody would be passing information back to Lehman. But that didn’t stop him from considering the possibilities. Experience taught him to suspect everyone and consider every possibility.

The cold fact remained; more people meant more problems.

The drone of the tires against the tar-chip highway, and the gentle sway of the truck, kept him company as his mind mulled through the various issues.

There were times where going to Wyoming to be with his family seemed very appealing.

****

Tim Barnes was finishing up paperwork at his desk in the early morning. He had a shipment coming in later that morning and one to get out later that day. They would be easy transfers, however, and the day promised to be uneventful.

As he scribbled notes on the various formed needed to keep the business running he kept an eye on the clock. His friend, John Miller, was expected in a short while to pick up some items that had been brought in from the north.

Miller and Clarissa quickly realized the benefit of a nearly wide-open pipeline to the north via the river. Supplies and equipment they couldn’t make or acquire in the south could be brought in from the north through a number of contacts. While some caution had to be exercised to avoid arousing too much suspicion, and there was always a chance of being stopped on the drive back to the farm, the supply chain was relatively secure.

Barnes was acutely aware of the beige colored sedan with heavily tinted windows located across a large open parking lot. It had arrived earlier that morning and remained parked without interruption. Those monitoring their activities weren’t putting much effort into avoiding detection as they had parked in the same spot off and on for weeks.

On occasion, he’d make an opportunity to glance out the large window and verify that the car was still in place. He wanted to update Miller on their surveillance patterns and updated a nondescript crib sheet that noted the dates and times of previous encounters.

“Looks like Miller has turned me into a spy too. He’s got a funny habit of doing that to people,” thought the Reverend turned shipping line manager.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:50 AM
Three contractors and a Trooper were offloading a supply truck at one of their bases. It was tedious work, which explained why the Trooper was supervising while the three contractors did the heavy lifting. It didn’t take long before even the supervisor, who stood motionless, was drenched in sweat.

The northeast corner of the county had been transformed into a series of outposts scattered throughout a number of small towns, all within five to ten miles of each other. Not unlike the firebase concept in Viet Nam, these outposts provided secure refuge during the night and a base for mobile patrols and operations during the day. Each outpost housed ten to thirty men depending on its importance and offered some amenities, or at least more than what the men could expect living in the field.

The outposts weren’t much. Usually one existing building augmented by several temporary ones was all that comprised them. Outer gun emplacements replete with sandbags and barbed wire protected the perimeters and m,ost had concrete Jersey walls, like those in a highway construction zone forming an additional barrier beyond that. While each outpost was different, nearly all had a high gun tower near the middle to provide a vantage point in the case of attack.

Lehman was using these bases to control the population in the northeast part of the county. Individual cities were not large, but taken as a whole the area was the highest concentration of population outside of the county seat and Lumberton. Unrest had been stirring in the area since the beginning of the conflict and slowly intensified. Many people, innocent or not, had perished in the area.

“Holy Christ it’s hot!” exclaimed one of the men. Sweat dripped from every part of his body and soaked his uniform.

“Quit yer bitchin” growled the Trooper. “I don’t like being saddled with you pukes any more than you want me here”.

The work continued on for ten minutes, as the contents of the supply truck were slowly unloaded inside the compound, and the men endured the sweltering heat.

The Trooper, clipboard in hand, was checking the supplies versus his manifest and generally being insufferable.

“There’s a can of peaches missing,” he barked without looking up from his clipboard.

The three contractors exchanged silent glances of contempt but knew better than to respond.

It was then that a single shot rang out. The three contractors all dove for cover wherever it presented itself. Despite the surprise of the shot the men responded as quickly as their bodies would allow and soon all three men had found some modicum of cover while other men in the outpost did the same. One of the men yelled out as he wrenched his knee into the side of a metal supply canister while diving to the ground.

Soon the chatter of machine gun fire opened up as the gunners fired at targets real or imagined. Between the pinging noises of brass cases hitting the ground, and the relentless hammering of the machine guns firing, the contractors could hear the occasional crack and pop of small arms fire. None of the men could determine whether those shots came from their side or the opposition. On occasion a round would whiz through the compound, often times clanking into a piece of metal or concrete, sending geysers of dirt and debris into the air.

As the commander of the outpost sprinted from his building to one of the gun positions he was loudly but calmly yelling out directions and guidance to his men. Like a quarterback yelling out an audible play he was able to spur his men to a more coordinated response.

Just as he reached the gun position a loud report thundered from the gun tower near the middle of the encampment. The unmistakable boom of the .50BMG Barrett rifle flowed across the ground trailing seven hundred and six grains of remorseless lead and copper. Several of the men felt the blast in their chests as the pressure wave rode over top of them.

One of the contractors who had been offloading supplies was able to glance up just in time to catch a glimpse of an insurgent several hundred yards away. Clearly the target of the man in the gun tower, the insurgent appeared to have been attempting to sprint from one firing position to another. Just as he rose from his original perch the gigantic round cut him in half. A giant plume of blood, bone and tissue erupted from the man’s stomach and torso before he crumpled to the ground.

The contractors and Troopers from the outpost continued to fire for nearly another minute before the booming voice of the commander finally gained enough traction to penetrate the men’s hearing.

“Cease fire!” he yelled. “Cease fire!”

Slowly the command was repeated until all the fire did, in fact, come to a close. A gentle moan was heard from one of the gun positions.

Quickly, and without hesitation, he rattled of a string of commands. “Alpha team, sweep the area where the fire came from. Don’t run yourselves into an ambush, but if you make contact engage. Bravo team, stay on position for backup.”

As those teams scurried into action the commander turned to his second in command.

“What’s the damage Hank?”

“Looks like one dead, two wounded sir. One is minor, the other man will need an evac.”

“Make it happen” was all the commander said as he prepared to leave the outpost with the Alpha team. “I’ll be on the standard frequency if you need me”.

Crisply the Alpha team began their sweep into the countryside surrounding the outpost. The commander fell in behind them and within minutes they were several hundred yards outside the camp. The second in command stood over the medic as he tended to the wounded Trooper and coordinated the arrival of the helicopter that would whisk the wounded man to safety.

“Good grief” said one of the contractors who had been offloading the supply truck. “Isn’t it bad enough we’re sweating to death out here. Now I gotta be shoot at too?

“No guts, no glory” was all one of his buddies could muster by way of a reply. They all knew the dangers of their work.

Pointing back towards the truck the third contractors pointed as he said, “Uh guys. I think we’re going to have to finish the paperwork”.

There, lying in the dirt, with half his skull missing was the Trooper who had been the source of the men’s discomfort all morning.

****

As Barnes and Miller loaded the last of the boxes into the back of the truck they were sure to place innocuous items around the perimeter of more sensitive goods. While it wouldn’t survive a complete search, from a quick glance or cursory review, Miller appeared to be hauling food and farm equipment components back to ClarMar.

“So they’ve been there all morning?” asked Miller. Fortunately, the loading area of the building was around back so they were at least able to offload cargo away from the prying eyes of those in the heavily tinted sedan.

“Yes. And have been there at different intervals throughout day for a while now.”

Tossing a case of sparkplugs onto the truck Miller probed his friend. “How long is a while?”

Reminding himself to be specific Barnes replied, “They’ve been there every day, almost without fail, for the past sixteen days. No pattern during the day. Sometimes morning, sometimes night, but every day.”

“The men ever come outside the car?”

“No. Or at least not that I’ve seen.”

Thinking it over as he loaded the last box onto the truck Miller advised his friend, “Ok. Keep monitoring them, if the pattern changes call me. Make sure one of the boat hands or someone is here with you. Don’t be alone.”

“You think they’re going to try something?” asked the concerned former Reverend.

“Not sure. I doubt it. Clarissa has made such a stink with Donovan’s people that there’d be hell to pay. But they are up to something. That’s for damn sure.”

For good measure he added, “You remember where I hid all the guns for you right?”

Barnes just looked at his friend and smiled. Miller had taught him how to shoot the pistols and shotgun he had hidden in the office for Barnes’s protection. He didn’t have the heart to tell Miller that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to use them if push came to shove. Killing was Miller’s, DeMetrie’s and his men’s department, not his.

He pushed the thought out of his mind. “Of course.”

“Alight. Make sure your radio batteries are charged and your supply bag is ready to go in the event you have to clear out of here. You remember how to arm all the explosive charges right?”

“Yes”

Always covering all the bases, Miller asked, “And you remember the radio code and rendezvous point in the event you have to scramble?”

Barnes’s rattled them off from memory and without hesitation.

“Excellent. You’re doing a great job over here Tim. You’ve made more money than we ever imagined and it’s helping the cause. We can’t do our jobs without you.” Miller was always sure to let those who worked for him know his appreciation and the role they played in the overall mission. He found it kept people motivated.

The men shook hands as Barnes said, “you know, I never thought I’d become a shipping magnate when I went to bible college.”

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:52 AM
Barnes reviewed the morning’s paperwork for nearly an hour after Miller had left. Sipping on some coffee that had been simmering for hours he nearly spat out the harsh flavored liquid. He always seemed to forget that one of his boat hands would make the coffee at five in the morning when he came to work. The coffee had nearly been cremated by the time Barnes attempted to drink it.

He remained lost in his paperwork for sometime before casually, or at least he hoped it appeared so, glancing up towards where the sedan had been parked. He was somewhat surprised to see it had left.

“Guess they saw what they wanted to see.” He had nearly finished the thought when the office door suddenly sprang open, startling him.

“Mr. Craft?”

Standing up behind the desk Barnes cautiously replied, “Yes. Are you looking to move some freight on our boats?”

The two men were intimidating. It was their lack of apparent police garb or equipment that gave them a more sinister feel. Both wore suits, despite the heat, and matching mirrored sunglasses. In fact, they both looked more like gangsters and less like police or soldiers.

“Mr. Craft, you are going to half to come with us. We’ve found some….irregularities….with your operation that we need to discuss.”

“I don’t understand,” responded Barnes nervously “All of our paperwork is in order and filed directly with Senator Donovan’s office.”

“Just come with us” was the solemn direction of one of the men.

Barnes knew that when the time came he’d not be able to fight. He just didn’t have it in him. It didn’t help that the two men were both physically and psychologically imposing. Further, they had the drop on him. There was nothing he could do but submit.

The two men led him out the front door of the office and towards the dark sedan that had been moved down the street, just outside the view of his office.

Barnes’s mind raced as he tried to think about what Miller would do.

The cold reality was there was nothing he could do. He was in serious trouble and knew it. His hands shook slightly as he was marched towards the car.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:52 AM
The six men moved quietly through the woods. Moving with purpose they stepped over fallen trees and around rocks as they moved towards an unknown destination. Not a word was spoken as they made their journey; communication was by hand signals and gestures. It was clear the men had traveled like this before.

Drenched in sweat, they moved forward, rifles in hand and packs laden with supplies. At first glance, one might assume these were professional fighting men; their discipline, demeanor and weapons all led to a seemingly the logical conclusion. But on closer inspection, their uniforms were a quilt work pattern of mismatched camouflage patterns and in some cases simple Carhart work pants. Some of the men wore modern gear, some with gear dating back to the first Gulf War while one had gear that would have been appropriate to South East Asia in the late 1960’s.


The trek continued for nearly an hour as they silently pressed on to their unknown goal. Their leader, sensing an opportunity for a quick break, held the men in position just before a clearing that was neatly dissected by a shallow, but fast moving creek.

The woods had thinned from nearly impenetrable cover to a more sparsely wooded area with tall grasses and many different thickets of bramble. The clearing represented the transition from wooded area to almost completely open ground. The men would have to move far more carefully and with purpose despite being in tall grass.

Gathering them all in he spoke in hushed tones.

”Alright, we’ll cross the creek by twos. Spread out so we’re not stepping into each other’s line of fire. Keep your eyes open. This could be a good spot for an ambush”.

The men all nodded in agreement and three groups of two men each spread out and began preparing to make their crossings. The sporadic woods on one bank, and tall grasses on the other afforded the men some level of concealment. For ten yards on either side of the creek, however, they would be exposed and left little place to hide should they encounter any enemies.

The first two men slowly but purposely began their low walk out of the woods and into the clearing just before the creek. Their eyes, constantly scanning for any sign of enemies, never blinked and nearly bulged out of their skulls. The team leader held his breath and steadied his rifle should the worst occur. His fears were relived somewhat when the two men traversed the creek and ducked into the tall grass on the far bank.

Nodding at the two men to his left, the team leader and his partner began their walk to the river. Sweat burned at his eyes as the sun beat down on his floppy pattern hat. He too scanned the horizon, rifle ready to respond should trouble emerge. He nearly tripped on a rock as he and his partner covered the open ground leading up to the creek bed. Knowing his luck, he’d fall and break his leg leaving him with a less than impressive war wound.

His luck held and he made it to the creek bed. The team leaders partner, seven or eight yards to his right, was almost through the creek bed when he made his first step onto a slippery rock to begin the crossing. Here his luck changed and his boot slipped and he stutter-stepped into the ankle deep water, splashing as he attempted to regain his balance.

“Oh great, I’m the team leader, and here I am flailing about like an idiot” was the thought the raced through his mind as he finally found solid footing.

It would be the last thought he’d ever have.

As he found a more secure purchase in the creek bed, the team leader froze to allow the flurry of sound to subside. Just as he did this, a loud boom, distinctive of the .50BMG Barrett Rifle, erupted across the clearing, and the team leader’s torso erupted in a cloud of blood and entrails. His lifeless body collapsed into the water, which rapidly turned red as his remaining lifeblood drained into babbling water.

At that exact instant, a hail of automatic rifle fire burst out from the men’s left. Several rounds caught the team leaders partner before he could respond. The projectiles spun him to the ground and removed him from the fight.

The fears of the team leader had been tragically prophetic. It was an ambush and it had been executed perfectly. The crackle and pop of small arms fire raked the tall grass where the first group to cross the creek had chosen to position themselves. While the men futilely tried to return fire, round after round pummeled the ground and grass around them. They had precious little ground to hide behind and each man desperately attempted to utilize as much of it as possible.

The two men who hadn’t crossed yet faired somewhat better from the cover of some trees and a slight mound of dirt. One man, laying prone and armed with an old SKS fired off ten rounds in rapid succession in the direction of their attackers. Satisfied that he had provided his friends a scant bit of assistance he reared to his side to remove another ten round stripper clip of ammunition from his web gear. To accomplish this, however, he had to raise himself up slightly to gain access to his ammo pouch.

In doing this, the man unwittingly opened the door to his own demise. Just as the stripper clip broke free of the pouch, the titanic boom of the Barrett rifle again thundered across the clearing. At the exact instant the noise down out the chatter of the small arms fire, the man with the SKS pitched backwards and landed in a heap.

As he heard his friend grunt he turned to see what was the matter. He was greeted with the shocking image of his friend, missing a large portion of his left side and staring blankly at him.

The situation was deteriorating rapidly.

As rounds sailed overhead and the chatter of rifle fire bludgeoned their senses, the two men across the creek agreed in silence that their only chance was to dash back across the creek.

Exchanging glances the men nodded, sprang to their feet and fired rapidly as they began their zig-zagging sprint back across the creek. If they could brave the hail of bullets and find safety on the opposite bank, they and their remaining cohorts could attempt to break contact and escape.

Seeing his two friends rise, the man behind the small mound of earth began placing rapid but aimed shots in the direction of the enemies fire. Swearing to himself, he remembered the smoke grenade hanging at his side. Quickly he retrieved it, pulled the pin and threw it as best he could between his friends and their attackers.

Had the men running across the river communicated their intentions, the smoke screen might have been more effective. As it was, the smoke cloud wasn’t developing in such a way to afford them much concealment.

But at that point, they weren’t going to argue.

Both men slashed through the creek as fast and low as humanly possible, trying to return fire as they went. Their legs protested under the strain as they pumped in a frantic attempt to propel close to two hundred and fifty pounds of man and equipment forward. Neither man seemed to notice as his body screamed in agony in response to the sudden call for maximum output.

The water and slippery rocks seemed to suck at their boots as the men dashed for safety. Rounds pinged off rocks and whistled through the air around them. One man found footing on the opposite bank of the creek and uttered a silent prayer of thanks. While he was still a long way from safety, the more solid footing promised him a better chance of moving forward.

He never saw his friend fall behind him. The man also made it to the far side of the creek, just before a round caught him in the leg. Screaming out in agony he fell to the ground, momentum causing him to roll to a stop in a heap. He scrambled to his good foot and continued the quest for safety. He was now a sitting duck for the man behind the Barrett rifle. With another mighty blast the man was dispatched.

From behind the mound of dirt, the man keep returning fire towards the unknown assailants until his friend, about twenty yards to his right, ran slightly past his position and dove behind a fallen tree. He did so with seconds to spare as a spate of rifle rounds crashed into the tree and ground around it.

Sensing the time to break contact was upon them, the men, without communication, fired off a few shots and began sprinting for cover further back. Miraculously, they both were able to dodge and weave their way further and further from the group of men attempting to kill them. Soon they were able to get into a position where even the hidden sniper with the Barrett could not reach them.

Shedding their heavy packs, the two men ran, almost wildly, through the woods, attempting to put distance between themselves and the ambush. Should their attackers pursue them, they wanted as large of head start as possible. Fate smiled on them, and their attackers chose to close out the ambush and inspect the fallen men instead.

Nearly a full hour later, the two men collapsed into a heap, tucked into a small depression hidden in a small ravine. They were nearly safe from detection and the timely refuge allowed their exhausted and battered bodies to rest.

Neither man had to say it. They both knew who had just killed four of their friends: Troopers.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:53 AM
Barnes was in real trouble and knew it. The two Troopers were leading him away from his office by the docks and directly towards the darkly tinted sedan that had been their home for the past few weeks.

The seriousness of the situation was not lost on the former Reverend. This would be his second time being in the custody of these men and he wasn’t sure a second escape would be in the cards.

“Get in the car” commanded the Trooper as his cohort opened the rear door. To emphasize his command he shoved Barnes forward. Due to his forward momentum he smacked the bridge of his nose into the doorframe of the car. An angry bruise started immediately as a slight trickle of blood oozed from the cracked skin.

“Hey!” exclaimed Barnes in response to the injury.

Further emphasizing his control of the situation, the trooper briskly dumped Barnes into the back of the sedan.

Like any police vehicle it was impossible to open the doors from the inside of the caged rear seat. While Barnes could move freely, and wasn’t handcuffed, he would be prisoner of this mobile holding cell.

“Let’s get you back to Shelton, Mr. Craft. We have to have a little talk,” hissed the second trooper who had already taken up station in the passenger seat.

Barnes thought to himself, “maybe the car won’t start”. His brain was in high gear trying to think of a solution to his problem no matter how remote the possibility.

His heart racing, Barnes dejectedly sunk into the rear seat as the car started and slowly drove away.

****

DeMetrie wasn’t happy. While he wasn’t one to show anger, he was furious. Word of the team being ambushed and the four dead men had reached his ears.

“Dammit” he swore to himself. “I told that idiot not to do anything yet” DeMetrie carried for his men, and every death effected him, but nothing made his blood boil more than a leader who endangered those in his care.

Letting out a deep sigh the Captain pulled himself up from the chair in what passed for an office. In any other time, and any other place, the room would have been mistaken for a broom closet. Somehow DeMetrie had shoehorned in a small desk and other items needed to run their operations.

Collecting his thoughts he made his way to the team room. He knew the men he needed would be there.

As he strode in the door he was treated to a poker game in progress. It was a pastime his three best men had fully adopted and played nearly non-stop in their off time. He forced the smile from his face as he caught the last part of the good-natured ribbing the punctuated every game.

“Who’s your daddy now?” taunted the thin white man known as Lowry. Lowry was one of DeMetrie’s most trusted Sergeants before they left the Army and even more so now. Both men owed their lives to each other. He beamed from ear to ear as he held up the winning hand and began raking the pile of chips in his direction.

Chomping on an extinguished cigar the older man blurted back, “Forget that, you should be worried about what I did to your mother” as he threw his cards down in disgust. Caddy was an old hand. While he had only recently joined up with Miller and DeMetrie, he had quickly won them over and built a level of trust with them.

Caddy had been in combat more times than he carried to admit. While his age was starting to catch up with him he was able to compensate with his experience. No idea how long he could keep that up, but for the time being he was doing a good job.

Sitting back and enjoying the show was Corporal Sam Reynolds. Though thick and thin he’d served DeMetrie. He was on the fast track to promotion to Sergeant had their departure from the Army not been so sudden.

The three men worked together as if they had been a team for ten times longer than they actually had been. Bordering on telepathic, when the men were on a mission they simply anticipated and read each other’s moves before they were made. Lowry and Reynolds trusted their Captain enough to unquestioningly allow Caddy to lead their team and the choice was already paying dividends. Their effectiveness in the field bordered on astounding.

His presence also freed DeMetrie to spend more time coordinating the overall effort of everybody who was joining the effort to resist Donovan. DeMetrie had a lot on his plate as the defacto military commander of the entire effort.

“Alright” he announced. “Look alive”.

Without pausing all three men tossed down their cards and focused all their attention on DeMetrie.

“What’s up Cap?” asked Lowry. Sensing that the Captain meant business he kept the insult he had prepared for Caddy to himself.

“There’s been more trouble up in the Northeast corner of the county. Attacks on the outposts have proved less than effective. The teams we have up there are trying but need a little…. helping hand”.

DeMetrie’s men all glanced at each other as they sensed the direction the Captain was heading.

“Shelve what you’ve got planned now. I want you three to make a sweep through that area. Stick with hit and runs but plan on staying in the field instead of coming back here every night. This is going to be one long patrol”.

That was a new twist. Rarely did DeMetrie allow men to stay in the field overnight. Discovery was a real possibility and they couldn’t afford to loose a single man, let alone experience the devastating security breach if someone got captured.

“What’s changed your mind sir?” asked Caddy.

“I trust you guys not to do something stupid like start a campfire and sing kumbaya”

“Or dance around naked?” suggested Lowry.

As he usually did, the Captain ignored Lowry. “More importantly, we need to put a dent in the Troopers up there. They’re getting damn close to clamping that area down. That’s not good at all. They need pressure and they need it in large doses.”

“Sir” interjected Reynolds. “What about the other groups up in that area?”

“You three worry about disrupting the Troopers. I’ll work on increasing the effectiveness of these other teams. They are going to be used elsewhere for a while,” replied the Captain in his usual no-nonsense manner. “Take the time to plan, but I want you up there as soon as possible. Let me know if you need any special toys otherwise the armory is yours”

“Roger that Captain” replied Lowry. Being told the armory was theirs was like setting three kids loose in a candy store. DeMetrie was typically very stingy with the special toys, their euphemism for the military grade explosives they had borrowed from the Army. Miller’s sources in the north provided extra supplies of useful equipment via the boat line too. But normally they had to rely on improvised devises.

“Good” was all the Captain said. He knew he could trust his men to put together operational plans and bring them to him complete. Before he strode out of the room the Captain asked “Caddy, do me a favor?”

“What’s that sir?” asked the former Marine that looked like a recruiting poster.

“Please start winning at cards. Lowry is getting insufferable”.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:54 AM
The sedan hadn’t gone more than a few blocks, yet to Barnes it seemed like a lifetime. He found the incongruity of the stunningly beautiful day with the seriousness of the current situation disconcerting. He preferred a simpler, less stressful life.

“Mr. Craft, it would seem you have made the wrong people unhappy” said the Trooper in the passenger seat in an ominous tone.

“I told you, I have no idea what this is about,” replied Barnes.

“We’ll see about that,” said the driver.

As the sedan rounded the corner on the main street back to Shelton, they suddenly came upon an older pickup loaded with items in the bed and pulled to the side of the narrow street. The Troopers immediately recognized the universally recognized signal that the truck was experiencing mechanical issues; its hood was up. Furthermore, it’s blinkers clicked on and off in a rhythmic signal of mechanical breakdown.

The driver had clearly made an attempt to pull his truck over, but it still blocked the narrow street. With cars parked on one side of the street there wasn’t room for the Trooper’s car to pass.

“What the hell is this?” asked the passenger.

“Beats me,” said the driver. “Looks like Farmer Joe broke down”.

“No shit Sherlock” came the terse reply.

Although the unforeseen obstacle did not alarm them, the diver stopped the car well behind the truck to avoid being boxed in.

The driver, clearly in charge, instructed the passenger to go check it out. “Be careful. Could be something.”

While the driver left the car running for good measure, the Trooper from the passenger side slowly began approaching the truck. He scanned his surroundings but seeing nothing out of the ordinary he pressed on. Nearing the back of the truck his hand drifted to the sidearm hidden underneath his suit jacket. One could never be too careful.

The hood blocked his view of the front of the truck forcing him to walk past the door before he could begin to see what was hidden behind it. Approaching from the passenger side of the truck, the Trooper squeezed between it and the row of cars parked next to it. The reassuring butt of his gun was firmly in hand.

“Hey, you need any help” he called out just before rounding the front of the truck.

****

“I’m telling you the driver ain’t there,” said the irritated Trooper.

“He’s gotta be around here somewhere. Not to many places to go” said the driver as they both scanned up and down the street. Barnes watched the two men standing near the front of the Troopers car from his temporary holding cell in the back of the Troopers sedan.

“Alright” said the driver suddenly. “We need to unfuck ourselves. Get in the car.”

Both men trotted back to their sedan. The realization they were being sucked into an ambush had hit them both simultaneously. Reacting quickly they retreated to the relative safety of the vehicle

“This is bad,” offered up the passenger.

“Just get in,” blurted out the driver as they both returned to the front seat of the sedan.

The driver, veins filling with adrenaline, mistakenly attempted to start the already idling car. Jarred by the grinding of the starter he quickly realized his error, shifted the car in reverse and prepared to back up out of the blockaded street.

It was as he turned his head to look behind him that it happened.

The passenger side window shattered and a deafening roar filled the passenger compartment of the car. Bits of glass, blood and tissue pelted the driver, startling him and causing him to jam his leg forward in an abortive attempt to simply drive away from the danger.

Making the same mistake millions of teenaged drivers have made, his foot missed the accelerator pedal and firmly mashed the brakes. The car had barely begun to roll rendering the sudden halting of momentum impotent, however, while an embarrassing mistake for a young driver, it proved a fatal one for the Trooper driving the car. A second and third deafening blast rocked the front compartment of the car.

Blood and spayed across the driver’s portion of the windscreen and side window as the bullets collided with the Troopers upper torso.

Barnes, cowering on the back floorboards of the car, heard the passenger side door open. From his contorted position, it was difficult to see who had given the command, but he didn’t need to see his rescuer to know who had come to his aide.

“You are starting to make a bad habit of this Reverend, “ said John Miller as he extended his hand to help his friend out of the car.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:54 AM
As Miller drove the truck back to ClarMar farms Barnes sat in silence. He simply wasn’t cut out for near death experiences and the sort of action in which Miller seemed to revel. He rather liked running the boat line and living a quiet life.

“Why do you think they came after me?” asked Barnes, voice trembling.

“Beats me Tim. Any ideas?”

Thinking for a minute Barnes finally responded. “I wish I knew” was the only reply he could muster.

“They cased your joint for a while. They wanted you for some reason. We’ll figure it out. For now, we need to get back to ClarMar and have Clarissa work her charms on Mr. Donovan. You can call back to the office so your man knows what’s going on when he gets there”.

The Barnes sat in silence as the truck gently swayed in rhythm with the grooves in the road.


****

The oppressive atmosphere of Shelton’s City Hall resembled the Furher bunker circa 1945 more than the small town municipal complex it once was. What most of the previous employees didn’t recognize was that this was exactly the intent of Alec Lehman when he rolled into town. His goal was to establish an environment that reinforced the authority of the State Troopers. So far, he had succeeded.

In his pressed and immaculately clean uniform he delighted in making sure the hourly employees understood who exactly was in charge. One temporary worker who had run afoul of web of security protocols had mysteriously disappeared one evening, ostensibly shipped off to one of the camps on the coast. Or worse.

The hallways were no better. In addition to the checkpoint guards to gain access to the complex, guards were also posted inside the building. These guards were taken from the ranks of the contractors of the previous firms that had attempted to subdue the area. They too were instructed to make sure the workers knew they were being watched. To add to the terror, they contractors knew they too were under scrutiny.

Slicking back his graying hair Lehman reviewed the never-ending flow of reports and paperwork his authoritarian leadership style demanded. His Troopers had reporting requirements, mostly related to staffing and operational summaries but it was the contractors and county workers who carried the burden of his perverse desire for information. From supply requisitions to vacation requests to security checkpoint logs, all of this information flowed across his desk. Lehman read it all.

In his darkened office, illuminated by a lone desk lamp, he would spend hours sending memos back to the originator with questions and comments. Often entire sections of memos would be crossed out with handwritten corrections in their place.

Looking over some security gate logs he noticed some strange comings and goings of one of his employees. On occasion this person would take a later lunch than normal, but then return after only twenty or thirty minutes. There was no pattern that he could determine.

While it was nothing definitive it did pique his curiosity. Thinking it over he finally picked up his phone.

The secretary on the other end dutifully responded immediately.

“Yes sir?”

“Please send up the head of the investigations section, right away,” he asked.


****

“So what do you think?” Lehman asked his lead investigations man.

Rubbing his chin, the older man, obviously long since past fieldwork, replied. “I agree sir. There’s no pattern but something is odd. Usually when you take lunch later than normal it’s for a specific reason. You’re running an errand that can only be done then, or something like that. But why delay your lunch hour if your errand is only taking twenty minutes? You go grab a sandwich, run your errand and come back.”

Lehman took a long sip of coffee. Sitting behind his desk like a school principal he said, “Could be nothing but check it out anyway.”

“Yes sir. There’s a kid in the section who’s rather good. He’s a leftover from the other firm but he’s been doing a solid job. He’ll make short work of this.”

Flashing as much smile as he could muster, which barely qualified as a smile, Lehman dismissed his investigations man.

Soon he was back to the pile of documents he was to review.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 12:54 AM
Military operations tend to bounce between two possible outcomes: utter chaos and complete disaster. It is rare when a plan both survives the initial contact and goes off without a hitch.

Under the cover of darkness the forces crossed the Ohio River in a small flotilla of rafts. Like ants crossing a raging stream clinging to leaves, the black rubber rafts bobbed their way across the waterway. Soon soldiers were climbing the muddy banks of the river and converging on the openings of the side-by-side bridges. To their amazement, they found the bridges completely unguarded.

With a double-crossing established soon Humvee’s, pickups and other light vehicles were pouring men across the river in a frantic race to establish a secure bridgehead. Like many small towns, the bridges emptied directly into the downtown area. Buildings were commandeered and firing positions established. Sandbags and machine guns were quickly put into place to support the light missiles and claymore mines. They wouldn’t be able to stop armored vehicles, but against light infantry they soon established a challenging defensive perimeter.

In the midst of this windstorm of activity at the bridges, lead elements of the force raced through the town looking to establish a link to Interstate I64. While only 10 miles away, they had to traverse the entire town of Ashland, Kentucky to get to the vital onramps. A small town of only 25,000 people, it offered a maze of streets, houses and other various obstacles, that if defended properly stood a chance seriously impeding the attack. It wasn’t unlikely that if it were defended well it would grind their attack to a standstill.

The commander of the lead elements was astonished that they tore through the city streets with no resistance. They passed a few cars, even police vehicles, but in the darkness the locals mistook the presence of troops as some sort of exercise or maneuvers. Because these soldiers looked like all the others that passed through town, little attention was paid to them.

By two in the morning, a force of five hundred men had captured and secured two different onramps to the highway. While not mandatory, the easy access to the interstates added speed to the assault. And at this point, speed was critical.

Soon armored vehicles, trooper carriers and trucks laden with men were driving down Interstate 64 at maximum speed. They had to both traverse the 107 miles to Lexington and move the bulk of their men there before being detected. Only a small contingent would remain at the bridge and onramps to the highway. The vast majority of the Brigade would move on Lexington and attempt to capture and hold it until the bulk of their forces punched a hole in the lines near Cincinnati and linked up with them. If the enemy detected them in transit they’d likely be destroyed in piecemeal. If the enemy attacked after they had reassembled around Lexington, the forces at the bridge in Ashland would dissolve back across the river leaving the Brigade cut off.

They were essentially on their own now.

****

“Miles, what hell are you doing?” demanded an irate Clarissa Donner.

Donovan had just been told he had a call from Mrs. Donner and that it was urgent. Without the courtesy of a greeting she made clear the conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant.

Pouring on his well-honed politicians charm he replied, “Clarissa, what is the matter? How can I help?”

“You know damn well what is the matter. We had an agreement and your goons assaulted one of my men.”

He motioned the rest of his staff out of his office while responding, “Seriously, Clarissa, I have no idea to what you are referring.”

Sighing, Clarissa proceeded to explain how troopers had tried to take Barnes in for questioning. Wisely she omitted how exactly he had been released from their custody. Some things were better left unsaid.

“I thought I made clear, Miles, that I didn’t want this kind of harassment. I’ve kept my farm open, I’ve helped the economy in this area, and I’ve kept people employed and distracted from what is going on in the Southern District. Most importantly, I’ve kept the tax dollars rolling in to your coffers. Your people made it clear certain courtesies would be extended.” As usual, she didn’t mince words.

Miles Donovan had spent a lifetime weaseling though situations, and charming his way out of bad spots. Sometimes that charm included brute force. He decided to take a different tact with Mrs. Donner. That he had ulterior motives factored heavily into what he was about to say.

“You are exactly right Clarissa. There must have been a bureaucratic mix-up that I assure you will not happen again. I’ll take care of those goons from my end. We should further clarify our arrangement, however. Why don’t I send my plane for you? You can come to the Capitol, we’ll talk it over and make sure this sort of misunderstanding doesn’t happen again. At the very least, let me extend you an apology in the form of a spectacular meal”. For the most part, his interests lay in the meal portion of the meeting.

Being smart enough to smell the trap Clarissa dodged it. “That’s very nice of you Miles. But let’s stay focused here. How are we going to keep this from happening again? I can’t keep people fat, dumb and happy for you if they are being hauled off into the night.”

“As I said, this will not be happening again. The people responsible will be dealt with.”

“Fine” she replied. “I’ll let my man know it’s safe to return to work. I’m willing to keep my end of the bargain Miles, but you need to make sure your folks do the same.” There were few people in the world that intimidated her and Senator Donovan wasn’t one of them.

“My dear, it’s over as far as I’m concerned. You get back to doing a good job out there and don’t worry about any more interference,” he said with all the charm of a used car salesmen.

After hanging up he thought for a minute. It was a rare circumstance when someone spoke to him like that and lived to tell the tale. He’d had people silenced for far lesser affronts. But she was right; he needed her to help keep things calm since there were other problems in that area.

He couldn’t decide if the way she talked to him was worth of a death sentence or terribly exciting. For a man used to getting everything he wanted, sometimes the ones you had to chase were more intoxicating.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 01:05 AM
Sitting in his car, Glenn Hubbard was hot, tired and confused. The heat and humidity made the process of following the young girl unpleasant to say the least. He barely survived her lunch at Hardee Park without passing out from heat exhaustion.

It had been a strange year for the young man. With a background in criminal justice, and an eye for details, he had decided to get some life experience in the military. After a short stint as a ground-pounding infantryman, he signed a contract with a military contracting firm, Aperture Consulting. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life, and had a harder time figuring out how to make a living doing investigations. It wasn’t like TV where you donned a raincoat and floppy hat and hid in the shadows.

He found a home at Aperture and soon moved from doing grunt work to doing actual investigations of different situations. They even paid for him to attend several seminars and training sessions about crime scenes and data analysis. One weekend training class actually focused on surveillance. He was a voracious reader and it was rare when he couldn’t be found reading a magazine, training book or reference material on a subject related to his interests.

He also found something else at Aperture that helped him focus his energy. The second in command had served as a surrogate mentor to him. While he didn’t directly work with him all that often, they interfaced in his support role on many occasions. Caddy saw his talent and worked to support the young man’s growth in the company while acting as a powerful benefactor.

But then the troublemakers began attacking them more often and Senator Donavan authorized increased assaults on them. Raids and patrols ultimately culminated in Aperture’s leader being killed and Caddy’s disappearance.

After that State Troopers were dispatched to Shelton, where they hired those they wanted, kept some more for menial tasks and fired the rest. Men who had once been in control of the town ended up destitute, and in some cases in Camps. But they kept Hubbard on board. Lehman and his investigations men saw his talent and immediately recognized his potential.

So here he sat, tailing a young girl in a town so small there was nowhere to hide. It was a challenge but so far he had pulled it off.

The young girl was under suspicion after some irregularities had been found in her comings and goings from City Hall. He looked though her phone logs and computer and found nothing of note. He had already had the phone tap installed, and was getting ready to search her house at the next available opportunity.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was definitely odd about her behavior.

As he watched her pull away from the gas station on the outskirts of town he had to wonder why a young, attractive girl drove all the way to the outskirts of town to use the restroom at a seedy gas station.

He decided to return to City Hall and do a little more research.

****

“Seems like you boys are all ready to go,” said DeMetrie as he adjusted a piece of gear on Lowry’s backpack. It had come slightly lose and needed retying to secure it properly.

“Now remember, you boys are staying out a few days, but if you get in a jam use the radios. We’ll come get you.”

“Yes sir” they all replied in unison.

They presented an intimidating appearance. All three were laden with oversized backpacks, chest harnesses and various forms of camouflage. Rife magazines and sidearms were in their appropriate places. Faces painted in camouflage war-paint, and hands covered by gloves the men looked as if they could disappear three feet outside the building and be lost forever.

The plan was relatively simple. Miller would insert them using his trusty farm truck. They had contemplated using he junk truck, the one with the high performance engine, but felt the farm truck would gather less attention. By adding a truck cap and some boxes the men could ride in back in relative comfort and security. Things could get dicey if they got stopped, but they all felt this would be the best way to achieve a quick and secure insertion into the area they planned to patrol. The alternative was walking and delaying the missions starting by at least two days.

“Miller here tells me his source called yesterday afternoon. The outposts in the Northeast corner of the county are running business as usual. There are no further plans to reinforce them despite our earlier efforts there” explained the Captain.

“In fact, she said there’s going to be increased efforts in the south, of all places,” added Miller.

“Your plan is solid. You men are turned on and solid. Take it to the enemy,” was DeMetrie’s instruction. “Any questions?”

All three men shook their heads in unison.

“You boys go load up,” said Miller. “I’ll be out in a second”.

As Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds shuffled out of the room, encumbered by gear and supplies, Miller turned to the Captain.

“Mike, how confident are you these other groups are going to comply with your direction to stay away from the Northeast corner?”

As he fiddled with opening a soda can DeMetrie answered, “They’ve all given their word and so far have complied with everything else. Why?”

Miller tossed a few items into a small backpack and looked back up at this friend and compatriot. “Based on what they have planned, if another one of our groups goes stumbling into that area it’s going to put our three boys in a world of danger.”

“I know. But I’ve impressed upon them the importance of sticking to our plans. They all agreed. They will work in the southern and southwestern parts of the counties to draw Troopers away from the North East. In fact, your news that Troopers were already swinging that direction couldn’t have come at a better time,” said DeMetrie.

A grunt of acknowledgment was all Miller gave in reply.

“You don’t agree?” asked the Captain. “Oh, I agree. It couldn’t have been timed any better. That’s what worries me.”

The Stig
02-25-2011, 01:19 AM
The heat was overwhelming and it still wasn’t the hottest part of the day.

The Trooper lay as silently as he could in his small hiding place. He was about 50 yards to the side of a small trail that snaked its way through the woods. As sweat dripped from the bridge of his nose, and he fought the fog that formed on the inside of his goggles, he knew that he wouldn’t be waiting much longer. From his vantage point several meters higher up the hillside he had a clear field of fire.

In fact, the other ten Troopers had equally excellent fields of fire. The reality was they could not have found a better ambush spot. The men had been in place for three hours waiting for the foe to approach. Fighting off the heat, insects and the intense desire to nod off, they stayed alert. The men had entered into the area the night before to use the cover of darkness and then lay silent for their opportunity to strike.

That opportunity was upon them.

The Trooper closest to the men almost missed them at first. But slowly they emerged out of the woods. The men appeared competent moving through the woods. Clearly they weren’t soldiers, but they’d had some experience or training to help them both utilize the natural camouflage and minimize the noise they generated.

The four men were dressed in a mixed bag of different types of camouflage and clothes. All four carried small backs and several wore chest rigs of various types. Two men carried AK-47 style rifles, while one carried a bolt action of some sort. The last man carried a smaller rifle that almost looked like a toy from a distance. It was clear these men were part of the growing resistance movement.

Time slowed to a halt as the trooper awaited the signal from the team leader to open fire. Nothing more original than an opening shot, the signal would notify all the other Troopers to engage. He nearly held his breath as his pulse quickened and his world narrowed to the slice of trail ahead of him. He silently removed the safety catch from his rifle. The slight metallic click sounded like a cannon shot in the quiet of the wood.

The trooper watched as the first man approached and then quietly glided by. The second man, taking shorter strides, was nearly abreast his position. As his heart rate increased he wondered just how long the team leader was willing to wait. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to wait all that long.

The first shot rang out and sounded like a nuclear blast compared to the silence of the previous moment in time. The third man in line, the one with the bolt-action rifle fell to the ground in a crumpled heap of man and equipment. He died having never fired a shot in anger at his enemy.
The Trooper fired his rifle at the second man in line a fraction of a second after the man leapt to his side in an attempt to avoid any rounds coming in his direction. His impressive display of athleticism saved him from the same fate as his bolt-action toting friend. The first man in line wasn’t so lucky. He froze for an imperceptible second that allowed several rifle rounds to catch him in the torso. He was able to move off the trail, and into a small depression but from the elevated height, the Troopers were able to dispatch him easily.

The Trooper swore lightly when his prey escaped the initial jaws of their trap. His patience was rewarded, however, when the man remained in view. From his elevated position there just wasn’t anywhere the man could hide.

“Front sight, press trigger, breath” he reminded himself. Soon the third man of the group was killed.

He could still hear the light “pop” noise of a smaller caliber weapon coming from his right. The trooper could see where most of his compatriots were shooting but the fourth man had gotten lucky. The combination of a felled tree, large rock and depression in the ground afforded him some cover from the hail of bullets impacting around him.

The Trooper felt the tug on his shirt as the man to his left signaled that they were going to flank the remaining man. Pulling himself up quickly, the Trooper followed his friend down the side of the hill. There was some danger that the man may see them, but so far he had been pinned in place by the troopers closest to him.

Moving quickly, and starting to breathe more heavily, the two troopers swept slightly beyond the trail before moving towards their foe. The man must have been thinking he was given a respite when the barrage of bullets from his front slowed. Sadly, he just didn’t have the experience to contend with trained men and recognize what was happening.

They carefully moved into the classic L shaped ambush as they flanked the hapless man. Careful to avoid crossing in front of the Troopers on the hillside, they opened fire from the side. The Trooper had gotten lucky. He was just far enough behind the position that he could see the man’s exposed leg. Lining up his rifle sights he coldly and without emotion shot the man though the calf. The scream of agony could be heard even over the sounds of rifle-fire.

Again feeling the tug on his shirtsleeve the Trooper moved forward in concert with his companion. Apparently the team leader had radioed for them to move in to finish the job and he missed the call. Within seconds the rifle fire from the hillside ceased, granting the trapped man some false respite.

Felling the pit in his stomach, the Trooper moved forward. This part was always dangerous. The man could anticipate their moves and attack them as they moved into his field of view. One of their friends on the hillside could panic and shoot them by mistake. It was a risky place to be.

As they moved into view of the man his fears subsided. The man appeared to be trying to manipulate some mechanism on his small firearm. One could almost read the expression of panic as he desperately tried to chamber a round in his inoperable weapon.

“You want to live, drop the rifle,” yelled out the other Trooper in a frighteningly authoritarian voice. Both Troopers expected the injured and outnumbered man to surrender. So far no group of Troopers had successfully captured a member of the resistance. Doing so would serve to advance their carriers.

Sometimes men don’t always respond the way you’d expect.

The man, injured and nearly surrounded reacted to the challenge by turning and raising his inoperable weapon at the Troopers.

There would be no career advancement opportunities today. The Troopers simply shot the man. Multiple rifle rounds crashed into his body nearly simultaneously.

The entire action had taken less than two minutes.

Soon the entire group of Troopers had secured the area, made sure there were no other members of the resistance in the area and taken what intelligence items they could from the bodies of the men.

“Would you look at this,” said the team leader holding up the small rifle of the fourth man. “A HighPoint!”

The Trooper shook his head at the obsolete and inoperable weapon. Clearly the weapon had failed during the rapid engagement and cost the man his life.

The Troopers finished up their work and began the long trek back to their camp.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 01:20 AM
Carefully jimmying the lock to one of the sliding patio doors, Glenn Hubbard quickly let himself into the apartment. Despite being the middle of the day, he had the good fortune of approaching the building unnoticed. Not that he worried much. His State Trooper credentials ensured that he wouldn’t be bothered in the course of performing his duties. He did, however, want to remain undetected to avoid arousing the suspicions of his target.

The apartment was, as one would expect for a young, single lady, neat, tidy, plenty of potpourri and woman oriented magazines. There wasn’t an overabundance of knickknacks cluttering up the place, but they were there. Both the small living room and kitchen offered nothing out of the ordinary.

His main interest was the bedroom and hall closet anyway. Thus far his experience was that untrained people tended to hide things in their bedroom or hall closet. He wasn’t sure why that was. Maybe it was a byproduct of a false sense of privacy normally afforded those areas. He had to chuckle to himself, he was about to do anything but respect the young ladies privacy.

He’d prefer to simply “toss the place” and tear it apart in the process, but that would likely be noticed by the occupant. So he set about searching all of the common places an amateur would likely hide something of value without leaving signs that he had been there. Under the mattress, in the nightstand and in jewelry boxes all proved barren ground in his search for anything incriminating.

For a good fourty minutes he methodically searched for any item that might give him a clue as to his targets activities. Despite his best efforts he found nothing of interest.

Moving on the hall closet he searched under all the towels, behind the shampoo bottles and felt on the top shelf for anything secreted there. Again, this search proved fruitless.

By the time an hour had passed, Glenn Hubbard had less information on his target than before he broke into her apartment.

Going back to her bedroom closet he double-checked jacket pockets, shoeboxes and any other area that could contain items other than the intended purpose. Other than learning her shoe size and noticing that she liked nicer clothes he again came up empty.

He was just about to give up. He’d been there an hour already and despite the remote chance of her returning home during the workday he didn’t want to push his luck too far.

It was then he noticed them; hanging towards the back of the closet were several pairs of woman’s negligees. It was likely he noticed them on his first pass though the closet but this time they caught his attention. These were more than common nightgowns, these were clearly meant for more romantic situations.

His target was single and confirmed by several sources to not be seeing anybody. He thought it odd that such an attractive girl would be single, but people were quite clear about the matter.

Feeling a bit like a pervert, he then re-inspected her undergarment drawers. There too something was out of place; all of the fancier, more intimate garments were in the front of the drawer. The plainer, utilitarian ones were shoved to the back.

Going back to the nightstand he surveyed the belongings and found what he had expected, various forms of birth control.

Making sure to put everything back in its place Hubbard quickly made his departure from Julie Dawson’s apartment. As he walked back towards City Hall he mulled over his discovery.

Despite the appearances being kept, one thing was clear: Julie Dawson was seeing a man.

He hurried his pace as he approached the security checkpoint. Her phone records would be available soon.

****

“How’d it go?” asked DeMetrie as Miller returned to their compound. DeMetrie had been reviewing some maps of the area when his friend returned from inserting the team into the Northeastern corner of the county. It was much later in the day as Miller had made some legitimate farm related trips to continue the cover of being on ClarMar business.

After exchanging greetings with the other solider in the room, Miller replied, “Piece of cake. The stretch of road was perfect. Pulled over to the side. Pretended to take a leak. Bingo, the boys were into the woods”.

Nodding his head DeMetrie pressed on, “no signs of being followed or watched.”

“Nope. Kept my tail clear and was in and out in a minute. Wouldn’t want to do it all the time, but not a bad way for getting men to the scene quickly. Far easier than those damn motorbikes through the woods,” said Miller.

Simply nodding his head DeMetrie fell silent.

As Miller poured himself a cup of coffee from the seemingly never-ending pot available in the room, he sensed something was wrong.

“So what’s the matter?” he asked the clearly bothered Captain.

“Franks, could you give us a minute?” the Captain said to the other man in the room. He politely nodded his head and made leave.

“We lost another team”.

“Damn” swore Miller. They couldn’t afford to lose any men and entire teams created gaping holes in their fragile movement. Instantly collecting himself Miller got to work. “Details?”

The Captain sighed. “I’m afraid there aren’t many to report. Their runner just left before you came back. They were from that new group that joined up a month or so ago. They didn’t report back in and a scout party found them. Didn’t take much. The bodies had been left propped up along the trail where they got jumped.”

“A message obviously” said Miller.

Agreeing DeMetrie said, “Their commander sent them out on that patrol we requested up north. Didn’t happen too far into the patrol either.” Leaning back in his chair he continued, “we obviously can’t sustain losses. That’s clear. I’m more worried that these other groups aren’t going to stand for us running the show if this keeps happening. If the network falls apart there’s no way we’re stopping Donovan.”

“What are your plans?”

Thinking for a long while, almost an uncomfortable amount of time, DeMetrie finally said, “Nothing much I can do. We’re just not ready for a head-to-head confrontation yet”.

Miller nodded. “Agreed. Let me look into a couple things. I think I need to go see a little bird at City Hall.”

The Stig
02-25-2011, 01:20 AM
There wasn’t much to go on. So far all Hubbard could prove was that Julie Dawson occasionally take lunch at non-standard hours and liked fancy underwear. Not even odd, let alone a crime.

He liked working in the City Hall complex at night. It was quiet, there were less interruptions and he could think clearly. There weren’t any guards or supervisors around to question why he’d occasionally sit back in his chair stare at the ceiling. Hubbard was reasonably sure they wouldn’t understand he was piecing together information in his mind as opposed to daydreaming.

The cold hamburger and fries sat pushed to the side of his desk while he reviewed the phone records of the young secretary. It was tedious work but necessary to ensure he was covering all his bases. So far he had been successful, in part, because of his willingness to cover all those bases.

Numbers seemed to blur together on the page as he sifted through a months of phone calls. Much like at the apartment, he found nothing odd about the places she had been calling from her workspace. Moving on to her home records yielded the same result.

He was about to give up when he opened the thinnest file of the three, the records of the payphone at the gas station. Scanning through the called numbers it didn’t take long to notice one number repeated itself.


Like a dog’s ears that pop up after catching the scent of its prey, Hubble went back to the records from her apartment but found no sign of the number. Diving into the records of her work calls, however, he soon spotted the number in a number of places.

“Interesting…..” he said aloud as he thought about what those numbers might mean.

Out of curiosity he went back to her in/out logs from the security checkpoints and that’s where he found it: the phone number showed up on her workstation phone on the same days she took the oddly scheduled lunch breaks. Sometimes the number was incoming, mostly it was outgoing but they nearly always coincided with a late lunch break.

That was far more interesting than what he had uncovered thus far.

Picking up his phone he carefully punched in the number and waited for it to ring. After several rings it went to an answering machine. Hearing the message he couldn’t believe it. He was still young enough to be surprised by things in life, and this would be yet another shock to add to the list.

Gently hanging up the phone he sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t ready to report his findings yet, but something odd was going on.

The words rang in his head for several minutes. “You’ve reached ClarMar Farms after hours…..”

The Stig
02-25-2011, 01:20 AM
Crutchfield’s forces rolled into Lexington, Kentucky and quickly overwhelmed the light defenses there. While the fighting was fierce, the defenders were once again grossly outnumbered and forced into falling back. The President stubbornly clung to the idea of keeping most of his combat hardened troops in the Virginia, DC, Maryland and North Carolina areas, which left Kentucky largely undefended.

After a day’s fighting they had secured what they originally targeted, the highway approaches to the city and the airport. Soon men of the Brigade spread throughout the city scurried to set up defensive positions and prepare for the likely counter attack from the President’s forces. The men knew full well that if the main attack from the North failed they’d likely be surrounded and annihilated.

The President did acquiesce to the cries of his Generals and left a number of troops stationed across from Cincinnati. Recognizing it as a natural jumping off point for an attack into Kentucky, and the scene of just such an attack previously, they lobbied for a defensive cordon along a ten mile stretch of the river, mostly concentrated across from the four large bridges from downtown Cincinnati into Kentucky.

But much like the shell of an egg, the defenses thinned out significantly just beyond the river bank and became virtually nothing as one moved into the interior of the state. Despite having won a resounding victory earlier, President Alan refused to leave significant forces in the state. He remained obsessed with an attack aimed at the capital and as such the military bases at Fort Knox and Fort Campbell were left nearly abandoned.

Cincinnati is located at the extreme South Western tip of the state of Ohio. Being right on the border with Indiana and Kentucky, parts of the metro area extended into these other states. Like many large cities an interstate formed a complete circle around the metro area, and as such passed through these other areas. Normally the average tourist passing though the city would not notice this geographical oddity, but it did not escape the eye of Crutchfield’s military commanders. What they noticed, and formulated their plans around, were the two bridges of the bypass interstate that crossed over the Ohio River, one sixteen miles to the west, the other just over five miles to the east of the downtown area.

While the downtown bridges would be heavily defended from the hills above them, the two bridges on the bypass would likely be less defended.

There was a good chance Crutchfield’s troops could storm across the bridges distant from the downtown area, bust through the light defenses and race in behind the troops standing across from downtown Cincinnati. It would be a classic pinchers movement, assuming they could pull it off.

The gray morning sky presented a dreary backdrop the morning of the assault.. As a diversion Crutchfield used a massive artillery barrage, with shells from a country not interested in the United State’s best interests, on the ground just across the river from downtown. For ninety minutes the ground rumbled and shook as shell after shell of artillery slammed into the defensive positions, houses, schools and businesses that stood in their way. Like the defenders of Berlin in 1945 the citizens had no choice but to hunker in whatever place of safety they could find.

Further adding to the confusion he unleashed some of his aircraft to attack various strongholds. Most people, especially those who had witnessed this same attack months before, braced themselves for the inevitable clatter of tracked armored vehicles as bombs rained down on identified targets.

Word soon reached Washington that another attack was being attempted. President Alan’s Generals could do little other than wish their men luck and tell them to hold out as long as possible.

Commanders on the ground were slow to realize the nature of the diversion. By midday Crutchfield’s forces had crossed the Indiana Bridge in force and captured the high ground around the Kentucky end of the bridge. A river assault from the small Indiana town of Lawrenceburg, several miles west of the bridge, further flanked the light defenses on the Kentucky side. Soon tanks and troop carriers, some of foreign manufacture, rolled across the bridge at breakneck pace. They only had to cover ten miles of mostly unguarded interstate highway to circle in behind the defenses across from downtown.

The situation at the Ohio Bridge, just to the east of downtown wasn’t nearly as organized. Only just out of sight of the downtown area, the view was obscured by a bend in the river; the defenses there were far more in-depth than at the Indiana bridge. Basically they were an extension of those facing downtown.

Further, the geography added to the natural defense. Armored vehicles had to descend a shallow hill to approach the bridge from the Ohio side, then climb a straight, but steep, incline just after crossing the bridge. The President’s limited artillery assets on the Kentucky side were able to pound the armored vehicles as they attempted to race down the hill towards the bridge. Once they crossed, the vehicles slowed as they started to climb the hill towards heavy fortifications along the hillside.

If they made it past the increasing carnage leading to, on and just over the bridge the vehicles then faced the most difficult obstacle of all. Steep hillsides rose sharply from the base of the bridge on the Kentucky side. This afforded the defenders both excellent views of the approach and bridge itself, along with unobstructed shots at the topside of the vehicles below. The thin armored skin of the tops of tanks were soon ripped open by anti-tank missiles and any open topped troop carrying vehicles, likely pressed into service, were raked with heavy machinegun fire.

By noon, when the Indiana bridge was secure and those forces raced to encircle the defenders, Crutchfield’s men had gained little ground on the Ohio bridge. Truth be told, it was turning into a bloodbath. One he could ill afford.

Both sides soon settled the matter in their own ways. As Crutchfield’s commanders realized they had open access to the west, they poured their resources across and halted the attack in the east. Just as this decision was being made, several spans of the bridge itself collapsed in a titanic heap of twisted concrete and steel. The remainder of the bridge teetered on the edge of following suit. It seemed the effects of heavy armored vehicles combined with several errant artillery shells and anti-tank missiles had claimed a toll on the now useless structure.

None of the heroics and death at the Ohio bridge mattered. Crutchfield’s men had captured the Indiana bridge and raced in behind the defenders trapping them between attacks from both sides. It would take several days of hard fighting to root them out but it was a moot point now. Both the Cincinnati International Airport, oddly located in Kentucky, and the interstates leading south, had been captured.

Soon large cargo planes poured men and materials into the airport. Crutchfield’s commanders were not going to repeat the mistakes of the past campaign, racing ahead of their supply lines. They would fortify the airport and the captured ground between it and the Indiana bridge, the area to the south and west of Cincinnati. Once the defenders nearer the river were destroyed the four bridges across the Ohio near the downtown area would be used as additional arteries on the march into Kentucky.

Crutchfield’s field commanders raced to complete their assigned tasks so they could begin racing to relieve their assault force ninety miles to the south. They hopped they would have the area secure and enough men in place in two days to begin the journey.

But for now they had secured a foothold on the Kentucky side of the river while the President’s men defending the area faced an impossible task of merely surviving. The troops in Lexington simply had to hold out two days for the plan to be a success.

The Stig
02-25-2011, 01:21 AM
Standing guard at one of the gates into the compound was not glamorous work. It was hot, dirty and boring. As the young contractor stood watch over the entrance to the forward base he took some solace that it was one of the larger ones in the Northeastern part of the county, which meant more activity at the gate. It wasn’t much consolation, however, since his desire was to fight. He had spent several years in the US Army and left barely avoiding a bad conduct discharge before joining up with a contracting firm. When all the problems erupted in the North he thought it might open the door to the action he had been looking for.

It had.

He had originally been stationed in what was once the far eastern part of the Southern District at the time. This was before the addition of more states to Donovan’s mini-empire. The contractor had taken special delight in bullying the townspeople in his area. His special brand of evil took immense joy in pushing people around, shaking them down for bribes and, his favorite pastime, humiliating men in front of their women. That game provided a special joy for him.

He and his fellow contractors held several counties hostage for a period of time. Riding roughshod over the populace, they stole, bullied and threatened their way through wine, women and song. The fun ended abruptly one night, however, when the young contractor and his partner roughed up a man. He had been checking out of a small store where his girlfriend worked as a cashier. The contractors began harassing the man, and the young contractor began his psychotic game of humiliation.

They had picked the wrong man to harass, however. He stood for none of the games and after a brief time simply turned and walked away. The contractors could not believe it. The young man reacted without thinking, a common practice, and tackled the man who dared insult him. In a freak confluence of circumstances, the shock of being slammed to the ground resulted in a heart attack and the innocent man died.

The aftermath of the event sparked mini-riots, deaths and a weeklong pitched battle between the townsfolk and the contractors. The end result was that the young contractor and his partner were whisked off to a work camp as part of Senator Donovan’s flashy response to calm the locals.

What the locals didn’t know, and never found out, was that the two contractors spent exactly two hours at the work camp. Most of that time was spent showering and eating in the chow hall. Soon the men were reassigned to a different contracting firm, ultimately leading them to the chain of outposts in the Northeastern part of the county.

As the six-wheeled truck shifted gears and accelerated away from the gate, the young contractor was enveloped in a blanket of heat, dust and exhaust that nearly choked him. The fumes caught in the back of his throat and he reflexively gagged.

“Damn I hate this place,” he yelled out to the several other men working the area with him.

“You just don’t understand its charm,” taunted back one of the other men.

The six-wheeled truck stopped at a small one-story cinderblock building seventy-five yards from the gate complex. Several men jumped down from the back of the truck and they, and the drivers, began filing into the structure.

A relative peace descended over the noisy and busy base.

That relative peace was not to last, however. An ear-shattering explosion rocked the back of the large truck, sending the rear end several meters into the air before slamming what remained of the vehicle back to the ground in a flaming heap. There would be little left of the twisted and burnt metal that would be recognizable as a six-wheeled truck by the time the flames were finally snuffed out.

Within milliseconds of the explosion the outside wall of the cinderblock building collapsed inward killing several contractors and reducing the structure to rubble. Several other buildings nearby were also damaged, as was a small jeep that was parked nearby. The force of the explosion was clearly caused by something more than a homebrewed device.

The shockwave of the explosion slammed into the men at the checkpoint gate, nearly toppling them to the ground. As is common, confusion reigned for several seconds as people tried to process why a perfectly serviceable truck would explode disrupting their hot, miserable guard duties. The guards near the gate all froze for what seemed like hours but in reality was mere seconds. That was before the senior man at the gate began barking orders and spurring his men into action.

It was already too late however.

The ground around the outpost was mostly open, grassy land. The contractors had been diligent to clear the land around the outpost and cut down trees and underbrush where needed to maintain a clear view of their surroundings. Several hundred yards from the gate, however, was a small stand of trees on a rise. While the outpost had been built around a cluster of existing buildings, for an inexplicable reason, nobody had recognized the danger of leaving that position wooded. The oversight would prove costly.

A several hundred yard shot is challenging to the uninitiated. Many factors can cause the bullet to land in a place other than where the shooter intended; shooters manipulation of the weapon, wind, gravity and even heat can all play a role in knocking a bullet off course. Amateur shooters are far worse shots than they believe they are and distance only magnifies the shortcomings. To an experienced shot, especially one trained by the military, a several hundred yard shot is comparatively easy.

Today would be no different. To the three men hidden in the wooded rise the guards scampering around the gate in the aftermath of the explosion were easy pickings. Using suppressed weapons the men were able to disguise their location long enough to make multiple clean shots before having to exfiltrate the area. While a silencer on a rifle doesn’t disguise the crack of the bullet exceeding the speed of sound, it masks the report of the rifle itself enough to make identifying where the shot originated from more difficult.

Before long three contractors at the gate lay dead or dying in addition to the several killed in the blast.

One of those three was the young contractor who so delighted in the humiliation of others and inflicted pain on so many. As he lay writhing in agony, life spilling out onto the hot dusty ground, the cosmic forces of karma conspired to exact justice for the evil he inflicted on the small town out east.

bacpacker
03-06-2011, 03:14 AM
I'm liking the story.

The Stig
03-07-2011, 06:11 PM
From his vantage point Hubbard could clearly see the approaches to Julie Dawson’s apartment. The details he had unearthed thus far swirled in his mind. The mystery man, the odd lunch hours, the phone calls to ClarMar farms, the strange trips to a gas station on the outskirts of town.

Lehman had made the determination that information was somehow being leaked which lead to the spike in attacks on the Troopers. Lehman wasn’t one to make snap judgments so he was probably right about critical information falling into the hands of the troublemakers. So far, Hubbard had kept his findings to himself. He preferred to present a vetted opinion in the whole as opposed to doling out bits as they became available. That kept his superiors from meddling in his business too much.

As the hours crept by Hubbard fought off the urge to doubt himself. His resolve was rewarded when a shadowy figure suddenly appeared on Dawson’s back porch. Within seconds he let himself into the apartment and disappeared.

He double-checked that his sidearm had a round chambered. He already knew that it did but he wasn’t one to leave a detail like that up in the air.

After scanning the area to make sure the person didn’t have a partner he stood and slowly started making his way towards the apartment.

****

“You scared the hell out of me,” said Julie Dawson loudly. She had been preparing for bed when a man suddenly appeared in her living room. Other than being startled she wasn’t afraid. She knew the man.

While scanning the apartment Miller spoke, “We need to talk. It’s serious and we need to talk right now.”

Grasping the situation Julie sat on the couch and nodded her ascent.

“Has Lehman been acting different lately? Done anything out of the ordinary?”

Thinking for a second Julie replied, “No, not that I’ve noticed.”

“Asked you to do anything you normally don’t do. Given you any special instructions?”

Again pausing to consider, “No. He’s emphasized the importance of information a couple of times but nothing really different than that.”

Moving around the apartment inspecting various items Miller continued to gently press. “Was the information important” he probed.

Turning her head to see him, and noting him looking into her bedroom she replied, “Some of it was, some didn’t seem to be.”

Nodding his head, “uh huh” he let the reply hang in the air for a second.

“Listen Miller, I’ve been careful. I’ve done everything you’ve told me too. I’m not stupid,” she protested.

Peering behind a bookshelf he looked up, “never said you were. How much of that information did you pass along to me?”

Again thinking for a minute she replied, “Only some. The troop movement stuff. Other things seemed so trivial I didn’t bother.”

“Have you noticed anything odd at your apartment or in your car? “

Julie replied, “Yes. Now that you mention it, there was something the other day. A couple things in my bedroom were out of place. Not by much, but just enough that it seemed odd. I wrote it off as my imagination.”

“You are in grave danger. I think Lehman’s on to you. If he knows what you’ve done there’s a good chance you are heading to one of the camps. That’s the best case scenario.”

What Julie didn’t know and didn’t realize was that Miller was toying with her. There were too many coincidences for there not to be information finding it’s way back to Lehman. Miller had been to the rodeo enough times to know that agents and informants didn’t always have pure motives and wanted to see how she’d react to news that she might be in danger.

Standing up suddenly Julie exclaimed, “But you said they’d never know. That’s….that’s…not good. What do I do?” The panic in her eyes was clear.

“I’m not sure what we can do” Miller replied casually. Almost without any concern to the ramifications to her well being.

“Listen, you’ve got to help me then. You got me into this! What are they going to do to me?” Almost out of instinct she began pacing as she mentally weighed the options.

If she had been playing double agent between Miller/Lehman she was doing a wonderful job covering her tracks. Someone who knew they weren’t in any real danger wasn’t likely to respond with immediate panic when they realized the trouble they were in. She was too much of an amateur to have developed the acting skills needed to pull off the performance if she was faking it.

From the kitchen he simply said, “Ok, sit down and we’ll figure this out”.

****

The large cargo plane gracefully swooped down over the rolling bluegrass hills and horse farms on the final approach into Lexington’s airport. Crutchfield’s men had captured it the day before and secured what they could. Most of the Presidents forces had melted away but some small bands continued to harass the forces in and around the airport.

As the plane entered its final approach sporadic small arms fire would reach out towards it. It was as if a child’s BB rifle was trying to shoot down an aircraft carrier. But the efforts were valiant.

The plane’s wheels made the distinctive chirp of rubber spinning up to 180 miles per hour in less than a second. Crutchfield’s first cargo plane landed to bolster the defenders of Lexington. More promised to follow. Instead of a traditional airlift, the plan was to send planes at sporadic times on sporadic routes to avoid whatever air cover the President might decide to offer the city. Thus, the cargo planes had to fly close to the earth on odd flight paths to avoid being swatted from the sky. Crutchfield didn’t want an armada of aircraft to present itself as a target too big to resist.

Soon ammunition, supplies and anti-tank weapons began filtering into the city. Subsequent flights promised more men than material. The supplies soon began bolstering the defenders abilities to repel an attack.

****

As the first supply plane touched down in Lexington, Glenn Hubbard ran through the details of what he had uncovered for the hundredth time. Julie Dawson, who had access to sensitive information, had been making odd trips to odd places and making odd phone calls. The man seen at her apartment may or may not be a lover but could also be a handler. Oddest of all were the calls to ClarMar farms.

He didn’t want to update Lehman since he hadn’t pieced together what it all meant but he was left with no choice. His superior had contacted him and recalled him to Shelton’s City Hall complex.

****

The Stig
03-30-2011, 01:34 AM
As the contingent of Troopers patrolled through the small collection of houses they made little noise as they moved from house to house. The collection of ten homes, long sense abandoned since Lehman forced their relocation, stood empty and forlorn. Personal effects littered several yards and many doors and windows stood in broken testament to the violence of the situation.

The Troopers had made several sweeps to make sure people hadn’t snuck back into town or other people taken up residence. The work was somewhat mundane but the team of four men worked quickly to complete the task. After this they were running a patrol through several farmhouses further east.

Farmhouses were a favorite as there was usually fresh food to pillage, belongings to confiscate and, on occasion, a townsperson to harass. Pushing around seniors or fondling farmers wives was a twisted diversion from their daily routine.

“This dump is clear,” said one of the Troopers as he exited the final home. He was a bull of a man. Being over six foot in height and two hundred and fifty pounds the nickname “bull” was a natural. He was a man comfortable using his size to intimidate others.

As he cleared the doorway of the house a dull thud was heard as a small red hole, the size of a dime, suddenly appeared on his forehead. The look of shock and surprise was replaced instantly by empty death as his body crumpled to the ground. The splatter of blood and brain was clear against the doorposts.

The other three men, who had been finishing up tasks of their own, sprang into action as the clear threat to their safety was identified. They would spend the next twenty minutes going through various maneuvers designed to find the perpetrators of the attack. They moved in a well-rehearsed series of steps that had clearly been executed many times in the past.

As they determined that the attackers had either fled or were hiding they made the decision to return to their truck and exit the area. They hoisted Bull’s lifeless body between two of them and dumped him in the cargo bed. As the last man hopped into the back cab the driver turned the key to start the vehicle.

The ear splitting whoosh tore through the air milliseconds before the thunderous explosion tore the truck apart. Fire and bits of metal shot through the air as the Troopers bodies were shredded by the intense pressure of the explosion.

****

As Julie Dawson approached the City Hall complex she swallowed to force the anxiety back down into her stomach. Putting one leg in front of the other she willed herself to make the walk from the parking area towards the security checkpoint. The sun was just rising over the City Hall building but the air was already damp with heat and moisture.

Miller was a man used to making difficult choices. Choices that could affect other people’s lives. His options the previous night in Julie’s apartment were limited.

He could yank her out, install her at the farm and lose an asset that had been funneling him valuable information. Further, Lehman would likely smell a rat and do some real digging. It wouldn’t take long before Troopers were storming ClarMar farms.

He could start to pull back, slowly cut off contact, go longer between meetings. His experience was that this left agents isolated and bitter. He had a bad experience once with a bitter agent and he didn’t want to relive the experience.

His only real option was to send her back in, keep the information flowing for long as possible and hope for the best. Miller assured her that he’d never be far should she get into trouble but he knew the truth; she’d be in grave danger. Once she entered City Hall she was completely alone. If they felt it was time to pull the plug she’d be in another state before Miller knew she was missing.

Approaching the checkpoint she could feel the beads of sweat drip down her sides from her underarms. Suddenly the allure of playing secret spy had been lost and was replaced with terror. Never before in her young life was she this terrified.

“Papers please” said the guard as he leered.

Handing them to him she hoped he couldn’t feel her hands shaking.

Almost without reading them he scanned over them and then handed them back. “Go ahead” was all he muttered as he motioned her towards the building.

Stuttering for a second she took the offered documents and began the short walk to the entrance. There was no groping pat down, no scanners, no secondary check of her documents. Something was odd.

Finally the marathon ended and she found herself behind her desk. After getting situated she put her head down and tried to concentrate on her work as best she could.

****

She surprised herself when she glanced at the clock and saw that it read 10:55am. Despite her fear she had managed to get an admirable amount of work completed. Finishing up a staffing report she was shocked back into panic mode when the intercom rudely buzzed to life.

“Ms. Dawson” came the eerie voice of Lehman. “Can you come to my office please?”

Mustering all the courage she could her finger weakly pushed down the reply button. The same button she had pushed a thousand times suddenly felt as if it took gargantuan strength to press it down.

“Yes sir” was all she could say in reply.

She stood smartly and smoothed down her blouse. Taking a deep breath she began the walk towards Lehman’s office.

****

The truck maneuvered through the winding country roads on its way to one of the North Eastern outposts. The driver was delivering a load of office supplies and other administrative items to one of the bases. It was mundane work but military forces need a surprising amount of non-military items to function.

The driver approached a sweeping right hand curve and down shifted in preparation for making the turn.

Just as he entered the curve the radio crackled to life. “Roper 5, report in”.

Reaching up the driver grabbed the microphone without looking. “This is Roper 5. I’ll be at the base in one zero minutes”.

“Copy that”.

The slow sweeping curve ended in a long straightaway that led to an incline the crested several hundred yards further down the road. After negotiating the cover the driver began working his way back up through the gears.

With any luck he’d be eating lunch in the next twenty minutes.

Luck was not with the driver this day. As he shifted gears and mashed the accelerator the windshield suddenly exploded. He felt the sharp sting of pain in his chest and he momentarily took both hands from the wheel to clutch at the wound. Glancing down he saw the seeping red stain.

Before he could regain his composure and grab the wheel another searing hot bolt of pain shot through his upper chest. Grasping his throat, not unlike a slain president in the past, he attempted to gulp air but found that nothing was happening. Panic quickly overtook him as the truck veered off the side of the road. As the tires transitioned from hard pavement to sand they dug in and the truck was pulled further off the road.

In his haze of pain, blood and panic the driver yanked the wheel in a desperate attempt to regain control of the vehicle. All too often this only serves to worsen the situation and this case was no different.

As the truck finally rolled to a stop the driver slipped from the conscious world as his life drained into crumpled cab.

bacpacker
03-30-2011, 01:57 AM
Another good chapter Stig. I love this story.

The Stig
03-31-2011, 01:52 AM
Another good chapter Stig. I love this story.

Thank you for the kind words.

If you know anybody who was following the story at the old place feel free to invite them over. Now that the stupid move is over I should be putting up more regular updates again.

There will be some interesting developments as this one unfolds.

The Stig
04-01-2011, 01:57 AM
The wind carried the smell of sun-baked pine straw through the buildings. It hung in the air and stuck to people’s clothes like the sand that seemed to coat everything. It was one of those odors that imprinted itself on ones memory and lasted a life time.

It was a smell that reminded Captain Mike DeMetrie of his youth and a happier time where summers never ended and the biggest decision to be made involved which flavor of ice cream to eat.

He rubbed his forehead and felt the moistness of his sweaty brow as he considered what was going on. Over the past several days the team of Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds was working the Northeastern portion of the county and taking the fight to the Troopers. To draw resources away from the area, and keep the enemy off-guard DeMetrie instructed the loose collation of forces under his command to run missions in the southern part of the county. It was an age-old tactic of deception and forcing the enemy to divide their attentions.

But so far the plan wasn’t going smoothly.

The men who agreed to let DeMetrie lead them were complying with his directives and focusing on the southern portion of the county. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that the Troopers had also shifted their attention southward. More troublesome was that change of tactics occurred nearly at the same time as DeMetrie’s.

Further concerning was that the men fighting back against the tyranny of Senator Donovan and the Troopers were taking fairly consistent losses. DeMetrie used cold battlefield calculus to account for some losses given the caliber of men and equipment in the fight. Not everybody in the resistance was a hardened combat veteran.

But these losses were starting to grow.

It was almost as if the Troopers were anticipating their moves. And doing so with uncanny accuracy.

DeMetrie wasn’t a spook. The cloak and dagger stuff was Millers concern. But he was a smart man. It didn’t take much mental energy to figure out how the Troopers prognostications were so accurate.

With the heat, sand and sudden lack of trust of his collation partners DeMetrie could have sworn he was back in the Middle East.

****

It was a valiant fight. One that would produce many heroes’s and likely be recounted at Military Academies for hundreds of years. The men fighting on behalf of President Alan, and the country known as The United States, clung to every last block, street and house in their defense of the southern side of the Ohio River crossings. Despite being nearly surrounded the men fought with a ferocity that would make the defenders of Stalingrad shudder with fear.

The collection of small cities nestled in the hills directly across the river from Cincinnati were older towns dating back to the mid 1800’s. The more contemporary suburbs were much further south. As such each block was packed with tall, stoutly constructed brick buildings. Narrow streets, in some cases cobblestone, wound their way through the intercity core on the south bank.

Efforts to use artillery to flatten the area only produced more hiding spots for the defenders. Armored vehicles were useless. Entire buildings were turned into defensive perimeters. In short, it was the perfect defensive situation and fighting distances were measured in feet.

Their defense forced Crutchfield’s forces to delay their march southwards towards Lexington and instead clear the area to their rear. Crutchfield’s forces had made the mistake of not securing their rear on a previous southern drive with disastrous consequences. He lost troops, vehicles and material he could scant afford to lose.

The defense of Cincinnati was causing the timetable for the drive towards Lexington to slip. The original plan was to resume the drive south after two days. Instead, the end of the second day was nearing and there was no indication the fight was letting up.

The order came down from Crutchfield himself to flatten the last holdouts before driving south.

It would be an edict he would regret.

Two things were conspiring against the treasonous former president. First, was the narrow corridor on the southern bank of the Ohio leading back East. During the attack across the river the eastern bridge was destroyed. Crutchfield’s commanders wisely decided to shift their movements to the already secured western bridge. However, they mistakenly overlooked closing the gap to encircle the defenders, thus trapping them against the river to their north. Instead they oddly chose to push only from the west and south.

This nearly ten mile gap between the eastern edge of Crutchfield’s forces and the river provided room for the President to filter in men and supplies to the defenders. These bolstered the fighting strength of the men and served to prolong the battle.

But it was the other unknown factor that had Crutchfield been aware he would had chosen a much different path.

The President was coldly choosing to sacrifice the men fighting in the rubble along the Ohio River to buy time. It was a calculated decision that makes men pause; as they know someone else’s son will perish because of it.

The time, bought by the precious sacrifice, was being used to mount a defense in the area of Richmond, Kentucky. This defensive line was being constructed nearly 100 miles south of the battle around Cincinnati and a scant 30 miles south of Lexington. While the defenders of Lexington built their defenses they remained unaware of the growing forces in their rear.

The President had chosen to fight.

The Stig
04-01-2011, 06:24 PM
As Glen Hubbard approached Lehman’s office he had an odd feeling that something wasn’t right. He had been tasked with investigating a possible security leak and had made good progress. Yet just as he was about to both verify the leak and catch the leaks contact he was called off the case. Something wasn’t adding up. A lot of things hadn’t added up since Lehman and the Troopers took over. Caddy’s disappearance. The arrival of the Troopers. Even the death of his previous boss was odd.

Hubbard was no dummy or idealist. He understood that to enforce order sometimes unruly people needed some additional incentives to get themselves in line. He knew what the camps were for and had no romantic notions about Senator Donovan’s intentions.

The heals of his boots made a distinctive sound as he approached the hallway outside the perpetually closed door to Lehman’s office.

Taking a deep breath he knocked and waited to be summoned.

****

“So you see Hubbard, there’s no need for you to pursue this security leak further” said his direct supervisor. Lehman’s lead investigations man didn’t earn much, if any, of Hubbard’s respect.

“Sir” said Hubbard somewhat confused.

As if he were presenting the weather on TV, his boss described the reasoning. “You’ve done good work here Hubbard. This is no slight on you. But Mr. Lehman has decided to deal with this potential problem in…..a different manner.”

Trying to muster the energy to feign his acceptance Hubbard merely replied, “Yes sir. I understand”.

Looking up from the document he had been studying Lehman added, “I have another important assignment for you. You’ve earned it. Your boss will give you the briefing.” With that Lehman simply resumed scanning the document as a means to dismiss Hubbard.

Leading Hubbard to the door his boss simply said, “I’ll be in your office in ten minutes. This next assignment is far more important.”

“Yes sir” was all Hubbard could say as the door to Lehman’s office closed behind him.

****

“Hope the kid doesn’t take it too hard” was all the lead investigations man could say.

Lehman looked up from the document that had held his attention. “Who cares what he thinks? He takes orders.”

Simply nodding in agreement the lead investigations man stood before Lehman and waited for his next direction. After what seemed like an eternity Lehman finally resumed. “Well, this is certainly a lurid report. It’s a shame the gate guard wasn’t able to control his impulses with Ms. Dawson. I’m glad you were able to extract the information you needed before he decided to violate her.”
“Yes sir, most unfortunate.”

Lehman’s eyes narrowed. “Unfortunate is an understatement. I had plans to turn her against those to whom she was passing information.”

Feeling like he was somehow in trouble the lead investigations man simply replied, “Yes sir. It’s a shame his passions overruled his wisdom”.

Sitting back in his chair and pressing the tips of his fingers together Lehman replied menacingly, “I’m glad you agree. I’m sure you’ll have no problems dispatching this tawdry guard after you are done disposing of the remains of Ms. Dawson. We can’t have uncontrolled rapists in our ranks can we?”

Left no choice, Hubbard’s boss simply replied, “Yes sir”.

****

Miller knew something was wrong. Quitting time had passed several hours ago yet Julie Dawson was nowhere to be found. He was experienced enough to know this was not a good omen for his young agent.

He sat in a well-hidden vantage point where he could monitor most of the City Hall’s comings and goings. If one watches a building long enough learning the schedule of the building inhabitants is relatively easy. With this knowledge you can start to piece together who is important, who isn’t, who holds responsibility, who only thinks they do. You get a feel for the natural ebb and flow of the daily activities surrounding that building.

Because of this it was easy to spot the lead investigations man heading out in a one of the large work trucks with a gate guard. Since the lead investigations man had his own staff and support unit, it was odd to see him with a lowly gate-guarding contractor. It was especially odd since he’d never seen the two paired together previously.

From his nest atop a local building Miller was able to watch the truck progress slowly down the street towards him. By moving to different parts of the rooftop he was able to watch it for several blocks as it moved through town. Based on the street it took out of town he quickly surmised where they might be heading.

Racing down the stairs he did the mental calculations. It would be close, but with some luck he should catch them just after they arrived at the spot.

****

The lead investigations man wiped the sweat from his forehead as the truck pulled off the road into the small farm. The farm had been acquired, by force, by contractors shortly after they arrived in Shelton. Since that time it had served as a defacto dumping ground for expired ordinance, trash, broken gear and vehicle, or anything else that had outlived its usefulness.

His hand was moist and stomach tight almost to the point of nausea. He was an investigations man. He gathered intelligence. He looked at crime scenes. He checked out security breaches. That was the world in which he was comfortable. He’d never shot at anybody, let alone killed someone in cold blood. But when Lehman issued a command it wasn’t to be ignored. Otherwise, it would be him facing his doom.

As the guard drove the truck through what they called their trash field the investigations man wrapped his hand tightly around the butt of the small revolver in his pants pocket. He would have been just as comfortable using his service pistol, but felt like this approach might give him the element of surprise. He just hoped he wouldn’t miss when the time came.

”Here we are” announced the guard as they pulled into a sheltered area. “Nobody will find her here”. Sadly he was right. Between the underbrush, the broken down cars and the random junk scattered around a small patch of disturbed earth wouldn’t be noticed.

Thinking to himself the investigations man imagined that the best time to deal with the psychotic guard would be just after Ms. Dawson was placed in the grave. He could then dispose of the guard in the same hole and avoid having to dig a separate one. His mind spun as he contemplated the scenario that was unfolding.

“I’m not cut out for this,” he thought as they descended from the truck and began walking into the junk pile to find a place to start digging.

****

The Stig
04-01-2011, 06:24 PM
Despite it being dusk both men were drenched in sweat as they completed the hole that would house the disloyal secretary for eternity. Their shirts soaked and hair dripping they both stumbled back to the truck.

“Damn, it’s hot out,” exclaimed the guard as they approached the truck.

As he lowered the bed of the pickup truck, the investigations man uttered a complaint of his own. It was both true and an effort to appear normal in front of the guard. The last thing he wanted to do was appear nervous.

He had barely finished his gripe before both men were startled by a deep voice. “You fellas digging a hole?” came the inquiry from seemingly out of nowhere. Spinning around both men were shocked to see the outline of a man, partially hidden in the shadow of a large pile of twisted metal and car parts.

“What the!” exclaimed the investigations man.

“Who the hell are you?” challenged the guard.

Using the weapon mounted light on his pistol Miller blinded the men. As they recoiled against the light he calmly said, “You know, I’m pretty sure you guys are out to dig a hole,” was all he said.

Taking a step towards Miller, the guard growled, “listen here….”

The sudden roar of the Glock pistol startled the investigations man. Despite flinching and reflexively covering his face, he watched the guard crumple to the ground and grasp his chest.

“You shot me!” yelled out the guard. “You fucking shot me.” Blood was already oozing through his shirt and hands as he desperately attempted to stem the flow.

Coldly, with no emotion, Miller replied, “Yep. And here’s a newsflash. I’m going to shoot you again.”

Hearing the murderous words the guard, already on his knees, looked up Miller. As he extended his arms out in a futile attempt to shield himself he attempted to yell something. Only eternity would know what was said as the roar of a second shot drowned out the epithet. The murderous raping guard collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Miller had been all around the world and dealt with all sorts of scum. It didn’t take long to piece together the terrifying final minutes of young Ms. Dawson’s life after he investigated her body as her grave was being dug. Miller was aware of this guard and his body language alone made clear his intentions towards women. Maybe he was involved in Dawson’s death. Maybe he wasn’t. But either way Miller was going to make sure somebody paid for it. Figuring the investigations man would be a more useful source of information the guard became the focus of Miller’s wrath.

Turning his attention to the investigations man Miller smiled. “I think you need to drop to your knees and turn around real slow for me”.

In fear for his life, the man nodded and complied as best he could. Suddenly it was as if all the energy had left his body.

After disarming the man of both weapons Miller began giving the speech he had given so many times before.

“Now listen. We’re going to have a little talk now and I’m not asking much. Just give me truthful answers and everything will work out for you. It’s simple really….I’ll ask questions and you answer them. But I must tell you; I’ve done this a lot of times, in a lot of places, with a lot of people. So I’ll know if you are being square with me. Just be square with me. Make sense?”

The man, trembling, nodded his affirmation.

“Good!” Miller said with a pleased tone. “All I want is the truth.”

He had found over the years that if people being interrogated felt they had no chance to survive they were much more likely to lie or leave out important details. Condemned men have nothing to lose by being uncooperative. But if they had a glimmer of hope, a chance their captor would release them, they tended to be more forthcoming.

“Alright….let’s start from the beginning then”.

****

bacpacker
04-01-2011, 10:04 PM
Well crap, but I can't say I'm surprised. good chapter.

The Stig
04-02-2011, 03:09 AM
If one had seen the Shelton City Hall from the air it would be easy to mistake it for a sports stadium. Night had fallen but every available outside spot, flood and vapor light was fully illuminated turning the area into an island of light. Men were on alert and the excitement of activity crackled through the air.

Lehman addressed an assemblage of nearly thirty men in a motor-pool area. The mixture of Troopers and Contractors revealed men with purpose. These were men who had been in the heat of battle and were hardened by its flame. From the expressions on their face, their posture and even equipment the aura of impending combat oozed from their very pores.

“Gentleman,” said Lehman loud enough for all assembled to hear. “Tonight we have the opportunity to crush the growing resistance movement. Tonight we have the chance to stop this infection on the countryside. Tonight you men will be the tip of Senator Donovan’s spear.”

As he paced before his men Lehman allowed himself to express excitement, or at least as much as he was able of generating.

“You’ve been given your mission and orders. I trust you will all perform your assigned tasks to the best of your abilities. If you do, I assure you we will be able to extinguish this festering rot in our area.”

In the background trucks moved into position and prepared to haul the men on their mission. Gears ground and engines rumbled. Even from across the compound they threatened to drown out Lehman.

“Your field commanders will go over last minute details. I realize this is a rushed operation and proper planning wasn’t completed. But the opportunity presented to us this afternoon requires speed for us to capitalize. I have faith that your skill will compensate for the operational challenges.”

Lehman continued, “Enough of my blabbering. Do what is expected of you tonight”.
With that Lehman turned and walked off.

One of the field commanders took the cue. “Alright men! He bellowed. Review your assignments and get your shit straight. We roll in six zero minutes!”

From a stairway across from the motor pool Glenn Hubbard took in the spectacle that unfolded before him. He knew where the men were going and what they were about to do.

More importantly, he knew what he was about to do.

****

About thirty minutes after Lehman ended his pep-talk to the Troopers, Clarissa Donner was cleaning dinner plates from the table.

“That was a great dinner sweetheart. Thanks” said Greg to his Daughter. Her ability to run a business, manage a farm and whip up some mean fried chicken always amazed him. Over the running water in the sink she replied back, “No problem Dad. I’m glad when we can share a dinner, just the two of us”.

The delicious smell of fried chicken hung in the dimly lit room as Greg maneuvered himself over to his easy chair. He longed for the days when he moved without pain. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Clarissa busied herself with cleaning up from dinner and other chores related to homemaking. With the exception of the countries turmoil it was an idyllic scene.

Knocking at the front door interrupted the calm scene. Other than startling the Donner’s the knock presented little cause for alarm. People looking for work would often knock on the farmhouse door to plead their case.

None of this prevented Greg from gripping the revolver he had stashed between the cushions of his easy chair. It never hurt to be prepared for unforeseen circumstances.

Looking back at her father, Clarissa Donner slowly opened the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked of the young man.

“Miss, I sure hope it’s the other way round”

Seeing the look of confusion on her face the man continued, “I know this will all sound crazy but we don’t have much time. If you’ll give me five minutes you’ll know everything I’m saying is true”.

Clarissa made a snap judgment and opened the door to allow the man to enter. Years of experience hiring people gave her an eye for sincerity. She prayed she was making the right choice.

****

Another day of fighting ground down the defending forces as they clung desperately to their enclaves, fighting positions and rubble on the south bank of the Ohio. The Battle of Cincinnati was becoming an epic struggle.

Crutchfield’s forces continued to pour across the river on the western bridge, make the twenty-mile dash to the scene of the fighting and join the fray. Their opposite numbers were doing the same from the East. They faced the disadvantage of making the same trip on foot however. Still the terrain and situation favored the defenders. In addition to filtering in men and munitions, the President unleashed some of his airpower to harass Crutchfield’s forces. This served to further slow their progress.

The use of his airpower also served to cut off Crutchfield’s forces in Lexington. Several supply planes had been shot down as they made the scud run into the enclave. Further, the men moving across Kentucky to the fight in Cincinnati served to cut off any Crutchfield forces from moving down Interstate I64 from Ashland to reinforce the men in Lexington. Like men sixty years before them they were cut off and had no choice other than to dig in and await their brothers arrival.

In an effort to mask their true intentions, the President also launched attacks on Harrisburg Pennsylvania. Should they prove successful troops could march on Pittsburgh and head north to cut Crutchfield’s territories in half. Alternativley, they could head North East towards Allentown. Either way, the attacks occupied Crutchfield’s military leadership and kept them hopping.

Meanwhile, while the battle raged in Cincinnati, the President was moving significant military forces into the Richmond Kentucky area while Crutchfield remained unawares. His attention was focused on Cincinnati and elsewhere. The trap was being set.

****

Miller pushed the farm truck hard as he took the back roads and farm tracks on the way back to ClarMar farms. The old truck groaned and shook as Miller drove faster than he dared.

This would be a bad time to bust a tire or break an axle.

The information provided to him by Alec Lehman’s investigations man painted a dire picture. Julie Dawson, the amateur spy who gave her life for Miller’s cause, resisted the torture. She took the physical abuse handed out but in the end it only took two words for all that Miller and DeMetrie had worked for to be placed in jeopardy.

“ClarMar Farms” finally escaped her bloody and swollen lips after several hours of torture and humiliation.

He had learned long ago to turn himself off to the pain he felt. There would be time later to think about how he caused the death of this young woman.

Miller had tried to call to warn Clarissa but the phone lines were down. Phone service had been spotty lately and tonight fate conspired against Miller. He cursed the luck as he dashed hurriedly back to the truck.

“Guess I’ll do the Paul Revere tonight,” he said as the turned over the engine.

So he found himself driving as fast as he dared, eyes straining in the night to pick out features. Hands gripping the wheel tightly.

It was a race against time and he knew it.

bacpacker
04-05-2011, 12:34 AM
The suspense keeps growing.
Having been up I 75 and around Cinci many times over the years I can just see the battle taking place. Great descriptios.

The Stig
04-07-2011, 03:14 AM
As the pickup screamed down the long dirt driveway of ClarMar Farms, Miller hoped that someone at he farm didn’t mistake him for someone with more violent intentions. He had considered going directly to the compound that had been serving as their headquarters first to get DeMetrie and whatever men might be available but decided going to the house first was more important.

“Miller, don’t screw this up” he thought to himself as the skidded the truck to a halt in front of the old farmhouse. It had barely stopped moving before he was out of the door and dashing up the wooden steps to the house. The truck was left at a nearly ninety degree angle to the house, almost at the bottom of the stairs. Figuring this wasn’t the time to worry about landscaping, Miller chose the more unorthodox parking spot.

Before he got to the top of the stairs he yelled out, “Open the door Clarissa!”

He was somewhat surprised to see it yanked open by the shotgun wielding Clarissa. “Thank God it’s you Miller.” He could see the panic on her face.

Before she could continue any further he immediately noticed Glenn Hubbard in the corner of the kitchen. Hubbard was smart enough to stand in an unthreatening manner with his hands clearly visible. Perhaps more importantly, they were empty.

Greg Donner, sensing what was about to happen, piped up, “This one claims the Troopers are about to come calling. Not sure if I buy it.”

Miller always had a gift for prioritizing data and not getting sidetracked. Tonight would prove no different. “Greg. He’s telling the truth. Go get the bags from the closet. Stack them in front of the door.”

Greg nodded and began shuffling off towards the back room.

Turning to the clearly shaken Clarissa he continued. “Get the guns, stack them at the front door. Do it.”

As she ran out on her assigned tasked he finally turned to Hubbard. “You stay right where you are at. Now’s a bad time to push your luck by trying anything. I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

Hubbard was about to reply but realized it would be pointless as Miller was already half way up the stairs towards the second floor. The look in Miller’s eye convinced him that staying in the corner was a good idea.

****

DeMetrie was pouring over a map and considering the ramifications of various tactical activities when the hardwired field phone suddenly clanged to life. Calls from the farmhouse weren’t uncommon but rarely did they happen this late into the evening.

Following the protocols he and Miller had worked out months back he picked up the phone handset and said “Green” into the receiver nearly simultaneously.

“15” came the reply.

As the Captain was gearing up for the next challenge he was startled to hear Miller’s voice boom out of the phone.

“Get whoever’s there to the farmhouse now Mike. Troopers inbound and they mean business. Likely twenty or thirty. Fully armed and ready for a fight. This isn’t a random inspection.”

DeMetrie knew Miller wasn’t a man prone to dramatics and sensed immediately the seriousness of the situation.

“How long?”

“You’ve got one five minutes max. Probably less.”

“Exfil plan?”

There was no pause as Miller said, “Exfil Romeo”

“Hang tight Miller. I’ll be there.”

“Mike, be sure to call in Caddy’s team. And let them know to rendezvous.

“Wilco. Be safe.”

The phone was barely back in the cradle before Miller called out to the three men he had on hand. His three plus Miller trying to respond to a force of thirty fighting men was not ideal. Even the most degenerate gambler wouldn’t buck the odds on that bet.

As the men responded to their commander, and began scurrying to gather gear, he immediately got on the radio equipment their friend Jason Klepper had so kindly acquired for them.

He hoped his radio call wouldn’t come at a bad time for his men in the field.

He needed his men now more than ever.

****

“Son,” Miller said to Hubbard. “You’ve got thirty seconds to explain your intentions.” Greg and Clarissa had given Miller the short version of the warning the young investigator had provided them about the impending attack on ClarMar Farms.

He was placing rifle magazines in his pockets while Greg and Clarissa scurried about the house attending to their assigned tasks.

Hubbard measured his words carefully before responding. Just as he began to speak he was startled by the metallic clanging sound of the AR15 bolt slamming a round home in the chamber of Miller’s rifle.

“Sir, I know Caddy. I worked for him and I know he is…. affiliated…with your group here.” Hubbard paused to gage Miller’s response. Not knowing what to make of Miller’s indifference to the comment he continued on.

“The Troopers and Lehman are out of control. They killed a girl and are planning to do it again tonight. I know how they treated Caddy.” Hubbard almost spat out the words and the venom in his voice was clear. “You people don’t deserve this”.

Miller continued to don the gear that had been placed on the table near him.

“Greg, when you are done with that, get out to the truck.” Turning to Greg’s daughter he continued, “Start moving the gear to the truck. No extra trips.”

Finally looking up to recognize Hubbard, “What’s your plan from here?”.

The question took the young investigator by surprise. For a man who usually thought things through and considered all the angles, he really hadn’t thought things out that far.

Miller, sensing there would be no answer forthcoming, and not wanting to waste any time, pressed on. “Son, you have two choices. Stay with us and will sort this out later.”

Hubbard replied with, “and option two?”

“Run like hell”. Miller didn’t wait for the reply and ran to the basement.

The Stig
04-07-2011, 03:14 AM
The heat of the night, combined with the sand and bugs, had worn off the excitement of the adventure Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds had been on for the past few days.

They weren’t too proud to hide it. They were in their element and where they were most comfortable. They had spent days in the field killing, wounding, harassing and obstructing the Troopers. Guards had been shot. Truck drivers had been sniped. Supplies destroyed. Bridges exploded. Checkpoints ambushed. They were on a rampage and the toll was starting to mount on the Troopers and Contractors that had been working in the Northeastern corner of the county.

The three men, covered in sweat and grime, had taken a break for a quick meal. None of the men spoke, and when they did it was in hushed whispers. They made every effort to eliminate or minimize noise. Fire was out of the question. Movement’s were deliberate and designed to disguise their true intentions.

In short the team had become ghosts in a pine forest.

Just as Lowry was digging into this shirt to fish out a tepidly warmed MRE pouch the radio earpieces crackled to life. Although embedded into their ears, and nearly inaudible beyond a few feet the noise was like cannon fire on a still summer morning.

“Ghost five, this is Ghost one. Over.”

The sudden radio transmission startled all three men. They looked at each other questioningly as they had been observing strict radio silence. While the chances of being found were slim, they took no chances, thus they had no intentions of using the radios except in extreme emergencies.

Whispering into the microphone Lowry replied, “Ghost one, this is Ghost five, go ahead.”

“Cease current operation. Break. Proceed to point Romeo immediate. No actions in transit. Break. Homestead compromised expect entire congregation. Expect possible hot reception. Break. In case of broken action proceed to rally point Tango. Read back. Ghost one over.”

Caddy and Reynolds looked at each other as Lowry repeated back the Captains command.

“Be safe boys. Ghost one out.”

It wasn’t like the Captain to put personal comments in an open transmission. Face to face he was a surprisingly affectionate leader but over a radio he was all business.

The men knew the situation was grave.

Without speaking the men policed any trash they had inadvertently left behind and began the walk to point Romeo. If they were lucky, and avoided detection, they might reach the destination by later the following morning.

There wasn’t anything to be said anyway. DeMetries orders made clear ClarMar Farms was being attacked and the entire group would be attempting an escape from the Southern District.

****

Miller worked quickly to grab several containers of supplies he knew Greg would never be able to retrieve because of his physical condition. After tossing them to the top of the stairs, he returned to a small safe hidden behind some boxes. Grabbing out a small black bag and a larger knapsack he turned and dashed up the stairs.

His plan was simple. He’d drive the Donner’s away from the farm and in the general direction of Point Romeo, the assigned meeting location in the event they ever needed to evacuate the farm. He hoped to miss the Troopers by driving out a side field which led to a path had had been cleared for just such a purpose.

If they were able to pull this off DeMetrie and his men would simply disappear into the night and make their way to point Romeo to link up. If Miller got caught, or got into a shootout with the Troopers DeMetrie would, in theory, ride to the rescue.

Miller wondered who would ride to DeMetrie’s rescue in that event. Best case he’d have five men with him as Caddy’s team was in the field. Even if they had been around, nine men against thirty well trained enemies were long odds.

All they needed was a little luck to be able to get away just ahead of the troopers. He knew he would be cutting it close. He had done the mental calculations once Lehman’s lead investigations man revealed the plan to attack the farm and there was scant time to reach the farm, gather everything up and leave before the attack commenced.

The lead investigations man had been a wealth of useful information. Miller would have to wait to act on the more interesting secrets that had been revealed until a more suitable time.

As he turned to dash towards the stairs and his truck, he was surprised by the sound of gunfire.

“Shit” he said aloud as he leapt up the stairs.

All they needed was a little luck. It was clear that luck would not be on their side tonight.

****

ak474u
04-07-2011, 03:58 AM
ruh roh, bout to get ugly.

bacpacker
04-07-2011, 11:08 PM
Bad times comin!

The Stig
04-08-2011, 12:36 AM
“You are doing what?” screamed the irate Senator Donovan. His aide, an impish man, was alarmed at how fast the Senator’s face had turned purple and had to dodge the fountain of spittle that was projected through the air by the man’s anger.

After a few seconds the Senator continued.

“I don’t care what reason you have, you know that farm is of particular interest to me. You shouldn’t be driving past the front fucking gate let alone assaulting it.”

The Senator had started to pace as he listened to his end of the conversation. It was clear the person on the other end wasn’t having a good time of it.

“Listen to me you twit. Call off your men.” The aide found a good reason to appear busy on the other side of the office to avoid being caught up in the tidal wave of anger erupting from his employer.

For a brief second he wondered what possible sin the other participant in the conversation could have committed to warrant the Senator’s sudden wrath.

The Senator’s pacing suddenly stopped. “You’ve fucked this up worse than a football bat. I’ll be there in the morning”. With that he ended the call.

Collecting himself for a few seconds he turned to his aide. “Rework the schedule. Have the plane ready to go first thing in the morning. We’re going to Shelton to straighten this mess out.”

The aide was smart enough to simply nod his agreement and leave the room to begin the task of reworking everything he had finalized a few hours before.

****

After another full day’s fighting around the south side of Cincinnati, Crutchfield’s forces were no closer to securing the area and heading south towards Lexington than they were twenty-four hours earlier. The defenders seemed to hold onto every block with a vengeance. In some cases battles erupted between rooms of individual houses. The men fighting on behalf of a united America knew they were fighting not only for their country but their lives. There would be no retreating from this battle.

In an odd way, both situations mirrored the others. Crutchfield’s men were trapped in Lexington awaiting relief from forces north of them. President Alan’s men were trapped just across the river from Cincinnati and waited for relief from the forces gathered to the south of them.

Crutchfield’s men in Lexington had been confident but growing pangs of doubt began to cloud their commander’s minds. The first sign of trouble was when the supply aircraft began to dwindle from somewhat regular landings to a trickle to disappearing altogether. Further fueling the worry were the increasing skirmishes on the southern and eastern portions of the city. Resistance was nil for a short time after they captured the city. For a brief time some of the soldiers felt they might not have a fight before the main force arrived.

Now it was clear that wasn’t going to be the case.

Firefights, skirmishes and full-on assaults were becoming more and more frequent as the hours ticked by.

It was clear the President’s men were probing and testing the lines for weakness.

The forces gathered to the south of Lexington were nearly ready to begin moving north. Advanced elements were the ones looking for holes in the lines. Crutchfield’s plans were built around speed and surprise thus there weren’t enough men in Lexington to hold it completely. There were parts of the defenses that were thin, if not absent altogether.

It had been the source of much angst for the field commanders.

Now it was growing from worry to full-blown obsession. They had the benefit of using interior lines to respond to various threats. Several response forces raced to put out one fire after another.

The number and frequency of fires were increasing with every hour.

****

Miller cleared the basement stairs in three steps as he vaulted himself towards the front of the house. The single shot that had punctuated the silence was followed by more shots. As he entered the main room he saw Clarissa kneeling at the front door, using the door jam as concealment as she calmly fired rounds. Her former husband, a military man, had taught her well and she fired deliberate shots and took the time to aim as best she could.

As he took up a position at the front window and prepared to smash it he quickly grasped the situation. Troopers were advancing from an arc that fanned out from the front of the house towards the entrance of the farm. Miller knew immediately the Troopers would send forces towards the house from the side and rear along with the front. Making a mad dash to safety in the truck was out of the question.

“Miller, this is bad,” yelled Clarissa.

Without looking back in her direction he hurled a small end-table through the large picture window in the front room. He wanted an unobstructed shot but also hoped it would draw fire from the front door where Clarissa was firing. It worked and bullets soon smacked into the wood siding around the window frame.

Shouting back over the growing noise of rifle fire, Miller shouted, “Clarissa” until he got her attention. “Just shoot to keep them from moving forward.”

Nodding her head at his quizzical instruction she returned to firing slowly and methodically.

Reaching down into one of the bags Greg had brought him and retrieved one of the grenades DeMetrie had provided them when he left the Army. They had been set aside for just such an emergency purpose and DeMetrie’s edict to ruthlessly horde them proved wise.

Pulling the pin he threw it as hard as he could in the general direction of some of the Troopers.

Essentially he was stalling.

He wanted to keep the Troopers head’s down long to either find an opportunity to escape or DeMetrie to join the fight. If the chance presented itself to take out a Trooper he’d take it, otherwise the last thing he wanted was a slugging match.

The grenade exploded with a thunderous roar. Metal fragments shot out in all directions. None found their mark but the device did exactly what Miller wanted. The Troopers suddenly realized the people fighting back weren’t hick farmers. High explosives communicated the message effectively.

After firing several shots at Troopers that hadn’t found cover yet Miller again yelled to Clarissa, “how many bags are in the truck?”

“Almost all of them”

Pressing the trigger several more times Miller suddenly realized he faced a new problem.

Greg was pinned down behind the truck and couldn’t get back to the house.

The Stig
04-08-2011, 12:48 AM
Lehman paced in his office. He wasn’t a man to be afraid of anyone, however, he realized the situation before him. He had credible evidence something was amiss at ClarMar Farms and they were likely part of the resistance movement. His duty, as he saw it, was to address the situation.

On the other hand, Senator Donovan was clearly the boss and not someone who appreciated subordinates ignoring his direction. He made it plain Lehman was to call off the Troopers on their way to the farm.

As he weighed his limited options one of the operations men called on the intercom.

“Sir, you need to come of the operations center.”

Mashing down the button he replied, “Situation?”

“The team is encountering resistance.”

Simply pulling the team out before anything happened suddenly ceased to be an option.

“Details?”

“Sir, you should come to the op center. They are facing small arms fire and possibly grenades.”

Lehman didn’t reply as he took several long strides to cross his office.

His life had suddenly become very complicated.

****

“Where the hell is DeMetrie” Miller thought to himself as rifle rounds whistled through the air and thudded into the wood siding of the house. Even after only several minutes the old farm house was showing signs of wilting under the pressure of repeated rifle rounds.

Thinking quickly Miller hurled several smoke grenades from his bag through the front window to provide a scant amount of cover to Greg at the truck. The cover wouldn’t help for long as the Troopers and Contractors were sure to have thermal imaging devices of some sort. Knowing the danger was coming from all sides he ran to the back of the house and quickly tossed an additional smoke grenade through the back door. He was relieved that no gunfire came from that direction but he knew men were moving into position.

Before he returned to his living room firing position he again yelled out to Clarissa. “Is Greg injured? Does he have a rifle?”

Miller couldn’t hear the pop’s of rifle fire from Greg over the noise from inside the house. But the old Marine didn’t take being shot at well. He was fortunate to have a rifle lying against the truck when the fight broke out. He hadn’t been hit so far, but he knew the situation was bad. Old instincts took over and he took a position behind the front tire, in the relative safety of the engine block. Dropping to the ground he began firing back as best he could.

“No. I don’t think so” was the reply.

“DeMetrie will be here soon. When he does, we’re getting the hell out of here”.

Making the run to safety in the truck wasn’t much of a plan. This one was even more rudimentary.

Miller wondered where the hell DeMetrie was.

****

The Troopers had parked a distance away from the farm to avoid alerting anyone at the farm of their approach. Most of their men had carefully approached the home from the front. Following sound practices, however, they also sent men to approach the house from the rear. They had not fully been in position when the first shot happened.

It was dumb luck that Greg happened to be near the front of the truck and sensed something being out of place. Maybe it was a stray noise. Perhaps his aging eyes saw something in the darkness. Either way, his old instincts proved accurate as he scampered behind the truck seconds before the Trooper shot at him.

They had not planned on engaging anyone at the farm, but when it was clear they wouldn’t have surprise to mask their assault the Troopers acted and fired.

The rear team stopped their advance when the fight at the front of the house broke out to access the situation. It quickly became apparent that nobody was shooting back at them and their methodical move towards the house continued.

They were about seventy-five yards away when the rear door suddenly flew open and quickly closed again. This again caused the Troopers to dive to cover in anticipation of being fired upon. A small cloud of smoke poured out of a smoke canister that had been hastily thrown out the door.

****

The distance from the compound to the Farm wasn’t much. DeMetrie was smart enough not to run right to the farmhouse however. Miller’s warning of twenty to thirty men meant that running to join Miller would only prolong the inevitable. They would slowly be torn to pieces. Worse yet, the Troopers could call in reinforcements while DeMetrie had nobody to come to his rescue. Caddy’s team was too far away and on foot. They were alone.

Instead, he chose to maneuver to a more advantageous position before engaging the Troopers. The driveway formed a large U shape at the termination of the driveway. There were several buildings scattered around the perimeter of the U. The farmhouse was on the right side of the U while most of the buildings were to the left. They presented DeMetrie a limited amount of concealment while he tried to get where he could multiply the effects of his small number of men.

It was classic military doctrine. Engage, flank the enemy, move forward.

cwconnertx
04-08-2011, 02:19 AM
Love it!

bacpacker
04-08-2011, 04:21 PM
Very good

The Stig
04-11-2011, 05:53 PM
“Clarissa,” Miller yelled over the din of the fight, “Go to the backdoor and make sure they aren’t coming up behind us.”

Not hearing him at first he had to yell it a second time.

Glancing out at her father, who was slowly firing back from his position under the truck, she hesitated. She didn’t want to leave her father.

“I’ll get Greg back” Miller assured her. “Go, there’s a team coming around back. You have to keep them from getting close enough to thrown things in the house.”

Finally realizing Miller was right, Clarissa quickly sprang to feet and grabbed the small bag she had next to her.

Since all of the bags were in the truck, the three only had the magazines on their personal gear. Thanks to Hubbard’s warning they had enough time to don that equipment but that gear was designed to be light to allow rapid movement for prolonged periods of time. To achieve that goal each harness only held four magazines of ammunition.

She took the small bag that held a couple more, now precious, magazines with her and took up a similar perch behind the back door. Miller had wisely turned off all the lights inside the house to at least make it a little harder to see them.

Miller took over the front-door position and accessed what they had to work with. The answer was simple. Nothing. Greg was pinned down. They were being pressed from two sides. Ammunition and time was running out.

Quickly firing a few shots though the haze and smoke at an inky shape in the darkness Miller realized the effect of the smoke was already wearing off. The Troopers were again pressing forward.
He was just about to hit the panic button when to his relief rifle fire erupted from the buildings to the left of the driveway turnaround U. DeMetrie had arrived and begun engaging into the flank of the Troopers approaching the house from the front.

Sensing the opportunity Miller yelled out to Greg, “Greg, now! Run up here”

Greg nodded and rose to his feet as quickly as his old body would allow. Grabbing the side of the truck for support he slowly rose from laying flat on the ground to a hunched over pose that still kept him behind the truck as much as possible. Humans have the amazing ability to conform to oddest shapes when being shot at.

Watching out of the corner of his eye Miller prepared to fire rapidly to provide Greg at least a modicum of cover from the Troopers. Between the fading smoke, his fire and DeMetrie he stood a chance of covering the distance.

Greg glanced up at Miller before preparing to run to the house. Despite all the years and health problems, combat seemed familiar to Greg. In some ways the adrenaline made him feel young again. Mustering up all the energy his body could provide Greg lurched forward from the truck and pumped his legs as fast as his frail body would allow. Simultaneously, Miller began firing rapidly in the direction of as many of the rifle flashes he could see.

Sometimes in combat the difference between life and death is a mater of mere inches and often luck. Two men can stand side-by-side and undergo different outcomes. One goes home to his family while he other has a flag and the gratitude of a grateful nation.

Luck and inches conspired against Greg as he attempted to cover the distance from the front of the truck to the stairs. Two steps into his dash, a rifle round tore through his thigh sending the old man crashing to the ground. Miller didn’t notice it at first, but when Greg didn’t come thundering past him after a second or two he glanced to check on his progress.

That’s when he saw the old Marine dragging himself back behind the truck. Miller immediately reached down and threw the last smoke grenade as far as he could. Using the few seconds before the smoke began billowing out of the canister to fire off the remaining rounds in his rifle he then sprinted the two strides to cover the front porch and nearly dove down the stairs. Covering the distance in two more strides he reached down to pull the old man completely behind the truck body.

Things had just gone from bad to worse.

The Stig
04-11-2011, 05:56 PM
Clarissa had never been in a gunfight. Her husband had never shared stories of combat. The slow motion effect of the stress and tunnel vision that occurs were new sensations to her body. It seemed that time had slowed to a crawl and that she could almost see the bullets zinging through the air towards her. Because they had anticipated overwhelming the farmhouse’s occupants through surprise they had only sent five men to the rear of the house. To Clarissa it seemed to be an entire army.

But she was a strong willed woman who had fought every inch of the way to build her business into a local powerhouse. She forced herself to breath deeply and feed her brain oxygen rich fuel. Thinking back to all the training classes and instruction she had received over the years she focused on the front sight as best she could and tried to press the trigger instead of jerking it to fire the rifle.

One of her rounds had connected with a Trooper and bore a hole in his chest that transected his ribcage. The man was nearly dead before he hit the ground. The other four chose to remain behind the scant concealment available in the field behind the home instead of moving closer.

****

“I’m sorry Miller” was all Greg could say as he looked down at the chunk of flesh missing from his thigh. Miller efficiently wrapped the wound with an Israeli bandage as quickly as he could given the awkward position he was in.

Without looking up Miller replied, “we’re getting the hell out of here”.

As he finished wrapping the man’s leg he glanced up at the older man. The expression on his face had changed.

Before he could say anything Miller continued speaking, “come on Greg. Get yourself ready to move. I’ll carry you.”

Greg’s eyes took on a more distant, almost misty look. “Son, look at the house” was all he said.

It took Miller several seconds, and a few pointing gestures from Greg, to get the point and glance backwards. Flames were emanating from the second story of the house. It was hard to pinpoint the cause, but the old farmhouse wasn’t built to withstand the onslaught of rifle rounds. The wood siding of the house sagged under the weight of repeated impacts. In several areas the old lath beneath the siding was exposed. The house wasn’t going to tolerate much more abuse.

Miller prepared to lift Greg and carry him to safety fireman style. It was risky and there was a good chance both of them could be hit. Night or no night, Miller would be a much larger target with the old man slung over his shoulder, and would certainly be moving much slower. All in all, the situation was getting desperate. They had to move out, and do it now before the troopers could adjust to DeMetrie’s assault and before the house became too engulfed in flames to provide any route to escape.

And they had to get to Clarissa.

****

Lehman was furious. In the fog of war sometimes men and equipment don’t perform as well as they should. This was one of those times.

His communications team was desperately trying to contact the assault team to get them to stop. The situation was spiraling out of control, but there was still a slim hope Lehman could salvage things if the could stop the assault right away.

“I want them on the radio, and I want them now. Call them off!” Lehman said venomously.

The lead man stammered, “Sir, just give us another minute. We had to reset some of the equipment.”

Lehman paced furiously. He grasped that he likely didn’t have another minute.

****


“Son, it’s the only way”.

Miller knew the old man was right. It didn’t mean he liked it any better, but Greg was right.

“You’ll never carry me that far, and I’m a liability now. Even if you get me to the house, we’ll never make it out the backside.” Greg looked earnestly into Miller’s eyes as a rifle round zinged by as if to accentuate the point.

Miller, not being easily persuaded was having none of Greg’s heroics. “Listen old man, you’re not going to pull the hero card on me. Get ready to move.”

There was a sudden barrage of shots from the Troopers as they began to realize they had to push forward, or towards DeMetrie. Sitting still wasn’t getting them any closer to their objectives. Miller and Greg both immediately realized what was happening.

Miller was about to say something when a tremendous explosion shook the earth around several of the Troopers. DeMetrie had used one of his hoarded grenades to counter the sudden push by the Troopers.

As Miller bent over to hoist Greg onto his shoulders, Greg gently reached up and brushed off Miller’s hand. “Listen Miller. You’ll never make it with me and I need you to take care of Clarissa now. I’ll do what I can to keep their heads down. You just get back inside that house, get my daughter and get the hell out of here.”

Pausing for a second to consider the ramifications he knew Greg was right. It pained him to admit it, but he was right. To escape they were going to have to cover a lot of ground, very quickly, and having a injured senior citizen wasn’t going to help.

Looking directly into Miller’s eyes the old man continued, “Look, I’m not going to get sappy here. I’ve lived my life. Now go. The cause needs you far more than it needs me. Go.”

Miller knew he was right.

Nodding his head in reluctant acceptance, he pulled the remaining magazine from his vest and handed it to Greg. “Here. Use this and what you have to keep their heads down. Stack them next to you so you can reload quickly,” he said as he prepared to make the dash back to the house.

“Move me into a better position” he commanded Miller as he scooped up his remaining magazines.

After helping the man get into a prone position, between the front and back truck tires Miller looked down and started to say something to the man who had become his friend in the cause.

“Don’t say anything Miller. Just go. Get my daughter to safety and go. Please”. Miller looked into the older man’s eyes and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

Sometimes, there just aren’t words.

The Stig
04-11-2011, 05:58 PM
While the drama unfolded at the front of the house, Clarissa was fighting a battle of her own. Smoke from the fire had begun billowing downstairs and was starting to obscure her. She tried to keep the troopers from advancing any closer as best she could through the coughing and sputtering.

While she changed out to her last magazine she heard and felt a tremendous explosion near the front of the house. Fearing for her father she started to worry but fought to push the fear out of her mind. She had to stay focused on the task at hand. A task that was becoming much harder. The sudden rash of rifle fire emanating from the front of the house helped jar her back to the reality before her.

As she raised her rifle to let loose several more rounds she suddenly became aware of Miller behind her. He was breathing heavily, but under control.

“Come on. We have to move!” was all he said. As if the house was trying to voice it’s agreement a large portion of the living room ceiling collapsed as the raging fire continued consuming the house at an ever-faster pace.

Not fully comprehending what he was saying she simply grunted a “yes” and prepared to move out.

“You got any full mags?” he asked. “Good. Be ready to use it. We have one smoke grenade left. I’m going to pop it. When I give the word, run out the back door, and turn hard right. Once you clear the door I’ll fire off a few shots to keep them honest. Then I’ll come out behind you. Run to the compound as hard and fast as you can. Got it?”

“What about Dad?” she yelled over the growing roar of the fire. The ancient farmhouse groaned and popped as it began unraveling.

“Just be ready to go when I say. There’s no time for discussion”. Miller tried to look as unyielding as possible. He knew how Clarissa could be and this wasn’t the time for a debate. He’d dealt with hard charging, alpha males all around the world, but this was one woman who could put up a fight when she didn’t want to do something.

He was surprised when she looked down for a few seconds, grunted, and then looked back up to say, “I’m ready”.

****

The Troopers had killed two of DeMetrie’s men and the volume of fire the remaining men could produce wasn’t enough to hold them back. Sensing this, the Troopers were slowly pushing forward to press home the attack. The farmhouse, nearly fully engulfed in flames seemed a fitting description of Miller and DeMetrie’s situation.

DeMetrie had seen Miller dash back into the house and could only surmise he and whoever was left were going to escape out the back. He could see someone firing from underneath the truck but wasn’t sure who that person was.

The situation was becoming untenable. He was running low on ammo and had to have something left in the event it became a running gun battle all the way to point Romeo. If he could disengage from the Troopers he could use the night and confusion of the situation to make a dash to safety and begin the journey to link up with Miller and Caddy’s team.

As he was making the mental plans he glanced over to see his last man suddenly throw his hands up towards his throat and then collapse to the ground. It was if fate was telling him now was the time to leave.

He glanced back at the truck in time to see the man rattle off another burst of four or five rounds.

DeMetrie was an extraordinarily brave man but he was also a realist. At this point, it was nearly every man for himself.

He slowly backed out of his firing position and using the cover of the building began backing away as quickly as possible. The rattle of nearly constant fire from underneath the truck helped provide him the time needed to get away.

Using the cover of some equipment he was soon seventy-five yards away from the scene of the firefight. He wasn’t safe yet, but as the sounds of rifle fire intensified, he knew he’d stand a good chance of living to fight another day.

cwconnertx
04-11-2011, 08:19 PM
Another great installment!

bacpacker
04-11-2011, 08:51 PM
What a story. Thanks Stig!

The Stig
04-11-2011, 10:08 PM
“GO!” yelled Miller as he shoved Clarissa out the door. In doing so, he stepped out directly behind her. While she cut hard to the right to run down the length of the house, he sid- stepped to the left, dropped to one knee and rattled off five or six shots. He had lost track of how many rounds he had left but the sudden click, audible over the din of the battle, made it clear.

Deciding he should join the dash to safety, he dug his heals into the sandy ground and pushed himself to the side and begin the sprint. As he began pumping his legs and gulping in as much air has his lungs he had the strange thought of wondering if his daughter Ava was having fun on her Wyoming adventure with mommy, the dog and their new friend Patsy.

Fear sometimes causes people to think odd things.

As time slowed to a crawl, Miller could hear rifle rounds smacking into ground around him. With the house now a blazing inferno he was fairly easy to see despite the smoke and dark night.

If he stood any chance of covering the ground he would need divine intervention.

****

“Sir, we raised them!” exclaimed the Contractor who worked in Lehman’s communication center. “Channel 5 sir”.

As he snatched the microphone from the young man’s hand Lehman yelled into it, “Bravo team, break contact! Repeat, break contact. Immediate!”

There was a slight pause before the disembodied voice crackled back over the radio. “Say again Bravo lead. Breaking up. Sounds of rifle fire was clearly heard in the background. Lehman cringed at the noise.

“Say again Bravo team, break contact. Immediate.”

The pause in response baffled Lehman.

“Bravo lead, you are garbled. I say again you……….”

The transmission had gone dead again.

****

As Miller ran he didn’t even try to zig or zag. He simply wanted to cover as much ground as possible, as quickly as his body would allow.

He basically had to sprint about seventy five yards, through fire, to get to the nearest hint of safety, a small ditch barely two foot deep. The ditch ran parallel to the main road and would provide them cover to get some of the farm buildings between them and all the Troopers.

But he had to get there first.

Miller glanced up to see Clarissa nearly to the safe harbor of the ditch. She’d likely make it but he faced about a ten percent chance of making the same dash. Maybe less since the contractors would guess someone would attempt the same route.

As he lifted his right leg he felt a round impact the ground where his foot had been less than a second before. Dirt and sand kicked up into the air and he involuntarily jumped a little higher on his next stride. The ditch looked further away than ever.

It looked even further since the cloud of smoke from his last grenade was blowing back towards where he had been. He was just about beyond the scant cover it was providing.

His leg muscles screamed in agony as he pumped them harder than ever before. As his lungs began burning from the combination of exertion and smoke inhalation, he felt another round zing past his head. He tucked it down as far as possible and kept pushing.

It looked like time was running out for John Miller.

****

DeMetrie kept moving and finally reached the distant tree-line. Whoever was under the truck had blasted away long enough to keep the Troopers at bay and allow his escape.

Just as he reached the tree-line the gunfire emanating from the front of the house ceased. There had been a loud crescendo of fire but that stopped and was replaced by the sounds of rifle fire coming from the rear of the home. Less frequent, and with lesser intensity than the front, but shots none the less.

Having no idea if Miller, or anyone else had survived, DeMetrie had no choice but head to Point Romeo and hope for the best. At the very least he would rendezvous with Caddy and his team and they could piece together a plan from there.

He glanced back over his shoulder to see the night sky illuminated by the funeral pyre of the ClarMar Farms house. Flames shot into the night air and even at night DeMetrie could make out the thick black smoke. Death hung in the air.

He was no more than five yards into the woods when the sound of rifle fire suddenly intensified again.

****

They moved silently through the night. Their pace was deliberate yet not rushed. Caddy and his team had to cover a lot of ground to reach Point Romeo. Even after they arrived there was no guarantee of the reception they’d receive. So to reduce the chances of being detected along the way, and avoid being exhausted when they got there, they took a steady and deliberate pace.

The men didn’t have to say anything to each other. All three grasped the dire situation their friends were in.

They pushed on knowing that, if a miracle had happened, and everybody made it out, they’d likely need the extra firepower Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds could provide.

****


Miller had just about given up hope for making it to the oasis of the ditch. He wasn’t the sort of man to throw in the towel, to surrender. He kept moving as fast as his body would allow.

Just as it seemed there would be no way to penetrate the hornets nest of bullets piercing the wall of bullets suddenly parted like a curtain opens on stage. No longer did they whiz past or thump into the ground around him. It was as if someone flipped a switch and turned off the rifle fire.

He reached the safety of the ditch and dove into it headfirst like a wide receiver piercing the end zone to secure the championship game. He crumpled to into a heap as the forward momentum of his body carried his legs nearly over his head. But no matter how ungraceful or undignified his entry to the ditch, he was grateful for one thing.

The damn ditch.

He looked up to see Clarissa crawling in his direction.

Without hesitation he said, “I’m fine….go crawl back the other way as fast as you can. We’re not out of this yet”. He used is one free arm to wave her off.

She did as she was told and scampered along like a baby zooming across the floor in search of a lost pacifier.

****

What DeMetrie heard in the distance, and Miller never realized was that a new player had entered the fight. Between the adrenaline, physical exertion, tunnel vision and the shear volume of the battle, Miller would have never been able to distinguish the sounds of a different gun. He was too busy willing himself to run faster.

In warfare there are occasions where one man can alter the course of a battle.

Much like Greg’s sacrifice slowed the Trooper’s advance long enough to allow Miller to escape, someone else joining the fight was just enough to tip the balance of power in the right direction.

Just when hope had seemingly vanished, and the Troopers from the front of the house prepared the join the battle in the rear, someone opened fire on the Troopers shooting at Miller. Slow, deliberate and skillful shots made clear to the Troopers they had a problem and it was one to be dealt with now. While only one round actually hit a Trooper, the gunfire served its purpose well: to distract the Troopers just long enough to afford Miller the chance to reach the ditch.

And distract them it did. Assuming there was a larger force to their rear, the Troopers attacking the back of the farmhouse quickly shifted to face this new threat. This natural reaction to the new situation allowed Miller to run unmolested.

Just as the Troopers from the front of the house linked up with those in the rear, the gunman decided he had pushed his luck far enough. He carefully snake crawled to his rear far enough to stand and run through the woods. Within virtually seconds he disappeared into the night.

Glen Hubbard smiled to himself and prayed he had made the right choice.

The Stig
04-16-2011, 02:01 AM
As Lehman paced in the communications center he realized events had spiraled outside of his control. His men had continued to try to raise the assault team on the radio but were rewarded with only static and Lehman’s mounting frustration.

While the minutes ticked by he finally admitted defeat.

Turning to one of his assistants he said, “Alright, get a car and we’ll just head out there ourselves.”

As Lehman and his man walked out of the communication center he turned back and issued a final command, “Keep trying to raise them. If you get to them, patch me in immediately.”

Without looking up the communications men nodded while they feverously tried to force their equipment to comply to their wishes.

****

Their legs and lungs burning in protest, Miller and Clarissa finally reached a small shed located just over the ClarMar property in the distant rear of the neighboring farm. The farm owner had long since abandoned his property so the old unused hunting shed was a perfect cache for supplies.

While they struggled to catch their breath, Miller smoothly opened the door to the small structure.

“We don’t have much time. Just give me a second” was his only instruction before he started rummaging around the small enclosure. While his source didn’t know about the compound that had served as he and DeMetries headquarters, he didn’t want to risk going back to it. Instead of moving west to the main compound they went northerly through the woods to reach this small decrepit shed.

Clarissa didn’t know what to think. Her father was left behind in the hailstorm of bullets that had nearly cost her and Miller their lives. The farm was sure to be in ruins and their futures were now uncertain. Somehow she had just graduated from respected businesswoman to fugitive and she didn’t know what the next hour would hold, let alone the coming weeks and months.

Miller turning back from the shed entrance stirred her from her thoughts.

“Here take these” was his only instruction as he handed her a small backpack and several more magazines of ammunition for her rifle. He busied himself with placing full magazines back into the various pouches on his chest rig.

“What the hell is going on Miller?” was all she could think to ask.

While he dug a map out of the backpack he studied it by flashlight and replied, “The Troopers tortured one of our sources. She broke and gave up ClarMar” in a mater-of-fact tone.

As he continued to memorize the map she pressed him further, “Listen Miller, you know I’m not one for hysteria but this is insane.”

Finally glancing up Miller looked her dead in the eye. “We’ve got two choices here. Give in; go back to the farm and surrender. The Senator wins. Game over. The other option is to accept that our plans are wrecked, deal with it and press on. Do you have a preference?”

After a few seconds she finally responded. “I’m sure as hell not surrendering. What do you want me to do?”

“You’ve got to hold onto these backpacks while I drive.”

“Drive?”

Without responding Miller simply walked to the backside of the small shed. Almost by feel he reached down into the dark shadow of a woodpile and pulled the small wall of logs over. As the individual logs tumbled away it revealed an off-road dirt bike.

“I assume you already knew this was here?” Clarissa asked.

Glancing back over his shoulder he simply nodded to confirm her question. Miller had personally built the small wooden frame that protected the bike. The frame supported the falsework of logs on the front and top of the bike. The shed and small stone wall created the sides. A thick canvas tarp covered the framework and kept the logs from caving inward. To a quick glance it looked like an aging stack of firewood.

Only Miller and DeMetrie were aware of its existence. On more than one occasion in his past having a small means of transportation stashed away had saved the day.

As he wrestled it out from underneath it’s hide he worked quickly to get it turned around and pointed in the right direction. As he rummaged around the back of the hideout spot he came up with two helmets from the dark recesses of the hide.

“Here, you’ll need this. We have a lot of ground to cover before daylight.”

As she jockeyed the helmet over her head, and adjusted her long brown hair, she asked, “Where are we heading?”

“We’ve got to make a phone call before we meet up with DeMetrie.”

She was left to ponder his obtuse comment while he motioned her aboard the small bike.

After she climbed into the back she wrestled to balance her rifle and the backpacks while Miller kicked the starter and coaxed the small engine to life. Soon they were zooming down a nearly indecipherable pathway in the darkened woods. She held onto the bags and Miller as best she could.

She was hanging on for dear life.

****

As the SUV pulled into ClarMar farms, Lehman knew the worst had happened. Fire’s still licked the collapsed and charred remains of an old farmhouse.

Stepping from the truck he surveyed the scene. The glowing embers of the ClarMar Farms house illuminated the obvious scene of an intense firefight. Shell casings of several calibers littered the ground and the smell of burning wood intermixed with the pall of burn gunpowder that permeated the air. Injured troopers tended to their wounds while several dead bodies were visible in the moonlight.

The leader of the assault team had been conferring with junior members of his team when he noticed Lehman walking in his direction. Despite his exhaustion he approached Lehman, crisply saluted and gave his report.

“Looks like four dead Sir. Three insurgents and an old man by the truck. We’ve taken casualties too. No signs of Ms. Donner or any other insurgents. The farmhouse is wrecked, obviously, but we’ve got men combing the office and these other outbuildings looking for any evidence that will lead us to more insurgents. I’d suggest bringing in the investigations men Sir.”

Lehman merely nodded as he surveyed the scene where his career came to a screeching halt.

“They were clearly part of the troublemakers sir,” continued the experienced Trooper. “They fought like men with combat experience. They used smoke and explosive ordinance and they were more than capable in battle. These weren’t just redneck farmers.”

Coughing on smoke that caught at the back of his throat Leman nodded and walked back to the SUV.

The Senator would be on scene in the morning. Lehman would have his letter of resignation ready and hope that whatever camp he was sent too wasn’t too miserable.

bacpacker
04-16-2011, 02:48 AM
S fixin to HTF for Lehman. I feel so bad for him (not).
Another good installment Stig. Thanks

The Stig
04-17-2011, 03:47 AM
The forces gathered around the riverbank across from Cincinnati continued their street-by-street, house-by-house struggle as the bloody battle raged on. The President’s men, who were fighting desperately, to both survive and keep Crutchfield’s forces from moving south, clung precariously to a section of town measured in blocks rather than miles. Crutchfield was simply able to pour more men and material into the fight than the President was able or willing to send. The tide had turned.

Crutchfield’s commanders finally sensed it was time to begin their journey eighty miles south to relieve the forces holding onto Lexington. Soon armored vehicles of many types, humvee’s and even some open topped trucks were heading south down the interstate 71 corridor as an advanced guard to link up with their comrades. The main body of their forces would head out in short order.

The men whose blood was spilt died for a worthy cause, however, as for every hour that ticked by their forces gathered strength far to the south.

The President chose to allow the forces to move unmolested to the south. With the exception of occasional air attacks and the stray group of civilians fighting back Crutchfield’s forces moved with speed and purpose. It was all part of a plan, one that was moving ahead without flaw thus far.

It wouldn’t be long before Lexington would be on the horizon.

****

The major airport serving Lexington is to the Southwest of the city. The northern end of the airport is slightly higher in elevation than the surrounding land. Thousands of years ago glaciers carved the land in such a way that the southern end of the airfield tailed off sharply from the airport level to form a large, wooded valley.

For thousands of years fighting men have used camouflage and their understanding of the environment to disguise their movements. Experienced men can often times move to within ten yards of their prey before detection is even possible. Even then it’s often sound that gives away their presence rather than visual detection.

Sergeant Tom Saxon loved his job. He had been a military man his entire life and become very adept as his profession. Saxon had joined the army at a young age and seen combat in various parts of the Middle-Eastern conflicts that raged for so many years. It never crossed his mind that he’d be going to war inside his own country.

He had returned to the states when the President recalled the cream of America’s fighting forces from the middleastern hellhole in which they had been fightin. After serving in the battle that repulsed Crutchfield’s original foray into Kentucky, he and his unit was moved to the western part of Virginia to rest and refit. This respite didn’t last long as they were soon mobilized and transported back to central Kentucky.

His platoon was assigned the task of harassing Crutchfield’s men around the parameter of the city. In addition to testing their defenses, they served the larger purpose of continuing to distract Crutchfield’s commanders from the strengthening forces threatening them from the South.

The men moved silently towards the airport through the protection of the trees and geography. Their goal that day was a small raid that would unnerve the defenders around the airport. Instead of a full assault aimed at recapturing it they would lob a few rockets, fire a few mags of ammo and then scoot back to safety.

It promised to be another interesting day in the military career of Sergeant Saxon.


****

“Dammit,” exclaimed Jason Klepper as he stubbed his toe on the corner post of the bed while making a late night bathroom run. As he crawled back under the still warm covers he attempted to drift back off to sleep. Glancing at the clock it was 4:38am

His struggling cleaning company had kept him burning the candle at both ends to survive. The original plan to do commercial cleaning had given way to cleaning residences and even bidding on government work to keep the doors open. The turmoil the country faced put a serious crimp on luxuries like cleaning services. He was making it, if only barely.

He considered leaving the Southern District when the difficulties blossomed, and even had an offer to relocate north from a good friend. After discussions however, he felt he had a role to play in the South. His decision was reinforced by the grandmother that was only a few hours away. While he didn’t see her all that often, he simply didn’t want to leave her behind.

Just as the warm embrace of slumber began to overtake him he heard a slight knock at the back door. In his haze he attempted to ignore it but the knocking became louder and more persistent. More importantly it had a familiar pattern to it.

“No….not now” was all he could think as he stumbled through the dark towards the door.

****

“Miller, why do you have to show up now?”

Smiling broadly Miller replied, “Thanks for the warm welcome friend”.

Shutting the door quickly behind them the three people moved to his basement radio room.

“It is 4:30 you know” was his dry reply. Getting a good look at Miller in the light of the basement Klepper asked, “Jesus, what happened to you two? And who is this?”

Motioning Klepper to the radio equipment Miller ignored part of the question. “Can you still get a message out the way we discussed?”

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes the cleaning man cum radio operator answered, “Sure. I can get the message out. No guarantees on how far it will go.”
“Alright” said Miller, who clearly wasn’t in the mood for casual chitchat. Continuing on he said, “Can my friend use your restroom to freshen up?”

“Of course”.

As Klepper returned to the basement Miller had written out a short message on a pad of paper. Handing it to his friend Miller offered, “You know Jason, the offer to get you out of here always stands. I appreciate all the help you’ve given us, but if you ever feel you need to scoot, we can make that happen.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks……” Klepper’s brow furrowed as he read the note. “Really, this is what you want to send?”

“Yes, every word of it. To the destination indicated. I need you to wait until 10pm tomorrow night, and then send this out.”

As Clarissa reentered the room Miller finally introduced his companion. “Klepper, this is Clarissa Donner. She’s been helping us too.”

The two shook hands as Miller continued. “She’s going to stay with you. I’ve got something to take care of but I should be back right as you send the second message.”

Klepper looked up with a confused look on his face. “Second message?”

“Yes, send this one right now.” Miller handed him a different piece of paper.

The radioman’s brow again wrinkled as he read the message. “You are up to some crazy stuff man. Like I said, I can get the message out. No guarantees anybody gets it.”

Miller casually patted his friend on the shoulder as he replied, “I have complete confidence you can get the job done. Just make sure you amp up the juice on your equipment. This one has to get out a ways.”

Sighing because he knew Miller’s favors were never a simple affair, Klepper merely asked, “how far?”

A broad smile flashed across his face as Miller simply said, “oh…Wyoming is all.”

With that Miller outlined his plan with Clarissa while Klepper attended to the radios.

****

The Stig
04-19-2011, 02:46 AM
As the sun broke over the horizon the carnage at ClarMar farms was laid bare to all. The smoldering ruins of the farmhouse left a still visible haze hanging over the scene of the previous nights firefight. Several bodies, including that of Greg Donner’s were stacked like wood against the farm office building, loosely covered with a white sheet in the universal sign of death.

As Lehamn carefully maneuvered across the carpet of brass casings he surveyed the pockmarked bullet impacts against the side of the buildings adjacent to the ClarMar Farm’s house and turned up dirt from explosions. The occupants of the house had put up a stiff resistance. He agreed with the assault team leader, these were pros. For a handful of inexperienced yokels to fend off a team of twenty-seven combat trained men was incomprehensible.

“Sir, we’ve torn the farm office apart and found nothing,” reported one of Lehman’s men. Certainly not the sort of news Lehman wanted to hear.

“Keep looking” he replied gruffly.

As the minutes ticked by Lehman was filled with a growing sense of dread. There was no indication anybody at ClarMar was involved in any insurgent activities, which is what he needed if he stood any change of bargaining for his life with the irate Senator.

As he contemplated whether he’d be forced into a labor camp or simply disappear into the swamps, his heart sunk. He had glanced up the long driveway to see a procession of two large SUV’s. This could only be the Senator.

****

Miller carefully crept through the underbrush as he approached the entrance of the small cave that had once housed him and several friends overnight. It was small enough that detection from anywhere outside of five yards would be difficult and being underground prevented any detection by thermal scanning aircraft. Indeed Point Romeo was perfect as a rally point on just such an occasion.

Not knowing what to expect he prepared for the worse. He knew Julie Dawson didn’t know about the sanctuary, therefore she would not have revealed it during her interrogation. However, others knew about it and from what Lehman’s lead investigations man revealed, that was cause for worry.

Stepping into the entrance to the cave he quickly moved to one side to avoid being silhouetted against the daylight peeking though the heavy pine woods. Giving himself a few seconds for his eyes to adjust he took the opportunity to listen for any audible clues as to whether he was alone.

As the seconds turned into minutes Miller was surprised to suddenly hear laughter from the darkness. He was relieved to recognize the voice.

“Dammit Miller” came the deep voice of Mike DeMetrie, “what the fuck are we doing with our lives?” The Captain stepped from the shadows to reassure Miller that he was, in fact, alone.

“Some days I wonder Mike” Miller replied. “Some days I wonder.”

As they moved to the back of the small cave the two friends swapped notes in reserved but slightly exited tones. The adrenaline of the previous evening was clear around the edges.

“That was too damn close for comfort Miller. Worse yet, we’ve lost the compound. Won’t take long for Lehman’s boys to find it now. Hell, we scooted so quick I didn’t have time to trash the place.” DeMetrie and Miller both recognized their oversight of not preparing for such a turn of events.

Miller replied, “This is bad, I admit. But Caddy’s team will be here soon. Once they do, head to the boats. Hit one of the supply caches on the way, but keep moving. Get out of the county and make your way north. You can probably reconnect with Regular Army units in Tennessee and get yourself back into the fight.”

DeMetrie, a man never prone to histrionics, processed the words he was hearing. Deep inside he knew Miller was right. Their plans had been compromised and their main base of support destroyed. In essence they were no better off than the day DeMetrie left the Army. All of the supplies they had so diligently stockpiled were gone. Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds would bring back some items, but after nearly a week in the field they too would be running low on needed items. Without regard to their military acumen, there was going to be little they could do to effect real change in Senator’s area.

Worse yet, the Senator likely wouldn’t stop until they were found. They’d be too busy trying to avoid detection to set up any real operations.

DeMetrie was smart enough to recognize the game was over for now.

“Miller, this is not what I envisioned. Not at all.” He was not a man used to losing.

After several minutes of silence Miller finally replied. “Do you believe in hail-Mary plays?”

Sometimes Miller’s cryptic questions were annoying. This was one of those times.

The Captain replied, “What do you have up your sleeve?”

When Miller got done outlining his plan DeMetrie could scarcely believe he was serious. After having worked with him the past half a year, however, he had grown to trust Miller’s instincts.

“Alright, Caddy and the boys should be here soon. I think you are insane, but let’s get to work figuring this out.”

The Stig
04-19-2011, 02:47 AM
“Lehman, you better have a god dammed good reason for this” shouted a clearly irate Senator Donovan. The deep tan and brilliantly white teeth looked odd in contrast to the deep scarlet hue that was seeping into the Senator’s cheeks.

Before Lehman could respond the Senator continued his tirade as he paced in front of the bodies of the men killed the night before. “This farm was protected you numbnut. You knew that. Why on earth you’d chose to knock on the front door, let alone assault it is beyond me. What the hell were you thinking?” Spittle flew through the air to punctuate the Senators anger.

Lehman, doing his best to speaking in short, measured tones, fought to choose his words carefully. “Senator, we had received information that ClarMar Farms was deeply involved in the insurgent activities in the county. That this farm served as an epicenter of the movement. The assault team was simply to retrieve the owner of the farm and bring her in for questioning. Only after the occupants fired on my men did they return fire.”

Anger flashed through the Senator’s eyes as he stepped in front of Lehamn as a drill instructor would yell at a recruit. “You were told to leave this farm alone. Directly by me. What part of that confused you?”

Pulling his shirt tight Lehman continued his losing battle over his emotions. “Sir, again, the evidence indicated there was insurgent activities….”

Before Lehman could finish Donovan’s rage boiled over. “So where it the proof fuckstick? You’ve searched the entire farm and found dick. Where is the proof?”

Lehman stammered, as he knew there wasn’t a shred of proof other then what the girl had given up. Suddenly Lehman doubted his decision the previous evening.

The Senator threw up his hands in disgust. “Stay here Lehman. I’m not done with you yet.”

****

The advance elements of Crutchfield’s forces rolled into Lexington several hours after sunrise. Immediately units rushed to take up predetermined positions on the south and east sides of the city. Their goal was to prepare for any counter attack from the President. This would allow the bulk of the armored spearhead to pass through the town on to their drive south.

As the first units pulled into the Lexington airport, the defenders breathed a collective sigh of relief. The airport would clearly be a major target should the President’s forces choose to counter attack. Worse yet were the harassment raids that had happened the previous few nights.

Last night was no exception. Damage was minimal however, the attacks kept the men on edge. Cargo wasn’t interrupted as the flights from the north had ceased, but the defenders at the airport wanted to prepare for when the flights resumed. The rockets that would occasionally sail in from the woods to the south hindered these preparations. Now that their manpower was boosted, they could finally launch a proper sweep through the area and prevent further attacks.

****

The Senator had worn a path in the dirt as he paced feverously. His impish aide frantically tried to keep pace as the Senator attended to a myriad of important matters in between yelling at Lehman and waiting for any sign of ClarMar Farm’s involvement in the insurgency.

As the day wore on, and the temperature rose, so to did the tension around the Senator’s makeshift command center. Lehman’s fate was looking dimmer as the minutes ticked by into hours.

Just as he was about to give up and throw himself on the Senator’s mercy, an act that sickened him, the radio crackled to life.

A team reported in announcing the discovery of DeMetrie’s compound, the weapons, supplies, and various signs of inhabitation. Even the old farm truck, bed full of junk, that was noted at the scenes of several attacks was found in a garage area.

As the details filtered in the noose around Lehman’s neck loosened somewhat. Even if he was sent packing to a camp, he at least had vindication that he had made the right call.

The Senator took in the reports and asked several pertinent questions before returning the radio to the operator.

Almost with a look of disgust he turned back to Lehman, “Looks like you got the last second stay of execution from the governor.” Lehman was smart enough to simply stay quiet and show no signs of emotion. Now was not the time for gloating.

“Look into it,” the Senator directed. “Once you verify it, run them into the ground. Don’t bother brining them in.” After pausing for a second he turned back to the stunned Lehman, “except Donner. I want her alive.”

Without any farewell the Senator and his entourage returned to their SUV’s and pulled out of the compound leaving Lehman to ponder his second chance in life.

As the SUV pulled out of the ClarMar the impish aide, who rarely interjected himself into the Senator’s business was able to ask about the future of Clarissa Donner.

After several seconds of contemplation the Senator replied in a tone akin to a serial killer before dissecting his prey, “Her? I’ve something special in mind for her.”

****

It wasn’t long before Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds returned to the cave. Their appearance bore evidence to the week they had spent in the field. Tired eyes, sun burnt skin and insect bites all bore silent testimony to the toll exacted on their bodies.

Even the usually jovial Lowry didn’t have much to say.

News of the recent turn of events only served to chill the mood further.

“Ok boys” announced DeMetrie, “Wish we could be bringing you back in for a hot shower, but we have to make tracks. Let’s try to cover some distance before it gets dark. We can slow down and rest more once night falls.” The plan to move during the day ran counter to accepted practice but DeMetrie counted on doing the unexpected to cover their tracks.

A weary grunt was all the reply he could elicit.

Miller, adjusting some of his gear and checking the contents of a pack tried to break the mood. “Look at it this way. If we can pull this off, and unfuck this soup sandwich, you’ll have a story to bore the snot out of people with for years to come.”

“Miller” Lowry piped up, “you’re alright but you really ought to leave comedy to the professionals.”

With a smile he prepared to head out ahead of DeMetrie and his men. Glancing at his watch Miller announced, “Ok, you’ve got your orders. If all goes well, we’ll be on the boats in two days.”

As he walked to the front of the cave Lowry offered up a parting barb, sign that he was regaining his spirits, “I see you’re off to do the light lifting again”. All of the men respected Miller and the risks he had taken in the fight against Donovan’s reign but that didn’t preclude a friendly jab now and again.

“I’m going to get some pie at a diner and take care of something. Don’t be late to the meeting point.” Miller quickly disappeared from the sight.

The four men simply looked at each other as silence fell in the cave.

The Stig
04-19-2011, 08:40 PM
Miller slipped into the booth of the restaurant twenty miles north of Lumberton. The old roadside café was clean and impressive during the Eisenhower presidency. Those glory days had long since faded leaving the floor worn, counter chipped and few matching glasses. The service was good and food better, but the diner had the ambience of a bus depot.

Choosing the last booth in the corner, he was able to keep an eye on the door and the rest of the café in a single glance. Old habits die hard.

He was swept by a strange sense of déjà vu as the scene unfolded in front of him. It was at this very diner, in this very booth that Miller had reached out to their first fellow insurgent groups.

It really hadn’t been all that long ago. Less than a year but it seemed to be a lifetime ago. Miller had been here before, in the crushing aftermath of a blown operation a man can choose to wallow in self-doubt or press onward towards the stated goal.

Miller had an uncanny ability to stay focused on the root matter in crisis situations, and this case was no different.

But that didn’t preclude him from being tired. Physically tired. It was more than a lifetime ago when he hugged his baby girl or wife. Even petting his dog seemed to have happened in a different universe.

He willed himself to remember there were important tasks at hand. As he mulled over the hastily hatched plans he and DeMetrie had crafted he kept coming back to one central point: they were now squarely in the Senator’s crosshairs. No longer were they anonymous shadows. Life was about to get particularly hard as the Senator would relentlessly hunt them down.

Their only hope was their plan, and it wasn’t much of a plan at all. It all grew from a kernel of an idea that had been brewing for some time. Miller just didn’t count on the timetable being moved up so abruptly.

As the waitress brought over a piece of cherry pie, Miller awaited his dinner guest.

“Here you go sweetie” she said as she set the plate in front of Miller. “Anything else for you?”

Smiling a smile that belied his inner thoughts Miller simply replied, “no thanks.”

Someone had been passing information to the Troopers, possibly Donovan himself, for quite some time. It was this information that led to the various ambushes on the teams DeMetrie dispatched. It was likely this informant who tipped Lehman off to the existence of Julie Dawson. Men and women loyal to a cause died at the hands of this traitor. Lehman’s lead investigations man had been coaxed to give up the informant’s identity.

No matter how good the pie might have been, it didn’t disguise the fact Miller’s dinner date would not be a pleasant one.

****

In less than a day the majority of Crutchfield’s attack force was staged in and around Lexington, Kentucky. While there were reserve units trickling into town, and the sizeable force still fighting just across the river from Cincinnati, the main core of his troops pulled into town and moved into their various staging areas.

The stop in Lexington would be a brief one. Working steadily through the night Crutchfield’s men prepared to push on in the morning with a goal of heading southwestward, ultimately driving on Nashville. The original plan, that had failed so spectacularly, remained in place. Split the state in two and virtually surround the President’s forces in the Virginia and Carolina’s. From there Crutchfield would mount offensives from different directions. He’d already been given assurances from foreign interests that extra manpower would be available to augment his forces.

As the buzz of activity reverberated throughout the city something odd happened just before sunset. In the haze of the dusk light a flight of F15 fighter-bomber aircraft swooped in and screeched over the Lexington Bluegrass airport. Thunderous explosions rocked the area as men dove for cover and the limited air defense systems struggled to track the intruders.

Long after the roar of jet engines faded into the distance, and the dust began to settle, it was apparent what had transpired. The flight of twelve aircraft, darting in from various directions, dropped a mixture of laser-guided munitions for specific targets and cluster bombs designed to destroy runways.

Control towers, fuel tanks and the electrical generator plant were all transformed into piles of burning steel and debris. Runways were cratered beyond repair.

It was as if someone in the distance guided the bombs onto the target with a long finger.

As Crutchfield’s men surveyed the scene they quickly came to one startling conclusion: in one raid the airport, the only one large enough for the transports required to supply them, had been knocked out of service in one swift blow.

No airports of any size would be available between Lexington and the 150 mile distant Bowling Green, Kentucky. A deviation into Louisville was a possibility but would sap Crutchfield’s forces and disrupt the timetable laid out.

While smaller county and municipal strips existed along the route, and some types of transports could manage the short field operations, none of the facilities were large enough to handle the shear volume of goods needed to keep an army on the march. It wouldn’t be the first time in history an army had been strangled by its supply lines.

They were now totally dependant on the supply line back up Interstate I75 to Cincinnati for supplies. The drive on Nashville would commence as planned, but until the airport could be brought back into service, or Louisville airport captured, that single corridor became their only lifeline.

****

As the sound of jets faded into the distance, Tom Saxon whispered to his men. “Ok, back to the Delta rally point. We barely missed that last patrol and their going to come looking for us again after this last stunt.”

Silently, like ghosts moving through the mist, his small team of men disappeared back into the foliage.

Saxon smiled to himself. He liked helping to blow stuff up.

The Stig
04-19-2011, 08:44 PM
I'd like to ask a huge favor of you folks. If you know anybody that had been kind enough to follow my stories at the previous website, please spread the word that they are housed over here. I am back to posting regularly and hope that those who read them previously will continue to enjoy them here.

Sorry for the commercial.

bacpacker
04-21-2011, 01:54 AM
Stig,
I went over to the other site and posted the 3 stories being over here. Hopefully it will bring in some new folks to the forum.
There had been a few folks asking about them not too long ago.

The Stig
04-21-2011, 10:34 AM
Ok...thanks.

BTW: don't stir up anything over there. I just wanted to reconnect with those interested in continuing the story, not start a turf war.

And FWIW I've got an idea for another installment past Fall Out. Not sure yet if i'll continue it past this installment or not yet. Don't want to run it into the ground.

bacpacker
04-21-2011, 02:40 PM
I just posted that I had ran across the stories for those interested and provided a link.

The Stig
04-21-2011, 05:48 PM
Miller picked over the remains of the cherry pie and fought to remained focused on the task at hand. Being no stranger to these situations helped somewhat, but the events of the past year had been so outside the norm that he had to mentally check himself to avoid getting distracted. .

Chuckling to himself he thought, “I’m a damn mess, Dink would monkeystomp me”. He missed his friend and partner in crime.

As the last bit of sweet iced tea washed away the cherry taste, and the sweat on the glass dripped onto him, Miller again scanned the parking lot for any signs of trouble. The diner was empty and it was difficult to approach by car without being seen from inside. An old man sat in the booth across the restaurant, nursing a coffee and staring off towards nowhere.

It was a calculated risk meeting the traitor face-to-face. They could just as easily bring a squad of Troopers with them to haul Miller off. Worse yet, it could be a tactic to lure him into an ambush. There were a lot of ways this meeting could go wrong.

But Miller banked on the basic human emotion of greed to keep him from getting in too much trouble. In this case, the greed of wanting to gather just a little more information. Get just a few more tidbits of information. He surmised that Lehman would likely be in hot water with Senator Donovan for the raid on the farm and would be looking to redeem himself. Bringing in Miller was one thing, getting the drop on the entire group was quite another.

Miller was betting Lehman was going for broke and would have the traitor attempt to arrange a situation that would have Miller, DeMetrie, Caddy’s team and Clarissa all in one spot.

What Lehamn wouldn’t realize was that was exactly what Miller intended to do.


****

“Captain, we’re all down for this but isn’t it a bit harebrained?” asked Lowry as the men moved through the pine trees and underbrush.

Not much had been said since Miller left the cave and the Captain outlined the game plan. Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds all sat in silence as DeMetrie calmly detailed the mission objectives, requirements and timetable. They were military men, used to taking orders and trusting their leadership. Lowry and Reynolds had been with the Captain long enough to trust him without question.

Without turning around to address Lowry, DeMetrie replied, “Now’s not the time to decide you’re disgruntled with management.”

The conversation died there as the men kept a swift pace. They had to cover a lot of distance in a short time. They’d already been moving for hours.

“I figure we’ve got an hour march to reach the first objective. We’ll creatively acquire more advanced transportation there,” announced DeMetrie.

Without pause Lowry chimed in, “now there’s something I can get behind: stealing shit.”

DeMetrie grinned briefly as they pushed on through the dwindling daylight.


****

Clarrisa and Klepper chatted as they passed away the time before Miller would return. She had already spent the afternoon in the basement and knew that it would be several more hours before he returned so they could move on.

As the day wore on the realization of her father’s sacrifice grew from a small seed of worry to acceptance of the awful truth. It didn’t take a pronouncement from Miller to understand that Greg and likely Captain DeMetrie and his men had been killed in the firefight at the farm.

She would process and deal with the emotions later, when this mess was over.

After a warm shower to remove the stench of house fire, gunpowder and sweat from seemingly every pore of her body, Klepper was kind enough to make her a hot meal.

“You think you’ll leave with us,” asked Clarissa, as if fleeing from your state to avoid being sent to a camp by a power-hungry Senator was as natural as deciding where to eat lunch.

Thinking for a bit Klepper replied, “no, I don’t think so. Miller thinks I should leave but this is my home. I’ve been trying to get my grandma over from Alabama so she isn’t alone. I can’t leave her behind.”

The cleaning man’s honorable desires spurred Clarissa to think about all she was leaving behind. A father. A business. Employees who would be without a job. All of her belongings and security. Everything.

It would take a long time to accept that life would never be the same.

The Stig
04-22-2011, 05:17 PM
“Miller” said Tim Barnes after slipping into the booth, “this is crazy. What is going on?” Barnes’s anxiety level was palatable. The sweat that covered his brow was from fear, more so than the heat.

“Can I get you anything?” asked the waitress who seemingly appeared out of thin air. Years of waiting tables honed her ability to not be obtrusive.

“No, I’m fine,” replied the Reverend turned boat captain.

Miller looked up with his broad smile, “You know, I’m hungry. Bring me some eggs, bacon and toast please.” Turning to his dinner partner, “You really should eat Tim. You’ll need the strength.”

Capitulating, Tim agreed and the waitress left to attend to the orders.

Turning back to Miller in a hushed tone, Barnes continued. “The farm was raided, I haven’t heard from anybody and now a hush-hush meeting? Really, what’s going on Miller? This is getting out of hand.”

Smiling to himself, Miller outlined the events of the past evening. Inexperienced agents typically screw up under pressure. Barnes wasn’t cut out for the sorts of things he had involved himself in.


Miller hadn’t told him about the farm yet, and there was no way he could have known without communicating with Lehman and the troopers. It wasn’t like Miller needed further proof, the lead investigations man had, with some creative prodding, already told him everything.

It had started when Barnes church was burnt to the ground. He secretly placed blame for the event on Miller’s shoulders and was never really able to shake the feeling. The specter of wondering if he had avoided Miller that he’d still be preaching there ate away him.

Every time Miller played the hero and saved Barnes it only fueled his resentment. Being shuttled off to play with boats further reinforced his twisted vine of bitterness. Every time he felt diminished his anger towards Miller grew.

The final straw was when Barnes pieced together that Julie Dawson was Miller’s contact at city hall. Worse yet, one of his men, Lowry, had been sleeping with her to cajole her into acting on Miller’s behalf. When little things the three of them said clicked together his festering resentment for Miller turned to rage.

Barnes simply wasn’t cut out to deal with the cutthroat nature of what was happening around him. His anger boiled over and from there and it was easy for the Troopers to turn him.

So he slowly started feeding them information about Miller & DeMetrie’s plans. The time he spent at the farm made it easy to overhear morsels of useful information. The isolation at the boathouse made it easy to hand off the information unobserved. His information led directly to several of Demetrie’s teams being ambushed and destroyed.

It had been a juggling act to be around the farm and compound enough to pick up useful information, but not so much as to be noticeable. Occasionally, he’d gather a nugget from Greg Donner when the two talked business.

It was all worth it.

Waiting for the waitress to deliver the food Barnes asked, “So what are we going to do?”

Stabbing at a piece of egg that avoided his fork, Miller casually replied, “Tomorrow night you’re going to meet us with a boat. Bring the big one. We’ll saddle up and head up river under the cover of darkness.”

“We’re leaving?” asked Barnes. “Miller I know you hate to lose, but that’s really the best thing right now. Who all is going north? I hope you are evacuating the entire group”

“Oh yes, it will be everybody.”

A wave of relief swept over Barnes face as he realized Miller had already planned on doing what Barnes was prepared to convince him to do.

“Good. Good. I’ll have the boat ready and fully fueled. Where do we meet up?”

Continuing to chase the recalcitrant egg Miller answered, “Don’t worry. I’ll mark a map for you. Let’s do it after we’re done here.”

Barnes suddenly felt more at peace and relieved than he had in a long time. The bitterness and envy that consumed him prompted him to briefly imagine the scene when Miller realized he’d been had. In that brief second Barnes wasn’t afraid.

The two men continued to eat and discuss various aspects of their current predicament as if they didn’t have a care in the world; both of them feeling that they had the upper hand.

Sadly, only one of them really did.

bacpacker
04-22-2011, 06:35 PM
I sure didn't see Barnes being involved with Lehman. Nicely Done!

The Stig
04-25-2011, 12:22 AM
“Think this will work?” whispered Lowry with a broad smile, visible in the moonlight.

Reynolds merely nodded in agreement as the two men proceeded to break into the four seat, four-by-four truck. As Reynolds set about hot-wiring the truck Lowry unceremoniously dumped the contents out onto the ground.

They were outside stone quarry located far out in the rural part of the county. Figuring their misappropriation of the vehicle wouldn’t be discovered until people reported for work in the morning, it would allow for the four men to be long distant from the site.

More importantly, it would allow DeMetrie and his team to traverse the distance to the rendezvous point with Barnes’s boat in time.

As the last briefcase full of safety placards was dumped onto the ground Lowry quipped, “When I signed up for the Army I knew I’d make money for college but I had no idea this was one of the skills employers looked for.”

“Come on” was Reynolds only reply.

****

“That was a lot easier than I thought it’d be” thought Barnes to himself as he backed his pickup truck out of the diner. As part of Miller’s suggestion, he went to the men’s room for five minutes, at which point Barnes paid the bill and left. That would prevent them from leaving together in the event any prying eyes were watching.

Barnes allowed the pulsating wave of revenge to flow though his body as he slowly accelerated away from the restaurant. He had long ago quit wearing his crucifix and while there was a slight twinge of remorse he had allowed himself to be consumed by the feelings of helplessness and anger that had festered inside him.

Driving for a few miles he found a side-road that allowed him to pullover and out of sight of the main road.

As the truck rolled to a stop he reached into the console and retrieved a small satellite phone. Glancing around he punched a key code into the pad and waited the answer from the other end.

“Go ahead” came the sterile voice emanating from the receiver.

“This is Westone, I need the boss. Urgent.” Even though he savored the revenge on Miller, he always felt a bit silly with these code names and radio procedures.

“Standby” came the emotionless response.

As the seconds ticked by Barnes looked in the rearview mirror as if he expected Miller to drive around the corner any second. “That fool has no idea…..” was all Barnes could think to himself.

He was started with Lehman’s voice came across the radiophone. “Go ahead Westone”.

“Have coordinates and time for rendezvous with entire team” said Barnes somewhat triumphantly.

“Clarify Westone” came the reply.

Barnes keyed the microphone while looking around for a second time. “Entire team, all targets, will be rendezvousing attempting escape from area. I have time and location.”

“Go ahead” again came the lifeless reply. Barnes could never determine if it was a result of the technology or that all the Troopers indeed sounded lifeless.

After he transmitted the coordinates and time, along with a brief description of the plan, several seconds ticked by. Clearly the Troopers were absorbing the information Barnes was handing them.

“Any instructions for me?” asked Barnes with a bit of trepidation in his voice.

Almost without pause Lehman responded, “Proceed with your plans as instructed. Make rendezvous with targets. Will extract you after all targets have been liquidated.”

Without signing off the line went dead.

Barnes replaced the phone in its small compartment in the console and leaned back into the seat to contemplate the meaning of his instructions.

All he kept coming back to was the satisfaction he’d feel when Miller realized he’d been fooled. He could almost imagine the scene of Miller being hauled back to Shelton by the Troopers as he and Lehman gloated over their victory.

He was simply too inexperienced to realize Lehman had no intention of extracting him after the ambush. He would die along side Miller, DeMetrie and the rest.

****

The commanders in Lexington, Kentucky scrambled to top off the thirsty fuel tanks of their armored vehicles. Most of them contained sufficient fuel but the commanders wanted to drive as far as possible before needing another mass refueling. So word went down the line, all over the city, and soldiers sprang into action.

Like millions of soldiers through thousands of years before them, they uniformly began going though the tasks required to ensure they would ride into battle. Bradley Fighting Vehicles, M1A1 Abrams tanks and Stryker wheeled vehicles all over the city were soon being refueled, and in some cases rearmed.

They would be heading out before dawn to make the journey towards Bowling Green and ultimately drive on Nashville.

While the commanders seemed oblivious to it, the soldiers could almost taste the coming fight in the air.

****

“Well, that’s that” said the former Reverend, turned traitor, as he prepared to start his truck.

As he leaned over and searched by feel with his key for the ignition, he was startled by the sudden metallic tapping against the back window glass of the ClarMar Farms pickup.

Startled and whipping around in his seat he could make out the silhouette of a man crouched in the bed of the pickup. While he couldn’t tell who it was, he had a good guess.

“Out of the truck, slowly” came the calm and even toned command from Miller.

As Barnes opened the door the interior light came on and provided just enough light for him to see what had happened. The canvas tarp over the supplies in the pickup bed was pushed back revealing where Miller had hidden.
Still crouching in the bed of the pickup Miller smiled, “Oh, I might have fibbed a bit when I said I was going to the men’s room”.

The Glock pistol, although black, was clearly visible in Miller’s hand in the pale moonlight.

Confusion and fear growing in his stomach, Barnes stammered, “How…how did you know?”

“I didn’t,” said Miller. “I suspected someone was leaking information but wasn’t sure who until I had a little chat with one of Lehman’s men”

For good measure he added, “and your recent phone call sealed it”.

“Miller, listen…” started Barnes but Miller abruptly cut him off.

“Barnes, this isn’t going to play out like the movies.” Miller stayed calmly perched in the back of the truck while Barnes stood helplessly on the ground.

Barnes again tried to say something but Miller again cut him off.

“I don’t know where you went wrong Barnes, but you aren’t getting out of this” said Miller with a cold, even tone. He’d been in this position before and while he didn’t particularly enjoy it, he was more than willing to make sure Barnes didn’t cost any more lives.

As the fear boiled in his stomach he was repulsed by the feeling of weakness and shame. Somehow Miller always made him feel this way. His eyes narrowing to slits Barnes’s consumption by his rage was complete. Gone was the good-natured soul who wanted to help a cause that stood in the way of tyranny. In his place was a man plagued by fear and doubt who allowed himself to be corrupted by anger and resentment. It was a classic tale that had repeated itself throughout the millennia.

“I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you Miller” he spat out. “You ruined my life you bastard. You took my church from me. You just had to play hero and in the process have been destroying the people around you. You aren’t a freedom fighter. You are a terrorist plain and simple”.

Barnes stood seething with the rage that pulsed through his veins. Chest heaving and falling as he suddenly found himself out of breath.

“You done?” was all Miller said.

As he stood in the pale moonlight Barnes continued to feel the hatred for Miller that he had fostered over the past few months. He had entered into a Judas agreement and saw no reason to turn back now.

“You know I’ve told them about the farm in Wyoming” he said, evil pulsing in his eyes.

Before he could say another word the Glock barked out twice in rapid succession. The first round caught Barnes in the shoulder and spun him to his left. In doing so, the second round crashed into his exposed right ribcage and transected both lungs and nicked part of his heart.

As he crumpled to the ground Miller carefully made his way down from the bed of the pickup and walked over to Barnes. Struggling for breath the former reverend looked up at Miller, blood frothing from his mouth.

Unlike the movies there were no final threats, no witty barbs. No last second requests for mercy.

Miller simply pointed the gun at Barnes head and pulled the trigger.

****

After pulling Barnes body off the road and stashing it in a clump of holly trees, Miller used his pocket knife to peal the ClarMar Farms” sign off the side of the truck. Fishing around through the tools in the pickup bed Miller retrieved a screwdriver and promptly removed the rear license plate.

If he got stopped he’d at least have a slim chance of talking his way out of it.

Figuring they were still close enough to civilization for the shots to be heard, and attract attention, Miller felt it wise to depart the area as soon as possible. He had to go back to town to get Clarissa before putting the next step of their plan in progress.

As he drove down the road, on his way to some of the more backcountry roads, Miller couldn’t help reflect over what Barnes said.

Whistling a sad tune to himself he drove on through the night.

piranha2
04-26-2011, 12:44 AM
All right, all right. Lets get on with it. This is some good stuff, keep it coming.

TEOTWAWKI13
04-26-2011, 01:47 AM
Ok...thanks.

BTW: don't stir up anything over there. I just wanted to reconnect with those interested in continuing the story, not start a turf war.

And FWIW I've got an idea for another installment past Fall Out. Not sure yet if i'll continue it past this installment or not yet. Don't want to run it into the ground.

No worries chief! Their "turf" these days resides on the backside of the moon. Completely lost control of anything feasibly close to resembling a prepping site these days.

TEOTWAWKI13
04-26-2011, 04:06 AM
I had to go back a little to catch up...love how this is turning out.

The Stig
04-27-2011, 10:26 AM
Sorry for the delay in updates. We spent all of Easter weekend visiting family which cut into my story writin' time. Updates should resume tonight.

bacpacker
04-27-2011, 08:40 PM
Just whenever you get to it. We'll wait,

The Stig
04-27-2011, 09:41 PM
“It’s about time for our part in this. Think we ought to get to work?” Clarissa asked of Klepper.

Although she had been lounging around the house, the day had suddenly slipped by and it was time for her to bait the hook via the magic of Klepper’s toys.

Setting his iced tea down and heaving himself from the chair, Klepper responded, “Yea, I suppose you are right. Come on”. Motioning to her to follow, he led her to a different room in the basement.

As she turned the corner and saw the array of radio equipment jammed into the small room she couldn’t help but blurt out, “holy crap, what is all this stuff?”

The stuff to which she referred was a mountain of radio and computer equipment that Klepper had acquired over the years. From radios with tubes to more sophisticated devices he had communication equipment of every imaginable type at his disposal. Tying this pile of radios together was a mass of cables of all sorts. Thick. Thin. Black. Yellow. Braided. Cat5. They all wove together like an octopus with hundreds of tentacles.

“Most of this stuff is no good since Donovan jams so many frequencies and the Internet, but I figured out a way around that” beamed the clearly proud Klepper. “Can’t use it all that often or else we’ll get traced, but it does come in handy from time to time.

“Don’t the Troopers know about this?” asked Clarissa.

Fiddling with some dials, and moving several items around Klepper continued his narrative. “Oh yea. They know about my standard frequency stuff but they figured they’ve got it all jammed out anyway. Plus I have the cleaning contract at City Hall. I’ve been able to figure out several…..work arounds….that have allowed me to access what we need to work our magic.”

Clarissa, impressed, said, “Miller must love this.”

“Here hold this,” he said as he handed an unknown device to Clarissa. “Like I said. It’s comes in handy. Makes me nervous as hell but he’s crafty about when he taps me for certain….favors.” It was clear that Klepper served as more than just a radio operator for Miller.

Clearing a pile of equipment off a chair in the corner she sat down and rehearsed what she planned to say. Several minutes went by and she was startled back to reality by Klepper’s gentle touch.

“It’s time” was all he said.

****

“Clarrisa, what he hell is going on?” asked the Senator as he paced in Lehman’s office at Shelton’s City Hall.

“Was going to ask you the same thing Miles” came the reply through the phone.

Motioning Lehman out of his chair the Senator sat down and leaned back. “Sweetheart, something’s clearly gone horribly wrong here. Where are you? I’ll send my men to bring you to the capital and we can talk this out.”

Letting the statement stand for a few seconds Clarissa finally said, “Miles, I need to see you. Alone.” There was a certain something in her tone.

“Give me a second dear,” he said with a greasy smile. After motioning Lehman and his aides out of the office he waited for the door to shut to say, “Ok. Let’s figure this thing out.”

“Look” she paused. “Look, this whole thing is sideways. I need to tell you my side.”

“I agree.”

Forging ahead she said, “I think it best we be alone. That way if there’s any confusion we can iron it out between us. As adults.”

Donovan was a man used to stepping on people and crushing them under his boot-heel, but ultimately he was a man. And one very enamored with Clarissa Donner. “There are some things you need to share with me, to clear up any misunderstanding, you see. A lot of people think you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with the wrong crowd.”

“Yes” she said. “I know Miles. I can understand why people would think that, but I have something that will persuade you to see otherwise. I can’t describe it over the phone, but I’m ready to give it to you if it will help clear things up.”

Her verbal fencing had always proved itself a powerful aphrodisiac to the man used to getting whatever he wanted.

“That would be good,” he said with unnerving tone of curiosity and lust. “I’m sure if you can give me your side I’ll be able to speak on your behalf and get this matter cleared up right away.”

Continuing on he said, “Where are you?”

“I’ve already made arrangements for a friend to fly me into the airport near Shelton. You’ll have to come over from the capital and meet me there. We can fly back from there. I’m sure by the time we land we will have started to work things out.”

Trying to keep his thoughts rational the Senator said, “Clarisa, that isn’t going to work.”

“I’m in no position to ask for special treatment Miles, but I need to do it this way. I’m afraid if your men bring me in something will go haywire and you won’t get what you need..to clear things up”.

He could have sworn there was a slight pause in her voice after the word need.

“Yes. I agree. When should I expect to meet you?”

“Tomorrow night at 10:00pm” she said.

“I’ll be there” was all he could muster.

****

As the phone went dead Miles Donovan sat back and mulled over this sudden change in events.

After summoning his aids and Lehman back in he said, “I’ll be staying on in Shelton through tomorrow night.” To his aides he said, “Rearrange everything. Work with the communications people here to do that phone conference.”

As the aides scurried out of the room Donovan told Lehman about his planned meeting with Clarissa the following night.

“Sir” interjected Lehman cautiously. “My teams will be leading the raid on the insurgents at that time. The intel about a rendezvous of their core group came in earlier tonight. We’ve been using information from this source to destroy the smaller groups first, but it’s time to haul in the main ring. It would appear they are trying to escape the Southern Zone.”

Angrily Donovan said, “You halfwit, you should have hammered the main group from the get go.”

Lehman figured it wouldn’t be wise to point out to the Senator that the source had ensured his safety by withholding information about ClarMar. It wasn’t until Julie Dawson uttered the name of the farm that the true nature of ClarMar was revealed.

He also figured it would be very unwise to remind the Senator that his protection of ClarMar had prevented rooting out the insurgents any sooner.

Lehman looked at the floor like a schoolboy and mumbled, “Yes sir”.

Turning his attention back to the situation at hand, Donovan said, “Lehman you take my men with you on this raid. I want no screw-ups. Whatever resources you need take them. I don’t care if you take every last man in this post, just end this mess.”

The Stig
04-28-2011, 12:53 PM
Miller finally arrived a few hours before dawn. Sneaking quietly into Klepper’s house from his well worn path through the woods to the back of his home, Miller made a small sandwich and went into the den in the basement.

No sense being seen by a nosey neighbor.

He found Clarissa asleep on the couch, her dirty gear, still smelling of the previous nights battle, stacked in the corner.

Sinking into the big comfy chair in the corner, Miller ate his modest meal and mulled over the plans for the next day.

He was startled when Clarissa’s sleepy voice interrupted his thoughts, “The prodigal son returns. Been busy?”

“Something like that,” he replied tiredly. “How did your phone call go?”

“I had to take a couple Silkwood showers to rinse the ick off.”

Chuckling, Miller nibbled on his sandwich and drifted back into his thoughts.

He was again stirred from his reverie by Clarissa’s question. “This is going to be really dangerous isn’t it?”

Never one to pull punches Miller replied. “Yea. It is. About a thousand things could go wrong and we’ll end up dead or in one of Donovan’s camps. But it’s our only play right now.”

Continuing on. “It’s all going to come down to timing and luck really. As long as we keep our heads on straight, and think on our feet, we’ve got a shot at pulling this off.”

“Do you think it will work?”

Pausing for a few seconds, Miller said, “Of course it will. Who could resist you in a cocktail dress?”

He was soon fast asleep as exhaustion overtook him.

Awake now and worried Clarissa was restless. Playing with the wedding band in her pocket she suddenly missed her husband very much.

****

Before dawn the lead elements of Crutchfield’s armored forces began heading south out of Lexington. The roar of engines and whine of turbines shattered the calm morning air as small units began marshaling at prearranged markers.

The lead elements would travel out but be closely followed by the main forces. They would drive south along Interstate 75 to Richmond before turning on a westerly heading. Going southward first would circumvent the Kentucky River and it’s deep gorges and winding bends to the immediate southwest of Lexington.

As the hours ticked by vehicles whirred and buzzed as the frantic pace to resume the headlong charge into Kentucky pulsed through the air.

Lead elements were somewhat startled by sporadic, but light, resistance. On occasion a tow missile would burst out of hidden post on a hillside, or random group of men would attempt to engage Humvees. But as the column gained momentum, these attacks represented irritants more than obstacles. If anything, they bolstered the invaders confidence and pushed them to drive harder.

Overall the high-ranking commander’s mood had bounced between concerned, to near hysteria when the attacks on Lexington intensified, to calm when their main force pulled into town. Now they were feeling the worst thing a military commander could allow himself to feel: overconfident.

****

As the morning turned to mid-afternoon the bulk of Crutchfield’s men were scattered across the countryside between Lexington and Richmond, with much of the advanced elements and leading edge of the main force already heading Westward.

The force that had held Lexington had been reduced to slightly below the original number that captured the city. Many men had been siphoned off from the cities defense to augment the main force and replace the men lost to the fiasco in Cincinnati.

Throughout the events that had torn the country apart, President Alan had often been accused of pulling his punches, of not being aggressive enough, of not going for the killing blow. Many times his detractors were right; his sluggishness had allowed Crutchfield’s movement to grow and Senator Donovan to hold the Southern District hostage.

But the President’s military advisors failed to recognize was that the President was more interested in strategy than tactics. He had been promoting restraint to marshal his strength for when it was truly needed. It was Crutchfield who was under pressure to act quickly. The President quickly grasped that large losses of his forces, from haphazard actions, would only secede momentum and popularity to Crutchfield’s cause. Painting Crutchfield as the traitor and invader, versus the noble resistance of Patriots, was far more appealing when it wasn’t tarnished by horrific defeats in battle.

So he had preached holding back his strength until the time was right.

He was also blessed by combat seasoned advice from his top military commanders. Many of the military men who had sided with the Liberal cause had skirted combat tours or spent much of their carriers crafting policy. While they excelled at position papers and PowerPoint presentations, they were lacking when it came to leading men. The President’s fighting men, by contrast, had been hardened by nearly ten years of constant conflict in the Middle East. From Private to General, the men who served him had been forged by fire and steel.

The forces funneled in southern Kentucky were massive and represented the cream of the President’s fighting forces. Troops were pared from all over the remainder of the country to give the President a sledgehammer blow when it was most needed. Restraint and reserve gave way to bold action.

****
Taking a page from tactics in mid-twenty century European theaters, the President’s field commanders had painstakingly staged their men and material in such a way to promote swift maneuver and deep thrusts across territory. One could almost envision Guderian’s Panzer’s poised to strike across the Russian steppe.

In a nearly simultaneous wave, combined artillery, MLRS rockets and airstrikes washed over the length of Crutchfield’s forces. Like a surfer caught in a heavy wake, Crutchfield’s forces were caught off-guard. Nearly a thousand men and a hundred vehicles simply disappeared in the onslaught.
The avalanche erupted all along the length of Crutchfield’s column from the President’s men who had been rushed into position over the course of the last few days. Like the Katyusha rockets of old, the Multiple Launch Rocket Systems rained death in five-minute intervals as unmanned drones corrected their fire via the power of the internet. Artillery batteries responded to the call by peppering their sectors with earth shattering barrage of explosives that killed, maimed and destroyed. From above F15s and F16s poured a seemingly constant stream of cluster munitions into the masses of vehicles in their assigned areas.

From the lead elements back to just north of Richmond, this massive bombardment both shattered the nerve of Crutchfield’s men and disrupted their forward advance.
****
The truly inspired action however, was to be lighting strikes by armored forces around Richmond that aimed to swing far east of the I75 corridor in the direction of Paris, Kentucky and then loop back towards the west. Ultimately their goal was the rolling hills north of Lexington. In concert, another powerful force began it’s move north from Danville, Kentucky utilizing US Route 127. As they headed straight north, they would race to move around the west side of Lexington to Frankfort before turning eastward.

The two forces would meet somewhere around Georgetown and fully encircle Crutchfield’s forces.

Crutchfield’s generals, while talented at enforcing rules at garrisons and training posts, had forgotten the most classic of military attacks: the pincher movement.

****
From mid-afternoon into the early evening, The Presidents men maneuvered around Crutchfield’s flanks while his main force was pinned in place by constant rocket, artillery and cluster bomb attack. In between bombardments, small unit engagements flared to add to the disruption in the center.

Because Crutchfield’s forces had formed a pronounced bulge in the lines, with undefended flanks, the President’s men were able to move with lightening speed. Striker armored vehicles, MRAPs and Humvee’s raced at breakneck pace while the only slightly slower Abrams tanks and Bradley fighting vehicles followed closely behind.

Before midnight both armored columns had reached their assigned objectives with enough men, vehicles and supplies to withstand any counter attack. Pausing before making the swing back towards the north of Lexington, additional units were moved into position to reinforce them. All the while, the center of the Presidents forces, stretching from west of Richmond to just east of it, continued to hold despite various attempts by Crutchfield’s forces to mount a counter attack. There had been some concern that the support artillery and rocket units might be compromised by a strong attack. They had infantry and armored support, but it had been kept to an absolute minimum to add strength to the main advances.

The leaders shouldn’t have worried; the wave of death from the air simply snuffed any attack out before it had a chance to develop.

The Stig
04-28-2011, 10:53 PM
Senator Donovan shifted nervously in the front seat of his SUV as his driver and sole protector drove onto the Shelton airport property. Sensing the opportunity to crush the rebellion he had lent his small security contingent to Lehman to augment his force.

And for what he hoped was about to happen he didn’t particularly want too many people around anyway.

“Just pull over there,” he said to the driver as he pointed at a spot just outside the main hanger. His plane, tucked neatly in the back of the hanger, was visible. A maintenance man peered intently into one of the engine cowlings and was the only sign of life at the airport other than the slight glow emanating from the small control tower.

The two men sat in silence as they awaited the arrival of Clarissa’s plane. The occasional notification would ring as Donovan’s cell phone received a text message, but other than that electronically produced noise all else was quiet. For some reason Donovan felt like a schoolboy waiting for his date to the prom.

“Sir, it’s ten after,” said the driver.

Glancing over angrily Donovan said, “You got plans?” and effectively silenced the man.

Another five minutes ticked by before the faint sound of an airplane engine began piercing the night. Soon after red and green lights were seen growing in the distance as the plane entered its final approach into the small county airport. As the plane leveled out it’s landing light suddenly snapped on, illuminating the ground before the plane. Donovan watched as the pilot touched the plane down with a gentle bump and rolled out from his landing.

“I’m going to confirm this is kosher, then you split. Fly back with the plane in the morning,” instructed Donovan as he watched the twin-engine aircraft leave the runway and turn towards the hanger. His eyes remained glued on the plane.

****
In the 1960’s the Iverson Grain Company was a thriving company that supported the town of Kienstra. Like many rural areas the massive grain silo complex towered over the entire town. The elevator consisted of eight towers in all, all joined together like crayons in a box. Smaller individual silos dotted the property as well. The proximity to the river and size of the mill propelled the company from small operation to thriving business concern that received wheat and other grains from a large multi-state area.

Time and changing economies lead the eventual downfall of the company. They still operated but the company was a fraction of its size in the glory years. Through shear will of the employees kept the business running despite the economic hardships and challenges imposed by Senator Donovan.

Lehman and the individual unit commanders reviewed their plans one last time before getting into their SUV’s. They planned to storm the complex from all sides at once, like police might do when apprehending a suspect. Calculating the insurgents were hiding in place awaiting the boat that would never arrive Lehman would use speed, surprise and numbers to overwhelm the small group before they could react.

“All right men, we go in five” was the simple announcement. Some men performed last minute checks on their weapons while others reviewed the direction from which they’d storm the compound.

****
As the propellers stopped spinning and the door to the small plane opened, Donovan was somewhat shocked to see the shapely figure of Clarissa Donner appear. The plane had parked on the tarmac and was some distance from his SUV prompting the older man to walk forward towards her.
Meeting him at the bottom of the stairs Clarissa greeted the Senator with a kiss. “Miles. I don’t know how things got so messed up but I’m sure I can convince you of my innocence,” she said looking up at him with eyes that captivated.

With his arm still around her he responded, “I’ve got a feeling you’ve got exactly what I need to be convinced.” A devilish smile crossed his face as he prompted her to climb back into the airplane.

He didn’t attempt to disguise his leering as he visually inspected her backside as she ascended the stairs.

Pulling himself into the plane after her he attempted some vestige of security by ensuring nobody else was present. An ambush was impossible inside the confines of the tiny aircraft and his quick glance confirmed the only other occupant of the plane was the pilot.

Turning back towards his driver he gave the thumbs up signal and began closing the door. After fumbling with it a few times he was finally able to secure the latch. The Senator maneuvered himself into a seat next to Clarissa. They were separated by the small isle but were as close as the limited space would allow.

“Go ahead pilot,” she said softly as she turned back to the impossibly tan Senator. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more presentable, but I did my best.”

Even in a simple button down shirt and jeans she was still beautiful. She had frantically done her hair and makeup as best she could to appear somewhat attractive and Klepper had been kind enough to iron her jeans and loan her a button down. “Damn, I don’t have any jewelry,” she thought as she primped her hair on final approach but thinking quickly she had opened two extra buttons of her blouse. Her ample feminine charms more than compensated for the lack of necklace and bracelet.

Leaning closer Donovan, with a slight tremble in his voice, said, “Darling you look fine.” As the engines turned over and the pilot ran them up to speed, Donovan leaned in to resume kissing her.

“Forgive me Mark,” was the only thing she thought.

Neither of them heard the pilot confirm his confirmation to takeoff and begin pushing the throttles forward.

The Stig
04-29-2011, 12:20 AM
To ensure they weren’t walking into an ambush, Lehman had a man sneak into the building complex of the grain silos. The main force would still converge at the given time, but Lehman wanted a set of eyes to review the situation and change the plans if needed.

As he crept into the constellation of small buildings he was awed by the shear massiveness of the main grain elevator. It towered over the small office building at its base. He only had a few minutes left before the raid would commence so moving quickly he sprinted into a position twenty-five yards away from the office building.

Crouched behind a small truck he could clearly see the flickering lights inside the office buildings. It was clear that someone was inside and trying to use a flashlight. It was their attempt to shield most of the light that produced the flickering lights against the impossibly dirty office windows. Listening intently the Trooper could also hear feint voices emanating from within the structure. Straining to make out words he decided to move closer in the remaining minutes before the raid. Checking his watch he moved to within five yards of the side of the office building.

“Echo-one, this is Raven, come in?” asked the plaintive voice. After a slight pause the voice continued, “Sir, I can’t raise them”.

A different voice continued, “Keep trying. We’ll stay put another one zero then move out.”

A third voice chimed in, “ten minutes, we can’t stay here that long. Not all of us cooped up in here.”

The second voice harshly interjected, “I’m in command here. We’re waiting.”

“Echo-one, this is Raven, come in……”

Whispering into the microphone affixed to his ballistic vest the Trooper said, “green light, go. Converge on office building at foot of main elevator.”

****
“Miss Donner” said the pilot loudly as he tried to crane is head around towards the rear of the plane. “Miss Donner!”

He had tried, in vain, to interrupt the passionate embrace of his passengers but he had a problem. The left engine was malfunctioning and it wasn’t going to get any better. They had to return to the airport.

It wasn’t until the plane steeply banked and the loud clank of the landing gear being extended interrupted them that Donovan realized something was happening.

“What the hell is going on?” asked the Senator.

“No problems sir,” yelled the pilot as he coaxed the plane back to earth. “A mechanical issue with the engine. We’re landing. Once we’re on the ground we’ll get it fixed and back in the air in no time.” While he was distracted by his amorous activities with Clarissa, he was somewhat alarmed at the change in plans. He was a man used to things happening as he directed and controlled.

“Miles,” cooed Clarissa, “don’t worry. We’ll be on the ground in no time. And besides….the pilot will have to leave the plane and we’ll be all alone.”

Looking back at her already disheveled hair and nearly unbuttoned blouse his fears were suddenly outweighed by other, more primal emotions.

****

In a nearly perfect synchronicity the various SUVs and trucks of Lehman’s force of nearly forty men converged on the grain elevator from all sides. Tires screeched as they skidded to a halt on the gravel driveway. Directing his men towards the office complex, several vehicles actually collided as they pulled into position.

A dust cloud, obscured by the night air, erupted while the men poured from their vehicles. Like a well-rehearsed ballet, they rolled out of their seats, trained their rifles on the office complex and locked onto it with unwavering attention. While some men moved forward, several stayed back to form somewhat of a perimeter. The men who arrived on the rear of the massive elevator began working their way around the building to ensure nobody was escaping out the back.
Lehman sprang from his vehicle, pistol in hand and prepared to follow his men into the office building to apprehend the insurgents.

He was about to restore his good standing with the Senator.

bacpacker
04-29-2011, 12:51 AM
I think it's fixin to get interesting!

piranha2
04-29-2011, 02:06 AM
I believe you are correct.

The Stig
04-30-2011, 01:13 AM
Nearly one thousand yards away, Lowry casually said to nobody in particular, “you think this is gonna work?” while he peered though his binoculars.

Caddy, eyes trained on the distant complex offered up, “What could possibly go wrong?”

Before Lowry could begin cataloging the various things that could derail their carefully crafted plan Caddy cut him off with a wave of the hand.

The men watched as the trucks and SUV’s screamed into the grain complex and approached the office building. As the seconds ticked by their eyes turned towards their Captain.

DeMetrie, glancing down at the small radio transmitter Klepper had built he said, “well, I guess we’re going to find out.”
****

“Sorry sir” said the pilot as he reappeared in the doorway after retrieving the mechanic on duty. He had been gone for several minutes and the Senator and Clarissa hurried to straighten their clothing and scoot back to their individual seats. As Clarissa pulled her blouse together, and the Senator adjusted his trousers, the pilot and mechanic clumsily climbed into the aircraft.

“Um sir, I was right. It’s a minor problem but we’ll have it fixed in a jiffy,” explained the clearly embarrassed pilot as he and the mechanic shuffled past the separated lovers in the small passenger area of the airplane.

“Yes sir,” offered up the mechanic. “I just have to adjust something on the pilots control panel. We’ll do a quick run-up and taxi and then you’ll be good as new.”

Irritated to be interrupted from his conquest, Donovan growled, “We’ll take my aircraft. I can have my pilot here in thirty minutes.”

Quickly Clarissa leaned over and whispered to him, “don’t worry, I’ll keep you busy”.

As her hand slid up his thigh and she kissed his neck, he dismissed the two in front with, “whatever, just fix it”.

****
The sounds of boots bouncing on metal grates and breaking glass as flash-bang grenades were hurled into the office punctuated the tightly choreographed movement of Lehman’s men as they stormed the office building.

The lead men, those charged with bursting through the doorway first, paused as they awaited the defining explosion of the grenades. Using the stunning effect of noise they hopped to distract the insurgents and prevent them from responding long enough to effect entry into the decrepit office building. A smaller group mirrored the ballet at a side entrance to the thirty-foot long structure.

Within milliseconds of the distinctive whoomp noise of the flash-bang, the lead man crashed through the doorway followed closely by the stack of men behind them. One after another they pushed into the darkness like a human train.

The building layout comprised of a large open area turned conference room and several smaller office towards the rear. The open expanse of the room invited a large number of Troopers to storm their way into the structure.

Within seconds the Troopers had determined nobody was in the building and momentary confusion overtook them. It was only when they noticed the handheld radio wired to a large speaker, tossed to the floor in the jumble of the invasion that the picture started to become clear.

By then it was already too late.

****

Grain elevators served a viable and needed purpose as a central collection point for farmers. After buying the grains from the farmers, the elevator company would in turn resell the bulk product to larger concerns elsewhere. It facilitated the business process so large consumers of wheat wouldn’t be forced to deal with hundreds of thousands of farmers.

As the grain was offloaded from the farmer’s trucks it would be augured into the elevator, transported to the top of the tower and then poured into the individual silos for storage. Millions, if not billions of tiny kernels of wheat or corn would be stored for bulk processing and shipment.
While this process streamlined the process of getting wheat from the field to the dinner table, it came with a significant side effect.

The cascade of grain pouring into the silo cast off billions of tiny dust particles. As the particles remained suspended in air they were present in a high enough concentration to become flammable. The smallest of sparks would be enough to ignite the dust and create a massive fireball. However, since the stout concrete walls of the silo contained the ball of rapidly expanding gasses a fire was transformed into a full out explosion.

Utilizing this knowledge DeMetrie and his men had utilized the last of their explosives to turn the massive grain structure into an improvised fuel air bomb. Not wanting to risk the men in a front on confrontation, and too low on supplies for a battle of attrition, Miller and DeMetrie decided one large blow would have to suffice.

They got lucky when they realized the silo nearest the office, separated only by several feet, was half full. More importantly there had been several deliveries earlier in the day which created the deadly brew of dust and air. To ensure the mixture stayed rich enough, Lowry and Reynolds removed some of the grain from the bottom of the silo and stacked it at the base of the main auger into the elevator. Not thirty minutes before the Troopers arrived they activated the main elevator further building the concentration of dust in the air. The final touch was the closing of all vents in the silo’s wall. Like a clock waiting to sound it’s alarm the silo was poised to unleash it’s explosive fury.

A half second after the Troopers realized the office building was empty DeMetrie depressed the button on the radio transmitter. A signal was sent to a small device that detonated several packages of C4 explosives ringing the inside walls of the silo. This ignited the dust in suspension and in the confined space of the silo, the rules of physics prevailed to produce a thunderous explosion.

Within a fraction of a second the office building, and the cars parked around it, simply ceased to exist. Concrete rockets hurling through the air at near supersonic speeds bludgeoned those not vaporized by the massive wall of over-pressure. Bits of grain, chunks of rock, metal and body parts flew through the air further adding to the killing field.

Several tiny packages of C4 taped to a glass jar full of nails and other debris had been hidden around the office perimeter and they too exploded, sending a wall of flesh shredding missiles through the air. It had been Lowry’s suggestion and an attempt to kill any stragglers that lagged behind.
It wasn’t needed.

Through shear luck several men survived, but they were too wounded and dazed to respond to any further threats. The overwhelming majority of men who were dispatched that night to apprehend the insurgents laid in tiny bits over the grounds of The Iverson Grain Company.

bacpacker
04-30-2011, 02:33 AM
Whoops I think Lehman screwed up. Over confidence will do that.

Stg1swret
04-30-2011, 04:01 AM
I'm waiting for Senator to get his , should be a classic.

The Stig
05-02-2011, 12:38 AM
The first sign something was wrong was when Donovan realized the high-speed taxi to ensure the repairs were completed had transitioned into a full-blown takeoff.

Through his haze of hormones and lust he recognized that the aircraft had rotated for takeoff and was straining to gain altitude.

As the airplane roared into the air he yelled out, “What the hell is going on?”

As if on cue Clarissa recoiled in horror away from the Senator leaving him exposed and unable to strike at her. Confused the Senator glanced up towards the cockpit to realize the mechanic was holding a pistol aimed squarely at his chest.

“What the….” The cloudy mist of romance gave way to the dawning reality before him.

“You ok?”

Clarissa mumbled out “yea I’m fine” as she hurriedly worked to rearrange her clothing. She wiped the back of her hand across her face in an attempt to wipe away the disgust she felt.

“It would seem, Mr. Donovan, that you’re in a bad spot,” said the mechanic as the airplane climbed through one thousand feet. The clank of the landing gear locking into place and the roar of the engines seemed odd next to the silence in the cabin.

Spitting anger Donovan raged, “I don’t care who you are, land this damn airplane right now.”

The mechanic continued, “I don’t think you are in much of a position to be giving orders. Now, as the saying goes, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, your choice.”

Donovan, pants open and shirt disheveled, weighed his options as panic started to set in. Any attempt to lunge at the mechanic would result in a bullet to the chest. The airplane wasn’t pressurized so the mechanic wouldn’t hesitate to fire. Doing nothing didn’t strike him as a good route either. Glancing sideways at Clarissa he did the mental calculations of being able to grab her as a shield before the mechanic reacted.

Actions are quicker than reactions he reasoned. If he timed it just right, he’d be able to grab the woman and at least bargain his way out of this.
Seeing Donovan’s glance and his obvious weighing of his options the mechanic gave Clarissa a nod.

It turns out actions truly are quicker than reactions. She stabbed him in his wrinkled thigh with the syringe and pushed the plunger down as hard as possible before he could react. The syringe of animal tranquilizers had been hidden onboard for just such an event, as there was a real danger for Clarissa being in such close proximity to the Senator once he realized he’d been had. They had been taped into place under her seat so she could grab them if needed.

Before the plunger reached the bottom of the syringe the Senator drifted into an inky world of blackness.


****

Collapsing back into her chair, Clarissa felt an avalanche of shame and disgust. She remained silent as she contemplated what had just unfolded. Even though their plan had worked out she was in no mood for celebrating. As she moved into the rear row of seats the waves of inward anger rolled across her soul.

After restraining the Senator and trussing him up like a turkey Miller moved into the small seat next to Clarissa. Leaning over he gently whispered in her ear,

“I’m not going to try to say something profound to make you feel better. Just know that you did what you had to do to protect the lives of thousands of innocent people. There is only honor in that.”

Giving her a light kiss on the forehead he maneuvered his bulk back into the front seat with the pilot, leaving Clarissa with her thoughts.

She knew it would take time but Miller was right. She slumped back into her seat and drifted into a solitary place to try to sort things out.

****

“You know you’re a horrible mechanic. There’s not a damn thing on the panel that would fix a problem in the engine” said the pilot jokingly after Miller had settled back into the front seat and donned the headphones.

“Sorry Webb, it was the best I could do at the moment. Did you get the message to my contacts in DC?”

He hadn’t seen Webb since the night nearly a year ago when he helped whisk some of Miller’s friends to safety in the middle of a firefight with corrupt contractors. His family and friends, of whom Webb was one of the closest, had been hiding out in safety on a ranch in Wyoming, far from the troubles plaguing the country back east.

“Yes. I got the message out I’ll be dammed if I know what it meant.”

Miller chuckled; “well, you may not know everything about me” was his cryptic reply.

Scanning the instrument panel, and doing a quick visual check to ensure their climb was continuing normally Webb asked, “so down to the coast like we talked about?”

As part of the elaborate scheme, the instructions Miller had Klepper send over radio had been for Webb to land the plane on a desolate strip of highway to pick up Clarissa. Miller had quickly briefed him on what to expect from there before driving like a mad to get to the airport in time to incapacitate the mechanic. Finding the spot wasn't difficult, it was the exact spot Webb's brother had landed the plane to rescue Webb and some of Miller's other friends a year before.

It was there that Miller had told Webb to expect to fly to the coast if all went well. Glancing back again to ensure Donovan was out, and verifying that he was fast asleep, Miller replied in the affirmative.

“Hope the security forces don’t mind us dropping in” pondered Webb as he adjusted on of the myriad of knobs on the control panel.

“Well,” said Miller after some thought. “Guess there’s only one way to find out. Better head south.”

As Webb banked the plane and began what promised to be a short trip to the coast he flew along in silence. Although he had no idea what was happening, or had been happening the past few days, he trusted Miller.

“Assuming they show up, I don’t foresee any trouble. Most of Donovan’s real fighting forces are either up on the border in the north, or running around various places dealing with irritants,” said Miller. “There’s probably just a few contractor types and I’ve got something for that.”

“When you say irritants do you mean irritants you like you?” teased Webb.

“Yea. Something like that.”

Miller smiled as the plane flew through the inky blackness. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

****

DeMetrie and his men had chosen their perch to activate the ambush on the Troopers wisely. Just after pushing the button on Klepper’s radio transmitter all four men ducked behind a stout fallen tree not 5 yards from where they were laying. It had fallen nearly perfectly across the lip of a small depression which formed the perfect makeshift trench.

They were smart to do so. Bit of concrete and metal were flung the three quarter mile distance and pelted the tree and dirt around them.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Lowry.

Even the normally unflappable Caddy was impressed. “I can’t believe that actually worked. A wheat bomb? Wow.”

“Ok boys, the show’s over, time to scoot, “ commanded Captain DeMetrie. Like a den mother protecting her scouts, DeMetrie didn’t want to stand around in the event another wave of contractors showed up.

“Dang Captain, always pushing us,” taunted Reynolds.

“Would it help if I said we could take our time getting where we need to go?”

After DeMetrie’s men glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes, they all said, in unison, “Hell yes.”

bacpacker
05-02-2011, 01:00 AM
Another good chapter Stig.

The Stig
05-02-2011, 09:27 PM
Webb held the plane on a steady decent as he approached for landing at the large international airport. Since the creation of the Southern District all general aviation and commercial flights had been grounded and the only activity at the airport were military aircraft moving through the area. Occasionally a general aviation aircraft would land at the airport, usually at the behest of the Troopers or Donovan’s staff, but those landed with proper clearances and plenty of advanced notice.

Sudden arrivals in the middle of the night were not part of standard operations.

To give them as much surprise as possible Webb brought the plane in low and planned to swoop down onto the runway before anybody fully recognized what was happening. Having already descended to treetop level to avoid radar detection, there wasn’t much lower they could go. Clarissa had given up looking out the window to avoid the apprehension growing in her stomach.

Flying low level, at night, after a long multi-day flight was taxing and required all of Webb’s attention to avoid a collision with the trees or ground. Doing so would have ended the flight by shattering the airplane into a million pieces.

Realizing he was crossing the highway just off the end of the runway, he flipped on his landing lights just in time to recognize the airport environment. Donovan’s security people had been kind enough to leave the runway markers, albeit on a lower setting, ablaze to help guide them in. As the tires chirped and the plane briefly shuttered, Miller motioned to a distant hanger near the control tower, but away from the commercial terminal and military hangers. “Over there Webb. Park near the base of the tower.”

Coaxing the aircraft off the runway, Webb kept the taxi speed high as the plane maneuvered through the maze of taxiways on the way to the tarmac near the base of the control tower.

“Ok” Miller said with a serious tone. “For this to work, you guys have to follow my lead and do what we discussed. Got it?”

After Webb and Clarissa both nodded in the affirmative he continued, “it’s probably going to get hairy and be some yelling but just stay calm and whatever you don’t get out of the plane.”

Before Webb or Clarissa could respond a second time a voice blared through Webb’s headphones. Someone in the control tower just recognized that an unauthorized aircraft and landed.

“THE UNAUTH AIRCRAFT TAXING TOWARDS THE TOWER. STOP. DO NOT TAXI ANY FURTHER” came the irate warning.

Webb didn’t need to tell Miller they’d been busted. He was watching the large SUV with flashing red lights converging on their position.

“Turn the plane around so we’re not pinned in,” he instructed as Webb began the wide turn to position the plane.

“This can’t possibly go wrong,” Webb thought to himself as he checked to ensure the short-barreled AR-15 he had stashed in the small area between his seat and the sidewall of the aircraft was loaded.

****
The propeller hadn’t stopped spinning before the small door at the rear of the door fell open and Miller emerged. Checking to ensure his pistol was fully secure in its holster he maneuvered to the rear of the plane just in time for the first SUV of security people to arrive.

Amidst the screeching of rubber on concrete, contractors poured out of the vehicle, guns at the ready, before it had fully stopped. Miller, taking charge before any of them did something rash, yelled out, “The Senator is sick! He’s on the airplane. Set up a parameter now!”

He was sure to make clear his hands were empty, but short of that Miller dove in as if he had been commanding the contractors for the past year.
Pointing at the contractor closest to him, “You, come over here and post guard.” The young contractor, not sure of what to do looked back to his teammates. Miller didn’t hesitate, “Don’t think son, act. Do you want to be the one who dropped the ball and didn’t get Senator Donovan medical attention right away?”

The other contractors, also not sure what to do, lowered their rifles as they attempted to grasp the situation.

Miller barreled ahead like a bull in a china shop. “You the team leader?” he asked of the next man.

“Yes, and you need to stand down so we can figure this out.”

“The only one standing down will be you if the Senator finds out you dicked up his transfer to a medical evac,” said Miller, putting all of his energy into the bluff.

Hesitating the young team leader desperately tried to wrestle back some control, “sir, we want to assist you, but we need to verify….”

Cutting him off with a wave of the hand Miller pointed at the door, now guarded by the young contractor. “Go look for yourself if you insist.”

Hesitantly, the young team leader climbed the first step of the aircraft’s small door and peered inside. Seeing the Senator, passed out in the rear seat, clothes disheveled and shirt missing, he suddenly realized an emergency was unfolding. Seeing the pretty lady, unabashedly sitting with her shirt wide open further reinforced what had unfolded.

“Good” said Miller with authority after sensing the contractor had taken the bait. “Now, you three set up a parameter. A C130 should be calling in any minute for clearance to land. That’s the emergency evac. I got him stabilized for now, but he’s got to get back to the capital.”

Again trying to wrest control of the situation, the young contractor suggested, “Sir, we can transport him to the hospital. It’s less than five minutes away.”

Looking at the contractor as if he suggested Miller stick his hand in a bag of mouse traps, “Listen. The Senator has a special condition and I highly doubt your hospital can deal with it. The Herk is on standby 24-7 for just such an occasion. It’s stocked with all the required medical equipment and the Senator’s personal doctor is onboard. Now, if you think your little hospital can top that, by all means please take charge of the situation.” To complete the ruse Miller even stepped to the side and gestured for the young contractor to take responsibility.

Miller had always been pretty good at poker. Tonight, like many other nights, his bluff worked. Before long two of the contractors had joined the other guarding the aircraft while Miller guided the young team leader on how to coordinate the response of his fellow security forces.

****
“You mean to tell me you’re taking the Senator out of here as if nothing were wrong?” yelled the senior security contractor on duty at the airport that night.

“You’ve got to be kidding me”. The older man literally stomped his foot into the ground to emphasize his point. Miller, never one to be intimidated let the contractor blow off steam. Everything had been going well until the senior man at the airport, from a local contracting firm, caught wind of what was going on. He didn’t take to his young subordinate telling him everything was fine, and he really didn’t take to a stranger, with a half-dressed Senator in the back of an airplane telling him what to do. Soon he and four more guards were on scene to sort out the late night unauthorized landing.

“Sergeant,” said Miller patiently, “ I know this is a lot to swallow but do you really want to be the one that stood between the Senator and the proper medical care?” Miller jerked his thumb back towards the airplane where Webb had been feigning giving the unconscious body of the Senator various forms of medical attention.

Face turning crimson and stepping forwards to stand face to face with Miller the old Sergeant yelled, “I don’t give a tinkers damn who you think you are. This is my airport and you’ll do it my way. The ambulance is on the way and that’s final.”

Speaking in a soft, calm voice Miller attempted a new tact, “Tell you what Sarge, you clearly don’t believe I’m his personal bodyguard, that’s his personal pilot and the lady is his personal….well….you get the idea. Make you a deal. If the Herk calls in for approach clearance and asks about Juliet Mike 1 you’ll step aside and let us do our jobs. If they don’t mention it you can arrest me and my friends, take the Senator to a local hospital and sort things out.”

Not in the mood for games the older man simply grunted.

Tensions ran high for the next three minutes and Miller prayed nobody would think to simply call the capital for confirmation. After seemingly hours the voice of the C130 pilot finally cracked over the radio’s.

“Tower, Speedbird 1 here.”

“Go ahead Speedbird 1,” came the crisp reply for the tower forty feet above Miller’s head.

“Tower, Speedbird 1. Request permission to land on runway one eight. On priority medical evac mission at the request of security personnel on your end.

As the pilots transmission ended there was static laden silence as the tower delayed their reply. They had been made fully aware of the situation that unfolded beneath them. Upon the end of the transmission the Sergeant stood upright from where he leaned against an SUV and looked Miller dead in the eye. Miller, sheepishly, held his wrists forward, prepared for them to be cuffed.

Inside the aircraft, Webb carefully maneuvered his short-barreled AR to a slightly better position on the floor and gently moved the safety to the off position. Clarissa’s eyes went wide a saucers as she watched his movements and realized what he had done.

“Goddamn pilots” Miller thought to himself. “Can’t they remember one lousy line.”

The Stig
05-03-2011, 01:30 AM
Throughout the night the bloodbath in and around Lexington continued as the Presidents forces decimated their over-extended and surrounded opponents. Crutchfield’s men attempted to fall back and reestablish some form of order but the defensive retreat was becoming dangerously close to being a rout.

Crutchfield’s commanders, most of them in Lexington, finally grasped the enormity of the situation. All troops had been ordered to fallback on Lexington as they attempted to establish a defensive perimeter. But instead of moving north in units or organized clusters, the men south of, or near, Richmond began a life and death trip through a gauntlet of hot steel and explosions.

Lexington had been left with a skeleton crew of defenders after having been picked over to augment the main force. The main force had been weakened by the struggle near Cincinnati and the strain it was putting on Crutchfield’s commanders was glaringly apparent. They’d be lucky if the main assault force would return to Lexington with fifty percent strength, and the troops eighty miles further north in Cincinnati were likely too weak to break through the lines to relieve them.

In short, they were cut off from their lines and the President could grind them to pieces at his leisure.

To add to their misery, Apache attack helicopters snuck over the horizon to dispatch any armored vehicles that escaped the cauldron of death near Richmond. One by one, Hellfire missiles picked off the exposed and vulnerable tanks and armored personnel carriers.

As men all over the city ran to strengthen whatever defensive position they could, death began raining from the air as laser guided bombs fell into the strong-points created since Crutchfield’s men captured Lexington. One by one, fighter-bombers streaked across the sky while concrete and iron were reduced to rubble as bombs fell with pinpoint accuracy.

Crutchfield’s men were too busy trying to survive to realize the President had sent teams into the area to designate various targets for destruction.

The President had conserved his strength until the right time. Now he was unleashing it with a vengeful fury that threatened to consume an entire army of Crutchfield’s men.

****

“Next strike in zero five minutes,” whispered the young Private to his Sergeant.

“Copy that,” whispered back Sergeant Saxon. The two men were acting as forward air controllers of sorts. While their team of eight other men kept watch over them, Saxon and the young Private Dickerson had worked their way into a position to overlook a large swath of land. It had taken nearly a day of maneuvering but they found a small hill that provided a panoramic view of the north side of Lexington. From their vantage point they could see several key positions along with large clusters of vehicles moving down the beltway that looped around the city. Using a laser designator they would pinpoint targets for the strike aircraft as they’d swoop onto the target area like a hawk securing an afternoon snack.

Crutchfield was able to muster some aircraft into the area to provide support to the beleaguered defenders of Lexington, but they were regularly swatted from the sky by F15’s and ground based missile systems before they could get close to the city. The President’s aircraft criss-crossed the city with near impunity save several ground based antiaircraft weapons.

Occasionally green tracers would arc through the sky in a vain attempt to drive off the airborne attacks. One by one, however, Apache helicopters would dart in and erase the emplacement.

“Strike inbound. Three six to one eight zero. One foxtrot sixteen. TOT in zero one” came the matter of fact call from Private Dickerson. Wounded in the opening days of the conflict, Dickerson was recently back to active duty and assigned to Saxon’s squad. He was already proving his worth as a capable spotter. A single F16 was about to make a run from due north towards the south and would be over the target in one minute.

“Copy that,” replied Saxon. Adjusting a dial on his laser designator he focused them on the small cluster of Humvee’s and one Bradley Fighting Vehicles that had sought refuge in a grove of trees.

“Three zero seconds”

Through the viewfinder he could just make out the shapes of some men moving around the vehicles, unaware of their impending death.

“One five seconds, illuminate,” instructed Dickerson.

“Illuminating,” replied Saxon as he pushed the button that activated the unseen beam of light that acted like a gigantic rope pulling the bomb to its destination.

Almost simultaneously the dark gray F16 streaked overhead about seven hundred yards to their left. The bomb fell, unseen in the darkness, and followed the laser beam all the way to the impact point, which coincided with the top of one of the Humvees.

Even from their distant vantage point the concussive wave of the bomb blast washed over them as the Humvees and enemy soldiers vaporized under five hundred pounds of explosives.

Before the sound of the bomb blast reached their ears the F16 was pulling up hard as it banked to the left. Saxon briefly saw the afterburner ignite before the tail of the engine rotated out of view.

“That’s odd,” thought Saxon. I thought Dickerson said the run-out from the strike would be straight south.

The riddle was answered as a ball of light streaked across the sky and detonated near the tail of the fighter aircraft in a flash of sharp light. There was a delay of nearly a second during which Saxon thought perhaps the ground-launched missile had missed its target. What couldn’t been seen in the distant night sky was the tail of the aircraft separating from the fuselage. Just as Saxon began to turn his attention away from the aircraft, a fireball erupted from the aircraft as it exploded into thousands of tiny pieces.

There was no sign of the pilot ejecting.

The Stig
05-03-2011, 07:53 PM
Feeling the metal handcuffs slipping around his wrists Miller wasn’t sure what was about to happen next. He was reasonably sure Webb would open fire from inside the aircraft. He was also reasonably sure he stood no chance of surviving a gunfight, in the open, against eight armed men. Chances were good Webb and Clarissa wouldn’t make it either.

This was most definitely not part of his original plan.

“Tower, this is Speedbird1. Request status update on Juliet Mike 1. Was told he’d be waiting for us.”

The man in the tower shot out of his chair and mashed the microphone button. “Say again Speedbird 1”

“Requesting status update on Juliet Mike 1. He’s attached to Sierra Delta and was told he’d be escorting the evac party.” Sierra Delta was the universally accepted code word for Senator Donovan.

Below them, listening to the transmission over several handheld radios, the older Sergeant stiffened as Miller pulled his hands back. He wasn’t one to take a loss of face lightly but in the end it appeared to all involved that Miller was as he implied.

“No worries,” said Miller with a broad smile. “Once they set down, have them taxi over to us. Take your men thirty yards out and make a perimeter to scan for any insurgents who might want to take a potshot. I’ll affect the handoff to Sierra Delta’s medical team. Once they depart, we’ll do the same in our aircraft.”

Assuming everybody was leaving on the C130 the security man raised an eyebrow after hearing the last comment. Miller explained, “We have to take care of the girl. Her….particular skills….are what set off the Senator’s reaction. We don’t want her running around after seeing all this. Once we finish that task we’ll make our own way back to the capital. We’ll be in a hurry to leave to get that job done, you understand.”

A slight smile crossed the older security man’s face as he finally connected the dots between the scantily clad, attractive woman and the incapacitated senator. This wouldn’t be the first time hanky-panky got an older man into physical trouble.

“Alright, we’ll go ahead and set up now. Sorry for the confusion. Procedure’s are there for a reason”

“Like I said,” responded Miller, “no worries. For all you know I could be some insurgent wacko.”

The senior security man turned and began gathering up his contingent of contractors to begin the process of setting up an outward facing perimeter.

****

“I’ve got him untied and ready to go. We just going to dead lift him into the plane?” asked Webb as Miller hastily returned to the plane.

With only a few minutes before the C130 would be into position for the transfer, they still had to hand off the Senator, and both planes had to taxi back to the runway for takeoff before anybody caught onto their charade. So far they were pulling it off, but at any minute someone might verify the information and discover the real truth of what was happening.

“Yea,” said Miller. “Let’s get his shirt back on, and drag him to the top of the stairs. As soon as we can we’ll drag him out and get him to the Herk.”

“Miller,” called out Clarissa. “Who the heck is coming in that plane?” she asked while gesturing to the C-130 that was about to touchdown on the distant runway.

“Oh,” he answered. “just some friends of mine.”

She looked at him quizzically. Despite all of the time they had spent together in recent months she really had no idea who John Miller was.

“Ok pull,” commanded Miller as he and Webb gracelessly drug the Senator out of his seat and towards the small door. Carrying an adult male body, which is lifeless, in the small confines of the airplane was no easy task and it took nearly two minutes to move him the four feet to the rear door.

The roaring turboprop engines of the C130 blasted them with warm air as the venerable transport aircraft turned one hundred and eighty degrees to face back towards the runway. They would have positioned the large aircraft closer to Webb’s if not for the control tower. Still the exhaust and noise was nearly overwhelming.

Miller, already on the ground pulling the Senator’s body out of the plane, yelled back to Clarissa, “go buckle yourself in.”

Webb looked up just in time to see the cavernous cargo area of the nearly solid black C130 laid fully bare by the lowered cargo door. As he got his footing after descending the stairs he watched as thirty heavily armed and armored soldiers piled out of the back of the plane and set up a perimeter of their own. Behind them came two medical personnel who ran to meet them, take possession of the body and finish the fifty-yard journey back to their mysterious aircraft.

Miller was in the process of advising the medical personnel about real reason for the Senator’s condition when he heard “Miller!”

He looked up to see a strange looking man in dated six-color camouflage pants and plain drab three-quarter t-shirt yelling over the din of the engines. He rushed in closely behind the medical personnel and marched, hand extended, directly towards Miller.

Taking a second to recognize his old friend Miller, accepted the hearty handshake while calling back, “Mack!”. Pumping his hand feverishly, Miller continued, “damn man. It’s been what, five years?”

“More like seven,” responded the man as he pulled his baseball cap tighter to avoid having it blown off in the prop-wash of the still idling aircraft. The pilot had kept engines going, and props spinning so they could depart at a moments notice.

“Can’t believe they stuck you with this baby-sitting mission,” yelled Miller over the roar of the engines.

“Someone had to come save your ass….again” screamed back Mack with genuine affection.

Glancing over his shoulder, Miller continued, “Would love to reminisce but I don’t think we should stick around any longer than needed. This one’s on a shoestring.”

Again shaking Miller’s hand, Mack yelled back. “Good catch on this one. Your message was a pleasant surprise. We had a couple things in the works already, but this is better. Papa asked for a report when you can get it to him.”

Punching Miller affectionately on the shoulder, Mack spun smartly back towards the aircraft while making a circular motion with his fist. The thirty-man squad of multicam clad troops filed into the back of the plane behind him.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” said Miller as he lightly pulled Webb back towards their own aircraft.

Glancing back towards at the solid black C130 one last time Webb was unable to make out a single identifying insignia on the aircraft. Before the cargo ramp was fully closed the pilot had pushed the throttles forward and the big plane shuttered as it began rolling.

It seemed that there was much about his past that Miller had neglected to share.

****

“Ok, let’s get the hell out of here,” called out Miller as Webb frantically flipped the switches and pressed the buttons that would restart their transport to back to the safety of the skies.

“Miller,” said Webb flatly. “You’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

“Later Webb. Later, “ was all Miller replied.

While it seemed like an eternity, Webb had the engines restarted and running normally in under a minute and a half. Soon the plane was gently swaying in unison with the uneven torque of the propellers.

His eyes scanning the instruments, and fingers dancing across the control panel, Webb calmly stated, “I’ll forgo the request for takeoff clearance.”

“I think that would be wise,” was all Miller said.

Miller may not have been so deadpan had he been able to see the situation unfolding outside of Webb’s window. He had glanced over in time to see the senior contractor yelling into a radio and wildly gesturing back towards them. It would seem that someone had, indeed, thought to radio the capital to clarify the situation. The other contractors stood around him in confusion while he continued to animatedly converse with the person on the other end of the radio.

Pushing the throttles forward with authority, and releasing the brakes, the plane leapt forward under the thrust generated by its propellers. Webb smartly chose to taxi directly towards the closest runway with sufficient length for a takeoff. Now was not the time for proper engine run-up, last minute systems checks, and correct alignment into the wind.

Noting the lumbering C130 rotating for take off, and virtually springing into the air, he continued to navigate the maze of taxiways before mercifully finding the entrance to a runway.

Without so much as an instruction to hold on, Webb rammed the throttles forward and the heavily modified engines immediately roared to full power. Miller felt himself being pushed into the back of his seat as the laws of physics took control of his body.

In what promised to be the shortest takeoff roll he’d ever performed, he watched in agony as the airspeed indicator finally flickered to life and began moving towards the appropriate level to allow flight. As the tires thumped across cracks in the runway, Webb was shocked to see the contractors several hundred yards back shooting their rifles towards them. Even though they were under the illumination of the tarmac lights Webb watched the flashes clearly imitating from the ends of their rifles. Instinctively, he crouched down as far as he could into the limited protection of his seat.

Skillfully pulling back on the yoke, Webb coaxed the aircraft into the air. Holding it steady only a few yards above the ground to retract the gear and gain airspeed, he then allowed his aircraft, like a thoroughbred horse charging down the back straightaway, to rocket though several hundred feet while banking sharply to the left.

“Whoa,” was all Miller could say as he was pressed back into his chair.

From the back of the airplane, Clarissa yelled out, “are there barf bags on this flight?”

The Stig
05-04-2011, 04:59 PM
“Ok,” whispered DeMetrie, “give them the signal.”

Reynolds aimed his blue filtered flashlight skyward and blinked it for three long flashes and three short ones.

They had heard the aircraft fly overhead at the assigned rendezvous point at the correct time but instead of using their radios first to contact it, they chose to use the prearranged light signal. While they’d dealt a massive blow to the Troopers in the area, DeMetrie and his men remained cautious. Thus the light signal, to avoid radio detection.

Once Webb spotted the signal indicating all clear on the ground, Miller clicked the microphone of the team radios in the same pattern as Reynolds had used for the light.

DeMetrie and Reynolds kept watch near the end of a long stretch of highway. It was a stretch of highway not unfamiliar to DeMetrie. Several of his men had given their lives here just over a year ago to protect people they had never met. While the loss of any of his men tore at his soul, the loss of men on US soil, to fellow Americans ate away at him.

Lowry and Caddy kept watch on the other side of the road, closer to the touchdown spot of the aircraft. If Troopers did try to ambush them, at least some of DeMetrie’s men eoulf be able to respond quickly.

They could hear the airplane but it was several minutes before it became visible against the starlit night sky. DeMetrie watched it sinking rapidly, almost to the point where he became concerned the pilot was about to scatter his plane across the ground instead of landing on it. His fears were put aside when the powerful landing light suddenly flipped on, bathing the entire area in front of the plane in bright light.

Lowry, who just happened to be looking towards the plane was momentarily stunned by the cascade of blinding light.

The plane touched down and gently rolled out, coming to a stop just abeam DeMetrie and Reynold’s position.

****

While Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds kept guard Miller and DeMetrie swapped notes about what had unfolded throughout the course of the night.

“Sounds like you knocked the snot out of them Mike,” said Miller.

DeMetrie, never one to get carried away was genuinely impressed with their handiwork. “Tell you what Miller, it was a sight to behold. We took a whole mess of them out in that one blast. I don’t think we shut them down, but in this county anyway there out done for.”

Continuing on he said, “I’m more impressed that you nabbed the Senator.”

“Yea, it didn’t come without a price,” Miller said, alluding to Clarissa’s sacrifice of dignity. “But he’s on his way back to DC now. I imagine there will be quite a fallout because of his sudden absence from the Southern District.”

“Who the hell came to pick him up?” asked the confused DeMetrie.

Smiling Miller responded, “just friends from the past. Haven’t seen most of them in a while but I figured that folks in the administration had a few things they’d like to discuss with Donovan. Call it an early Christmas present.”

Wiping sweat from their brows, Miller and DeMetrie swapped notes for a few more minutes before both men felt they were spending more time on the ground than was prudent.

“Ok Mike. Guess this is the end of the road for now. Webb here will fly you guys up to Nashville. From there you can make contact with the President’s forces,” said Miller. He was genuinely sad to see his partnership with DeMetrie coming to a close. He respected the Captain, not only for saving his life a year ago, but also for taking up arms with Miller against the Senator’s oppression.

“It was a heck of a run Miller. Many thanks,” was all DeMetrie could come up with to reply.

Both men stood in silence for a few seconds. It was that awkward silence of two men who had forged a bond on the field of combat that couldn’t be described in words.

Instead the two men quickly embraced and patted each other on the back.

“What are you going to do Miller?” asked the Captain as they walked back towards the plane and DeMetrie signaled the men to load up.

“Well, I’ve got to make sure Clarissa here is take care of then I’m taking a nice boat ride up-river on the way back to Wyoming.”


****

After stowing most of their gear in Miller’s truck, the men exchanged farewells before piling into the plane one by one. Webb busied himself with getting the plane going again and preparing for another difficult takeoff.

Miller called up to Webb, “take good care of these guys.”

Looking back down at his friend, “you want us to pick you up at the normal spot up-river?” Webb asked about the spot where arms shipments would be handed off from the ClarMar Farms truck to the boats used to move the goods downriver towards their ultimate destination.

Thinking for a bit Miller replied, “no, I’ll find my way. I want to clear my head a bit before I see the girls.” Miller wanted to spend the time crossing the three states between the Mississippi River and Wyoming getting the events of the past year squared away.

Nodding down at his friend Webb simply said, “I’ll let them know to expect you. Stay safe”. With that he shut the small window to his cockpit.

As DeMetrie climbed aboard the aircraft he looked down at the man who had become his good friend. There was nothing left to say. The engines of Webb’s aircraft coughed and turned over and began spinning up to speed. It was time to go.

He wondered if he’d ever see Miller again as he pulled the door closed.

bacpacker
05-05-2011, 12:44 AM
Very nice Stig, Very nice!

ak474u
05-05-2011, 12:54 AM
I think Miller's past is a great direction to go with this. Great story

The Stig
05-05-2011, 02:37 PM
Two days had passed since Webb’s plane zoomed off into the night and the battle around Lexington continued unabated as the President’s forces tightened the noose around Crutchfield’s doomed army. Minute-by-minute, and hour-by-hour, his men pushed forward and squeezed the cities defenders into an ever-shrinking circle of land.

Crutchfield’s forces around Cincinnati did attempt to drive through the Presidents men to open a line of rescue for their beleaguered comrades. But their forces, greatly weakened by the fighting on the south bank of the Ohio River simply didn’t possess the firepower to breach the line formed at Georgetown, Kentucky.

The President had moved sufficient forces into the area to capitalize on the situation that there was simply no way Crutchfield could reach his men.

A couple supply aircraft were able to bob and weave past the besiegers to land and deliver supplies to the men. But as in any other siege in history, medical supplies and ammunition soon became precious commodities. Most of the meager number of supply planes sent were shot out of the sky long before they reached their destinations.

Even the feigned assault into the north in Pennsylvania, originally meant as a diversion, was curtailed to maintain overall focus on destroying every last man defending Lexington.

As the city was destroyed block-by-block, hundreds of years of history were lost in the process. Artillery shells, like their ancestors sixty years before, rained down on defenders while aircraft continued their surgical strikes on those holding out.

The fighting was strongest on the south side of the city where some of Crutchfield’s armored forces were able to reassemble after the headlong retreat through the gauntlet of death around Richmond. Buildings and malls, signs of suburban strength, were reduced to rubble as the defenders did their best to contest their annihilation. They put forth a noteworthy effort to stem the tide of the President’s steamroller but with ammunition running out their fate was already sealed.

Soon the artillery that harassed them around Richmond was moved into position to continue the same in Lexington. The orders to the artillery commanders had been a simple one: flatten Lexington.

The destruction would continue for another week, with the last holdouts clinging to a several block area of the downtown. Before it was said and done, the large sports stadium, Rupp Arena was reduced to a pile of concrete and steel highlighted by the occasional blue plastic seat that found it’s way to the surface.

By the end of the battle Crutchfield’s army had been destroyed and the loss was both catastrophic and utterly complete. The ramifications would reverberate throughout his rebellion as the enormity of the catastrophe was realized.

Unless the situation was altered in some significant way, the balance of power now firmly rested back with the President. His patience and restraint had been rewarded.


****

“You going to be ok?” asked Miller as he wiped sweat from his brow and dropped the shovel beside the grave.

Choking back the tears Clarissa said, “Yea. Eventually.” She and Miller had just dug the grave and buried her father’s body back on ClarMar Farms. The Troopers had been so decimated by DeMetrie’s attack, and thrown into confusion by the sudden disappearance of Senator Donovan, that ClarMar was once again safe.

The Troopers had callously left his body under a sheet next to the office building and miraculously no animals had scavenged it. Clarissa tenderly cleaned Greg’s face and straightened his clothes. Miller used one of DeMetrie’s discarded shirts to cover the bullet wounds in his chest.

She wanted his final spot to be near her.

“I’m going to start spreading the word to my employees and try to get things running again. No sense letting all this go to waste,” she said waving her arm back towards the farm. Other than the burned out ruin of the farmhouse, the litter of shell casings and bullet holes from the battle and a mess from where the Troopers searched the office building, the farm stood ready to produce goods for the county once more.

She was strong. More importantly she was determined. Miller pitied the next man who would try to cross her.

“Clarissa,” Miller said tenderly, “We don’t know how all of this is going to shake out. I wish you’d let me stick around.” He had planned on staying around to ensure nobody harassed her but she had flatly refused his offer.

“Like I said Miller,” she replied, “I want everybody to know they can survive this tyranny and pull through. I guess I’m an idealist, but I want to stick it in their face by rebuilding without an army roving around. I want them to see we did it on our own.” It was clear there would be no convincing her.

“You need to stay vigilant. If the Troopers come back or someone tries to take power you need to get out of here for good,” declared Miller after taking a long drink from the water stowed in the back of the truck.

With a smile and a quick kiss on his cheek Clarissa said, “beneath the mysterious freedom fighting warrior lurks a total softie. Besides,” she said patting the AR-15 that laid beside her, “I think I’ve show I can use this guy.”

“What about you?” she asked. “What do you think about everything that’s happened?”

“Well, I tell you this much, that’s the last time I let my wife go shopping on the coast.”


****

The effect of Donovan’s capture sent shockwaves through the Southern District. The hostilities that prompted his assumption of power were young enough that no real leadership structure or successor had been established. Miles Donovan was The Southern District.

With Donovan out of the picture, politicians felt the strength to retrieve the reigns of power in their states and realign themselves with the President. Instead of being a lingering cancer that grew on his Southern flank, the states of the south simply reassumed normal life and reaffirmed their support for the President.

Most of the military troops he had amassed to form a buffer between The Southern District and the Presidents forces never fully realized the deception Donovan had been perpetrating. Once it became clear their mission was in support of his personal gain, instead of strengthening the union, they fell back in line with the President.

Some of his troops, corrupted by the power and rewards promised to them remained loyal to Donovan, but without a leader, or a command structure, they were too dispersed across the forces to amount to much. They either melted away or kept their mouths shut.

The men and materiel suddenly freed from The Southern District represented a huge boost to the President’s war machine. Suddenly fresh troops and vehicles began filtering northward to reinforce the troops scattered from DC over to Kentucky. While Crutchfield licked his wounds from Lexington, the President was able to reinforce and strengthen his overall defensive line.

The transformation back to normal life happened rapidly across the south. Cell phone and internet service returned and the days of checkpoints and Contractors faded into the past. The Troopers who had so abused their power were cleaned out wholesale and the rebuilding of the state police forces began.

In The Southern District, the era of Miles Donovan had ended. Like the many despots before him who craved immortality, little would mark his reign other than fading memories.

****

Epilogue

Almost a full month had passed since Webb’s plane left the dark state highway. Miller had spent much of the time camping and living off the land while he sorted out what had taken place over the past year.

The death of several of DeMetrie’s men. How he’d gotten Julie Dawson killed. Getting Tim Barnes involved in situations he couldn’t understand and his eventual death at Miller’s own hand. Greg Donner’s sacrifice. Clarissa’s humiliation. How loyal friends like Dink, Webb, DeMetrie and Klepper had been. Even the sacrifice of the other insurgents that pledged their loyalty to DeMetrie.

All of the various close calls and frightening moments started to fade as he thought them through one by one and then released them from his mind.

He wasn’t one to be morose and dwell.

As he walked up the long dirt driveway he wondered if Eva, his daughter would recognize him. The dirty clothes and full beard bore little resemblance to the daddy she had left behind over a year ago.

Rounding the bend leading towards the main house he looked up into the distance. His loyal dog, Coco, stood on the porch, head and ears perked high and tail wagging like mad.

It was as if she had been waiting for her daddy to walk around that corner the entire time.

biggcarl
05-05-2011, 06:59 PM
Great ending to the trilogy.

Thor827
05-05-2011, 09:50 PM
Fantastic! Please continue this storyline.

bacpacker
05-06-2011, 12:46 AM
Excellent story Stig. every bit as good as the first 2. I eagerly await the next story, whichever path it takes.
Thanks for your efforts.

piranha2
05-09-2011, 01:49 AM
Awesome, thanks.