Awakening

[The Stig]

Copyright - 2010. No reproduction without my consent.

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Awakening

Reverend Tim Barnes finished up the last of his paperwork in his now darkened study. A lone desk lamp illuminated the desktop but left most of the office shrouded in darkness. It had been a long day of counseling sessions and administrative duties. A ministers work was never truly done.

He leaned back in his desk chair and reflected back on the day and the events of the past six months. All he could do was shake his head in disbelief. The country was in the process of tearing itself apart as Northeast fought the people of the Midwest and Mid Atlantic states.

Jackson Crutchfield had instigated a civil war after being impeached and removed from office in disgrace. His social leanings and foreign polices nearly tore the country apart despite all his promises of a new tone in Washington. After President Alan took office by defeating Crutchfield’s Vice President in the next election the divide of the country only deepened.

The social leanings of Cruthfield were the apex of thirty years of liberal ideology in the country. Their wholesale repudiation across most of the country left the predominately liberal Northeastern states bitter and simmering with rage. The conservatives who swept into office with President Alan were no better as they acted more as conquerors than elected officials. The divide intensified.

It only took several trumped up riots and much Machiavellian intrigue for the war to erupt. This wasn’t the first time in history that a country tore itself apart over political differences.

The effects in the South were odd. Senator Donovan had forged a collation of several states to form a defensive zone. Through political maneuvering, and underhandedness of his own Donovan lead this collation. President Alan believed he had Senator Donovan’s support when in reality Donovan was buying time to strengthen his hand. He’d forge an alliance with whoever won the battle in the north.

The Senator practiced all sorts of political trickery to lead the President into believing he was being supported in full. It was a masterful performance as the Senator dodged and weaved the requests for military troops or had to explain why he was speaking on behalf of several states. For his part the President was willing to accept the situation in the South so he could focus on the north.

There had been several more small battles with various outcomes. The President was able to recall most of his troops from the Middle East and Korea and assemble them into fighting formations. Despite some desertions he had a much larger, cohesive and battle hardened group of men to use.

He faced problems too, however. He had to defend a much larger territory than did Crutchfield. The President also insisted on setting up a defensive ring through the states of Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia and Maryland and practiced a strategy of containment thus diluting his strength. Nobody could convince him to go for the jugular and use his overwhelming strength to crush Crutchfield before he got stronger.

Meanwhile Jackson Crutchfield continued to build his strength. Many political compatriots from across the country either fled to the Northeast or sent money. More importantly, a host of foreign countries, none with America’s best interests at heart, poured in resources and equipment to the Northeast before an effective blockade could be established. Even when it was, enterprising foreign interests found ways to get money and equipment to Crutchfield.

Another battle was brewing but for some reason a standoff of sorts had developed. Crutchfield didn’t want to overplay his hand and President Alan couldn’t seem to find the strength to play his at all.

****

Reverend Barnes led a large church along the coast and his history was a strange one. He had been in a promising career selling industrial products when one day he felt the call to the alter. Within a week he had quit his job, enrolled in the seminary, and began the process of becoming a man of the cloth.

After several stints in smaller churches he was transferred to his current church of Falls Creek Christian Church. It was an eclectic mix of races, ages and social status but one thing it wasn’t was contemporary and flashy. If you weren’t careful you could easily mistake it for a Catholic church.

As the civil war blossomed in the north, life continued on in the south. The original martial law orders issued at the beginning of the conflict were lifted after a several weeks and those troops were redeployed and marshaled closer to the border. Gun confiscations had happened but they were haphazard and mostly ineffective.

Senator Donovan had enacted rationing of various staple items including gasoline, bottled water, sugar, and other normal basic items. Electricity had also been rationed; if you exceeded a preset amount for the month you were fined heavily. Some folks dealt with this by generators or solar panels, but most folks learned to get a lot more done during the day.

Other changes included the halting of all mail, the jamming of cell phones and Internet services. Landlines did return, however, so you could at least make calls locally or across a region. But no calls were allowed outside the Southern zone and most people took it for granted that someone monitored their calls.

The biggest change was the increasing presence of the contractors. Senator Donovan had a seemingly endless supply of contractors to use to augment the remaining law enforcement agencies. Between the law enforcement officers who remained at their posts and the growing numbers of contractors Senator Donovan was able to enforce his will on the people in the Southern Zone as he liked to call it.

An interesting phenomenon had taken place in the past few months. The Senator had enough supporters with nothing better to do than report on their neighbors that a defacto secret police was starting to form.

The Reverend whistled a sad tune as he locked up his office and walked across the parking lot to his parsonage. Weaving through the hedges he deftly navigated the moonlit night and began preparing a small meal.

As he sat down to his bowl of potato soup and crackers at a dimly lit table he was startled by the loud ringing of the phone. He didn’t bother to get up and it stopped after two rings. As he took another spoonful of his soup the phone rang again twice and stopped.

As he prepared himself a drink he contemplated the meeting the ringing phone signaled. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day.

[The Stig]

Forty miles north of the coast, in the county seat of Shelton, Richard Werner sat at the desk in the Sheriffs office. His company, Aperture Consulting was incorporated into Senator Donovans unified command of contractors that most people simply referred to as Associates.

Werner cut his teeth in the African city of Mogadishu and various Bosnian hellholes. After returning from active duty he kicked around various jobs until one of his friends convinced him to become a partner in Aperture. Over time the company had grown in scope and size and Werner eventually took over control of the entire company.

Based on his performance carrying out some errands Senator Donovan euphemistically called “special projects” he had earned the Senator’s trust. When trouble started to flare up in this rural county Werner was dispatched as a problem solver.

The previous contractor in the area ended up being hauled off to one of the special camps that had sprung up to house troublemakers. The previous sheriff had been killed in the line of duty and his mutilated remains were found in the burnt out home of John Miller. Miller was a person of interest and was now one of Werner’s many concerns, albeit low on the priority list. Somehow he had gone completely off the grid although whispers had it that he moved around the Lumberton area with some frequency.

After reviewing some staffing levels and a stack of field reports Werner poured himself a tall scotch and sunk into the overstuffed couch in his office.

He had a few ideas on how he’d catch Miller but those would have to wait while he dealt with the many other pressing concerns in Shelton and the surrounding counties. He kicked off his boots, sunk further into the couch and dozed off to sleep for the night.

****

Sunlight bathed the landscape as light dew coated the grass in the pasture. Several hundred head of cows dotted the landscape in the field as they dined on a breakfast of grass. Like any other farm in the world, the air would be punctuated by moos and grunts as the cows went about their morning routine.

Clarissa Donner dejectedly tossed a crescent wrench onto the ground in frustration. She had been attempting to fix a broken ATV for several hours. Every time she thought she had the problem licked the recalcitrant ATV would run worse. She had successfully fixed the mechanical device to the point it wouldn’t event start.

Her husband, Mark, had been deployed overseas on multiple tours of duties in various Middle Eastern dumps. He had finally returned to the United States only to be sent to some remote outpost in Ohio as part of President Alan’s containment strategy. He’d been allowed one short phone call to break the bad news.

The farm actually belonged to Clarissa’s father Greg. At eighty-six he was mostly confined to his stuffed chair in the den or the front porch of the farmhouse where he was glad to instruct anybody on how they were doing things incorrectly. Between Clarissa and a seeming army of hired hands, the farm continued to operate smoothly.

Other than the ATV that laid in pieces, Clarissa found she had a knack for operating a farm smoothly and under her guidance it grew to be several thousand acres and produced far more revenue than Greg could have ever imagined. Cows, hay, some hens, even goats. Clarissa had a lot of smaller ventures that added up into big money. Better yet, she seemed to have a magic touch to make money.

Located about fifteen miles south and slightly west of Lumberton the farm had become a quiet powerhouse and a source of employment for many.

“Damn piece of junk” she declared as she walked up the porch pushing a wild stalk of her long brown hair out of her face.

“I told you to call Smitty in town to get that fixed” lectured her father.

As she handed him a fresh cup of coffee she said “Dad, I told you he was a drunk and I wasn’t giving him any more money”.


****

Reverend Barnes arrived for work early that day. After some further administrative chores he made his way to the sanctuary where he took his traditional seat in the front pew. He spent nearly a half hour in earnest prayer about the various issues facing congregants and the church itself.

After kneeling at the foot of a large wooden cross for several minutes the Reverend got in his car and drove down the road to a large nursing home complex to make his rounds of some elderly members who were riding out their final days.

“Morning Father” announced Ron Little.

Reverend Barnes smiled and cajoled the elderly man. “Ron, how many times do I have to correct you? I am not a priest” he said as he took up a chair next to the dieing man.

“You’d think they’d care about a dieing old man. I can’t get a priest to bother to come see me. You’ll do though” he said teasingly as he ribbed his friend. Ron knew the end was near, and although he’d never say it, he appreciated that Barnes came to see him.

Ron, a man of Croatian decent, had been involved in all sorts of creative and intriguing adventures in the 1950’s and 1960’s. To say he was experienced would be an understatement. In areas like New York City or Boston you might say he was connected but in the south he was just accepted as a business man who happened to know a lot of the right people. He had some association with the Dixie Mafia as recently as the 1980’s but like many things in the south, that wasn’t the sort of thing that was discussed by polite people.

As he shuffled the cards the Reverend looked at his elderly companion. “Alright Ron. Seems to me I’m down $100 to you. At least let a poor man of the cloth win some of it back”.

The frail elderly man laughed, intermixed with spasmodic coughing. The cold specter of death was not overly far away for Ron Little .

****

Werner gathered together his force of six contractors before they left on their raid. He wanted to pass along final instructions and make sure they were all clear of their mission.

“As you all know the target is this farmhouse here” he pointed at the map. “You’ve all been given your individual assignments. I just wanted to remind you to stay vigilant at all times. There’s been an increase in anti-contractor activity in the area. Don’t hesitate to defend yourselves and apprehend anybody who interferes with your activities. Got it?”

The battle gear clad men all nodded in unison.

“Ok. Be sure to gather whatever information you can from the house and any surrounding buildings. Nothing is too small or insignificant. I want the targets brought back to me alive so we can continue to gather information on these troublemakers”.

Werner had taken to referring to anybody who interfered with the contractors as troublemakers. He didn’t want to legitimize them with some catchy name.

“When you get outside, perform your final weapons inspections and go in hot. Your section lead has the operation from here”.

He watched them as they did a final review of their gear outside of City Hall and then load into a large pickup that sported a light machine gun mounted to the roof. Four of the men rode in the cab while one manned the machine gun from the bed of the truck and the other assisted him.

Hopefully this raid will lead to some helpful information he though as he went back to the days work.

[The Stig]

The section lead of the contractors gave directions to the driver from the passenger seat of the truck. They had GPS, which was very helpful, but he had one of the men in the back using a paper map as practice. You could never stay too fresh with the fundamental skills.

The sun shone brightly in the late morning sky as the truck navigated narrow, winding country roads on the way to the farm in the outer part of the county. Werner had gotten a tip from one of his many resources that some strange activities were taking place at the farm and this group of contractors was sent out to gather what intel they could.

The men fully expected a cakewalk. The owners of the farm were elderly and other than some immigrant farm workers there wouldn’t be too many people to subdue. They should be back to City Hall to enjoy a hot lunch.

The truck slowed as it approached a one-line bridge common in the area. “After this bridge, take your next left,” instructed the map reader in the back. “Once we turn left you’ll go abou…..”

The calm morning air was shattered as the truck rolled over an improvised explosive of some sort. The massive explosion launched the truck a full meter into the air before it slammed back to the ground in a ball of twisted metal and flames that instantly killed several of the team.

The two men in the open back were thrown clear of the truck and landed well clear of the wreckage. Stunned they laid in the grass for several minutes as they collected themselves.

The section leader was able to roll himself out of the truck, despite a gash in his leg and make it to the relative safety of the side of the road while several gunshots followed him unsuccessfully.

As he attempted to control his breathing, and he looked down at his bleeding leg the world suddenly started moving in slow motion. He’d been in tough situations before and he immediately began scanning for where the rifle shots were coming from. His sidearm had miraculously not been blown off him and he prepared for whatever might come his way.

The two contractors from the back of the truck didn’t fare so well. While the hulk of the mangled pickup continued to burn, they foolishly decided to begin moving towards the bridge. Within seconds two rifle shots rang out and they crumpled to the ground in successive heaps.

As the truck burned and the seconds turned to minutes the section leader gingerly began scooting further down the embankment that led down from the road. He figured discretion was the better part of valor after watching his last two men gunned down. Maybe if he could hide out he’d be able to make his way back later on or Werner would send men looking once they didn’t return.

A clump of trees and bushes were clustered along the bottom of the several foot high embankment. He was able to scoot backwards into the area and mostly cover himself from obvious view while he initial shock was wearing off and the throbbing in his leg intensified.

He thought he might just be able to pull this off when a voice came from behind him. “Sorry man, this isn’t your lucky day”. Before the section lead could turn around a shot rang out. The section lead would never make it back to Shelton.

The dirty man in shabby camouflage pants and a plain green jacket scurried up to the roadway and attempt to verify that all the occupants of the truck were dead. The intense flames prevented him from getting too close but also made it equally obvious there were no survivors.

He waved to a figure barely visible to the side of the road fifty yards past the bridge. Within seconds he zoomed to the scene of the shattered pickup on a small motorbike with a small rifle slung across his back.

The man in the shabby camouflage pants and jacket yelled over the loud engine, “That’s all of them, lets go” as he hopped on the back of the bike. The driver revved the engine and rapidly accelerated away from the burning truck and dead bodies. Within a half-mile they turned off the road and started making their way through nearly unseen trails that led overland.

When they had made it some distance away from the bridge the man in back leaned forward and said into the drivers ear “that was easier than last time”.

The driver, who looked strangely like Cuba Gooding Junior, smiled and picked up speed as he expertly dodged tree branches.


****

The buildings didn’t look like much. There were several, single story, cinderblock buildings with flat roofs tucked in amongst thick forest. The faded green paint helped hide them to the point that flying overhead you likely wouldn’t notice them and the paths that led to them on the ground were faint and weather worn.

A small creek meandered about one hundred yards away from the cluster of buildings. It was a convenient water supply and in spots was deep enough to bathe or pretend to swim. The buildings dated back to the 1920’s when the farmer who built them intended to use them in the course of his business. Then the great depression happened, the farmer went bust and the buildings were forgotten. As property lines were redrawn over the years the buildings became more and more lost to history.

As Sam Reynolds and his passenger steered their motorbike through the woods and across the stream, there looked like no signs of life in the buildings. Pulling up to one, the rider in the shabby field jacket pulled open a single door sliding door and pulled it shut just as quickly after Sam drove the bike inside.

Once inside they parked the bike next to several others and covered them with a tarp. It was obvious the area was make-shift garage by the bikes and one large jeep that was parked there.

Without a word the men passed through a dividing wall into more of an office like setting. The long, narrow building had been sub-divided into a series of offices and other rooms. Making their way into a large conference room they poured themselves some coffee from a small maker and plopped down in the shabby chairs.

“That didn’t go so bad Sam” offered up the man.

After nearly gagging on the burnt coffee Sam responded. “No Lowry, not so bad at all”.

“I hope you two love birds aren’t going to congratulate yourselves all day” came the admonition of Mike DeMetrie. The six foot, one hundred and ninety pound Mike DeMetrie still looked like a recruiting poster. Somehow after living off the land for six months he still found a way to shave and wear mostly clean clothes.

DeMetrie had been sent to the county six months ago to implement the martial law ordered by Senator Donovan. It had become apparent that his career in the National Guard was over after a run in with some contractors who had been harassing an innocent man. When it became clear that more than his retirement package was in jeopardy he made a decision to undertake a mission of a different sort.

“Report?” he inquired of his men. Despite being out of the military both men, who had served under him, respected and responded to DeMetrie as if he were still their commanding officer. In a lot of ways, he still was.

Sam looked at Lowry, who clearly liked to do the talking. “The explosive worked a lot better this time. Pretty much did all the work for us. We counted six men. All of them were neutralized.”

“You sure you weren’t observed?” challenged DeMetrie.

Sam spoke up this time. “Nope, we set up the ambush site a full hour before the contractors arrived. Not a single car came by before they did “

“Outstanding. It will be interesting to hear how this one shakes out” said DeMetrie. The men had been careful to not be too overt in their actions against contractors. It had taken many months to set up a base of operations and they had only started their missions to harass the contractors six weeks ago.

Their first missions were complete dry runs. Not a shot was fired and the contractors were not even aware of the men’s presence. They then elevated to acts of minor vandalism. Clearly a slashed tire would not cause them to pack up shop and leave but DeMetrie wanted to test their response and see how their men handed things.

They were careful to carry out their missions all over the county and several adjoining it to avoid signaling their location. Their first attempt at a major mission didn’t work out as well as today’s when the explosive device failed to detonate. In the heat of the moment, DeMetrie had chosen to fire a couple of pot shots at the contractors.

It was an inspired move really. Townspeople all over the county, and especially in Lumberton were hostile to the contractors. The leader of the contracting group walked a fine line of allowing some discontent to avoid fueling a full rebellion if he cracked down and making sure things didn’t get out of hand. A couple of pot shots at a truckload of contractors was just what one would expect from angry rednecks. The incident went largely unnoticed.

Today’s activities would not be mistaken for anything other than an outright attack on the contractors. DeMetrie was lucky that the contractor’s route took them to the northeastern part of the county, far away from their area. Still, they had worked out the details of how they would make the attack and even rehearsed them to ensure success. While he had only sent two men, it was important to him that they be safe and the attack send a clear message.

“Ok boys, get cleaned up and grab some chow. Relax the rest of the day but we all have work to do in the morning”.

Lowry made no attempt to disguise his displeasure. “I thought I was going to see the world, not take up residence on Green Acres”

[The Stig]

Reverend Barnes finished his rounds at the local nursing home down another twenty dollars to Ron Little. He parted company with his elderly friend and the other congregants he had visited and got into his small car. Because of the fuel rationing he used it only sparingly but he had to travel to the storage building the church held across town.

It had been donated and paid for in perpetuity by a prosperous member who had died. With a small loading dock and attached office it made for the perfect place to stage donations for the poor and facilitate pickups by other charitable organizations. Managing this facility was one of Barnes’s duties. Like many other churches across the country he had to perform the roles of spiritual leader, business manager, accountant, truck driver, janitor and repairman.

Once a week he had pickups scheduled by local charitable organizations to gather up the supplies his church had gathered. It was a convenient way for his church to make donations and other organizations to gather up supplies. Some days it was quiet and provided the reverend time to think, other days it was hectic with people arriving and leaving the entire afternoon.

It was shortly before 2:00pm when Barnes arrived at the small building and made his way into the office. Ever mindful to the power consumption used he refrained from turning on the lights, instead relying on the natural light. This meant that the office area was bathed in light while the back of the warehouse was dimly lit at best.

“Hello Reverend Barnes!” called out the middle-aged man who had pulled up in a station wagon.

The Reverend smiled and waved back. “Howdy do Cecil”.

“You ready for me to go shoppin?”

Tim always played along as if this was the funniest joke he had heard all day. It was likely a holdover from his days in sales but he had a way of making people feel very comfortable and as if he hung on their every word, no mater how banal the conversation might be.

After twenty minutes of transferring boxes into the station wagon and checking off materials from a master list Cecil made his departure. Despite being on the cool side, Barnes had worked up a good sweat and thirst to go with it.

Grabbing a soda out of a case kept in the back of the warehouse area he was startled when a voice called out.

“Why Reverend Barnes, I thought your body was a temple”.

Barnes spun around and smiled. It was hard to make out the man from the darkness of the warehouse and with the light at his back, but the six foot, two hundred pound frame and voice left little doubt to the man’s identity.

“Hello brother Miller”.

****

Miller reviewed the type written list of supplies Barnes had set aside for him. They included expected items like food, paper goods and blankets. Since the Reverend had control of the dispersion of the donated supplies it didn’t take much effort to funnel off some of the items to Miller.

“Looks good Tim. Thanks for the hand towels, those come in really handy” said Miller.

Barnes looked at his dark haired friend. “I’m guessing I don’t really want to know about all the uses for those”.

Miller just looked at Barnes overtop the clipboard with a smile and nod.

“These other supplies are perfect too. Those will come in very handy” stated Miller. Miller was now looking over a handwritten list of items Barnes had accumulated. “But what did I tell you about writing out lists? Great for organization, horrible for security”.

“Sorry John. Ministers habit” demurred Barnes.

“I know. But you aren’t a nun, and you don’t need the trouble. Next time, no lists”

Barnes and Miller had met shortly after John and his wife Christy had moved to the South. Barnes liked to shoot and had been part of an impromptu shooting party that resulted in a lot of friendly ribbing and Miller buying cases of beer as a goodwill offering after beating all the southern boys.

Barnes didn’t like the way Senator Donovan was handling the Southern Zone and was smart enough to know the Senator wasn’t taking over the reigns of power out of the goodness of his heart. He was equally smart enough to know that in his position of leader of the church he had the means to effect events behind the scenes. It wouldn’t be the first time in history a man of the cloth played a subversive role in local politics.

Many months ago there was a knock at the French-windows of his parsonage. It was late at night and he was startled to see John Miller on his porch. By early that morning they had worked out the details of how Miller would enact his plans and Barnes would help support him with clandestine supplies and money.

The off-site warehouse and charitable goods distribution was a perfect cover. That Miller wasn’t from the area meant he would blend in with the stream of people looking for handouts and Barnes could conduct the transactions away from his congregation.

“Three cases of 5.56x45 ammo?” asked John.

“Sorry John” replied the Reverend. “Was the best I could do without arousing suspicion. Had to go to six different shops too get some of it, and worked with…..well….some understanding friends in the church to collect the balance”.

As time elapsed after their initial meetings Barnes identified and carefully felt out several of the more influential members of his congregation. Once he was satisfied they’d be sympathetic, Barnes gingerly broached the subject of politics. He had found three men willing to help with his scheme. That one of them was an Elder, the other a Deacon didn’t hurt.

“No Tim. That’s amazing. That’s two more than I expected. We’re putting the finishing touches on the reloading station so this will help bridge the gap. We expect usage to increase so this is great”.

Barnes was smart enough to not ask what would drive the increased ammunition consumption.

“Oh, John, I think I have a bead on the shotgun ammo you requested. One of our understanding friends had a big stock of from his Uncles estate. Not sure how old it is but he should know something by next week” offered up Barnes.

Miller smiled at his friend. “Mild mannered minister my ass” he thought to himself.

“Alright Tim. Let’s load this up so I can get out of here. Never know who’s watching” said Miller. Miller didn’t actually think they were under surveillance but he felt the need to continually remind the politically enlightened minister to be alert and on-guard.

As they placed the last of the supplies in Miller’s vehicle Barnes felt compelled to ask, “John, are you and your men ok”.

With a casual smile, that belied the danger of the mission they were undertaking, Miller replied “Revered Barnes, I’m shocked. Have you lost sight of Psalm 23:4? Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for I kick ass and have lots of guns”.

Barnes watched as Miller drove off. He couldn’t lie to himself. It was very exciting to be a part of some underground organization. He wondered if Ron Little ever felt the same way. Then again, his underground organization had a bit more noble motives than Ron’s. He knew they were doing the right thing, no matter what the risks.

[The Stig]

Miller was going to return north via the back-roads on a circuitous route that would take him to what he and DeMetire simply called “the farm”. Driving was always a dangerous time for them as they hadn’t yet gotten fake drivers licenses made. One small accident, or a forgotten turn signal could result in a traffic stop and interaction with law enforcement. That was something they needed to avoid at all costs.

Barnes had a line on some forgeries for them that would allow for easier travel. Miller had the advantage of not being well known in Lumberton and a complete ghost in the coastal areas. As long as he didn’t get near Shelton where he had lived previously, the chances of being identified were low. DeMetrie and his men weren’t known by anybody in the county so they blended in easily.

He eased the pickup through the back streets of the city as he made his way towards the first lonely state highway that would take him back towards the farm.

Miller had liked Reverend Barnes from the first time they’d met. While Miller knew it was risky reaching out to him, at the time he was confident that at the very least the Reverend wouldn’t turn them in should he not want to participate in the scheme. And scheme it was. Barnes had the luxury of having control of the flow of goods and monies from the donations that he could siphon off to support Miller and DeMetrie. They had the makings of a first rate subversive organization.

But Miller realized the Barnes was putting himself out on a limb too. It would only take one slip up or one curious congregation minister to land Barnes in a camp and Miller and DeMetrie in much hotter water. That’s why Miller was working hard with Barnes to keep security measures in mind.

Miller turned the wheel of the pickup as he made the turn onto the state highway. He’d be back to the farm in a couple of hours.

That’s when the police lights and sirens went off. The flashing lights in the rearview mirror startled him. Smoothly and calmly he pulled over to the side of the road, left his hands on the steering wheel and awaited the arrival of the officer.

“Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?” asked the young officer as he leaned in the window.

“No sir, can’t say that I do” answered Miller in a calm, easy going tone.

The officer, still relatively new, was a bit thrown by the calm demeanor. “You failed to signal your turn back there,” he said as he pointed back towards the last stop sign. “Can I see your license and registration please?”

“Officer, I’d be glad to show you the registration. The truck belongs to my boss. But I don’t have a license right now. I lost it in a house fire a couple weeks ago that killed my wife and…well…. to be honest sir, I just haven’t gotten around to replacing it. My boss sent me down here to pick up a few things for work”. Miller looked the young officer right in the eyes as he calmly lied.

Again the young officer was thrown a bit although he tried to cover it. “Well sir, can I have your name and your employer’s phone number? I’ll try calling them and if they can verify your story we’ll go from there”.

“Thank you officer” Miller feigned appreciation for the favor the officer was doing. The officer strutted back to his patrol car not realizing he was doing exactly what Miller had hoped for.

Within a few minutes the officer came back with the business card Miller had given him. “Here you are sir. Your employer vouched for you. I know things are a little rough but please get your license replaced right away. Have a nice day sir”.

Again Miller played the role of the appreciative motorist that was given a break, “thank you again sir. I’ll do that right away”.

As Miller carefully merged back into traffic he made the mental note to get those fake drivers licensees done right away. He wouldn’t get lucky like that again.

****

It was late that afternoon when Werner realized something was wrong with the group of men he had sent out earlier that morning. He had been dealing with some staffing issues and then was stuck on a conference call with Senator Donovan's staff for several hours. After grabbing a quick lunch and another series of phone calls he didn't realize it had gotten as late as it did.

It was only when one of his men excitedly came in to tell him they couldn't contact them by radio that Werner sprung into action. Within minutes he and several heavily armed contractors were heading down the route the other unit had followed earlier that day. Within an half an hour they were surveying the scene of the ambush.

One of his men said "Damn" loudly when he found the body of the section leader off to the side of the road. Otherwise they inspected the scene in silence. After a few minutes Werner sprung into action.

"Ok, stop standing around. Find the point of origin of the explosion. See what you can find" he directed. Pointing at two of the men, "you two police the area. Look for signs of a hide, spent brass, anything. I'll get another team in here to help with the search and take care of the mens bodies". He looked at his men with a sense of loss. Despite being less than savory man, with questionable loyalties, he did honestly like his men. The few he had lost had worn heavily on him.

After the other men arrived and a full search of the area was undertaken the picture of what took place emerged. A blast to disable the truck, rifle fire from across the bridge and another man stationed off to the side of the road. It didn't take a military genius or student of mystery novels to reach the conclusion of what took place earlier in the day. It was am ambush with the express purpose of killing the contractors.

Werner turned to one of his men, "Derrick, call back to command. Gather all the section leads for a meeting at 0700". Werner had a problem and he knew it. This wasn't the work of drunken rednecks, or a slashed tire. This was a purposeful assault on the contractors. He wanted to solicit opinions from his squad leaders but he already began formulating a response in his mind.

****

DeMetrie and Miller sat around the table as they finished their small, but hardy dinner. Food was the least of their worries.

"So it went off without a hitch?" asked Miller.

DeMetrie dabbed some spilled potatoes off his shirt while responding, "Lowry and Reynolds both said no problems. A couple more contractors than they expected but all were dealt with cleanly."

"Excellent. I got the supplies we needed from the coast. I'll tinker around with the reloading station tonight and it should be up and running in the morning. Then we can all take turns. We ought to be able to crank out ten or twenty thousand rounds in no time"

DeMetrie didn't look forward to the mind numbing boredom of making ammunition but in their circumstance it was clearly needed. Fortunately, the boss of the place where they worked during the day had a huge stash of the components needed to make ammunition thanks to her absent husband. He was a reloading hobbyist and the components were going to waste while he had been out of the picture.

Changing the subject DeMetrie asked, "After today they'll know something up. What's next?". DeMetrie and Miller naturally fell into a leadership frame work in their few months of life on the run. DeMetrie managed all of details of running operations, tactics for specific missions, running the farm and other day to day details. Miller took the lead on big-picture planning, setting up supplies and contacts and gathering intelligence. They had a genuine affection and respect for each other.

They had talked about a couple of different plans for the next attack but Miller hadn't made a decision yet on which direction they'd take. "Well Captain" he said still referring to DeMetrie's former rank "I think we might be wise to lay low for a couple of days, work during the day like normal and gear up to something a bit more flashy next time".

DeMetrie smiled. He knew that flashy meant something different to John Miller than it did to most men.

[The Stig]

Werner awoke early the next morning at 0500. He did his normal morning workout and ate a light breakfast before diving into the mornings dispatches. Soon it was time for the meeting with his section heads.

“Ok gentleman, by now you’ve gotten the details of my report on our incident yesterday” he started off. Werner had a bit of showmen in him so he had all of his men in a conference room and he walked around the room as he spoke.

“Thus far in our tenure here in Mayberry” referring to the 1960’s television show Andy Griffith “we’ve had it pretty easy. Some yelling rednecks. Some eggs thrown at the trucks. A couple of slashed tires. All chickenshit stuff really”. The men were forced to crane their necks and follow him as he moved around the room. It was a technique that forced their attention onto him.

“Yesterday, that all changed” he stopped and spun on one heal to face the men to emphasize his point. “The attack on our men wasn’t the act of some drunken kids or crazed rednecks. That was a coordinated effort by men that knew what they were doing”. He let the last point hang in the air.

He continued on after a few seconds. “One of the issues Senator Donovan is concerned about is some sort of rebellion against his effort to provide a safe and secure Southern Zone to protect against the mess up North from spilling over down here. There haven’t been any signs of an active resistance as such until now.”

The section leaders all listened intently to Werner. These were experienced men, not prone to being star struck. Further, Werner was a serious man. He wouldn’t say a resistance was springing up lightly. They all listened on as his speech and room pacing continued.

“This mission is unlike any other we’ve attempted men. We’ve discussed various aspects of dealing with troublemakers before but haven’t thus far put together a comprehensive plan. I’d like you men to put together your thoughts as a group for my review. We’ll reconvene at lunchtime to discuss and I can give you my thoughts.”

He sharply turned and walked out of the room to leave the men to their work. It was a performance that would have fit well in a Hollywood movie. He laid it on a bit thick as he wanted his men to realize the seriousness of the situation. If a rebellion started brewing up it would cost them time and money. Worse, if they failed to quash it, there might be a higher price to pay at the hands of Senator Donovan.

Werner returned to his desk satisfied with his performance. In addition to making a point to his men, he wanted to solicit their input for ideas he may have overlooked. He was an effective leader and listening to his men encouraged good ideas and loyalty.

As for himself, he needed no outside input to craft a plan. He planned on hunting down the perpetrators of the attack and eradicating them.

He buzzed the intercom, “Julie, could you please make sure the men in the main conference room have plenty of paper and pens? Go ahead and order lunch too”.

The cute clerk who had worked at city hall for years replied with a prompt “yes sir” and got to work.

****

For several days after the attack not much changed in the county. Associates, as the locals called contractors, came and went as before. There were some more random identification checks, some more visibility as the associates made their presence known and on occasion associates would pull over folks and search their cars.

While these minor changes to day-to-day life were being implemented, Werner’s real plans were being polished and getting readied for prime time. He planned major sweeps of employers in the area with full identification checks of all the workers. There would be random door-to-door searches, which had the full force of law thanks to Senator Donovan. Sheriffs deputies would still be involved in the searches, but they worked for Werner now and everybody knew who the real power was.

The real plans however, were what was going on behind the scenes. Werner had brought in radio detection equipment to sweep the airwaves for unauthorized signals. He’d also made it known to the fledgling organization of secret informers in several counties that there was a large cash reward for information leading to the apprehension of those involved in the attack or any other anti-contractor activities. He was confident that his network of snitches would turn up useful information sooner or later.

Perhaps most ominous was the squad of men Werner tapped specifically to hunt down suspected anti-contractor forces. They had all worked for Werner for years and were his best and brightest. Whenever he had a particularly difficult mission, they got the first call. Their sole duty in the coming weeks would be to sniff out and snuff any spark of a rebellion.

The man in charge of this unit was simply called “Caddy” due to his affinity for the American luxury car. He was a short block of a man with a bull chest and massive arms. Sporting a crew cut and usually chomping on a stub of a cigar he seemed to be a throwback to a different time. One might have imagined him at Paris Island in 1945 or the French Foreign Legion.

Caddy was not a bad or evil man. He was a very effective leader of men who had seen combat in many places and many circumstances. What Caddy was, and what would make him such a problem for any anti-contractor units, was his a tenacious and relentless adversary that simply never stopped. He was the preverbal bull that destroyed the five other businesses on the block in his efforts to ransack the china shop.

Werner and Caddy reviewed plans and maps of the area for several hours. They worked well together and had a grudging respect for each others skill.

“Listen Caddy” instructed Werner. “We do have to be careful here. I want to hunt down and exterminate whoever did this, but if we go too overboard and too heavy-handed it may push more people into causing trouble. You go in like jackbooted overlords and the underlying resentment will cause people to push back”

“I hear you skip” replied Caddy. “I think we can handle this.”

“Did all of your gear arrive?”

Caddy was never at a loss regarding the status of gear and the supplies needed to make his men happy and effective. “Last of it showed up last night. I plan on doing some dry runs over the next few days. Give me till after the weekend and we can go live. I want to get a feel for the people and the lay of the land”

“That’s fine. Unless there’s another attack we don’t have to rush this. That will give us time to hear back from our intelligence resources”.

A grunt was all Caddy could muster. He didn’t have much use for snitches and spies. He preferred to rely on his own eyes, ears and gut.

“Ok then, lets drive back out to the ambush site. I want walk it again” said Werner.

****

The weekend came and went with little to no changes visible in Shelton or Lumberton. Contractors went about their jobs, albeit at a slightly higher tempo. Townsfolk went about their lives as best they could given the circumstances.

DeMetrie and the entire crew reported to their farm jobs as they would any other Monday morning. To both blend in and generate income they took day jobs under the guise of a group of guys looking for work in a bad economy. There were plenty of itinerant farm workers before the war started so for a group of men to show up hat in hand now didn’t stand out of the ordinary.

None of the men were particularly fond of the work. There was a reason they had gone into the military. Lowry, especially, hated the mundane tasks that needed to be completed day in and day out to keep a farm running.

“Damn!” he swore as he crushed his thumb while trying to hammer in fence nails. “Captain, this is killing me!” he exclaimed.

DeMetrie shot him down with a glare. Quietly he said “don’t call me that where people can hear ever again. I’m not fond of this either, but it’s an assignment like any other. You have to put in the time here to accomplish our real mission”.

Lowry took the rebuke in stride. “Operation Green-Jeans is in full effect gentleman”.

DeMetrie hid his smile from Lowry.

[The Stig]

The sun was just rising to its apex as the SUV full of Aperture Consulting employees pulled into ClarMar Farms. The dust cloud kicked up by the large truck slowly rolled in behind it as four large associates got out and began adjusting their shirts to ensure they were crisp and straight. It would have been comical had it not been equally menacing.

The two men in the backseats both carried automatic rifles while the front passenger seat occupant was clearly the one in charge. He took in the layout of the farm and immediately strode towards the farm house.

The driveway into ClarMar farms was nearly a mile long before it got to the main compound of buildings. The drive way ended in a circular cul-de-sac of sorts with a couple of small sheds in the center of the turn around. Around the parameter of the cul-de-sac were the main farmhouse, a 10,000 square foot pole barn that served as the farm offices and a host of various buildings. Small pens of animals were attached to nearly every building. To the North side of the compound laid the pasture fields full of grazing cows, while to the south were seemingly endless arrays of greenhouses. The operators of ClarMar farms clearly had their hands into many different business ventures.

As the lead associate strode the stairs to the farm house he was quickly addressed by an elderly man in a padded chair on the porch.

“What are you looking for sonny” enquired the older man in a less than friendly tone.

The associate was polite and oddly respectful. “I’d like to speak with the farm owner or manager sir.”

The only man merely grunted and pointed towards the pole barn.

The associate replied with “thank you sir” as he crisply descended the stairs and made his way towards the pole barn. His driver fell in behind him while the other two men, with their rifles at the low ready stood near the truck, ever watchful.

Before he could cover the distance, a shorter raven-haired woman exited the building and made a beeline for him. Her eyes were an exquisite shade of blue and her dark hair only served to make her eyes stand out more. Her high cheekbones and slightly pudgy cheeks only increased her attractiveness. The figure, honed by years of hard farm work, was muscular yet sensual. In short, she was a beautiful woman.

As she approach the associate with hand jutted forward there was no mistake that this woman meant business.

“Clarissa Donner” said the woman as she stared unflinchingly into the eyes of the associate. “Is there something we can do for you” she said as they shook hands.

“Yes mamn, I’m Rick with Aperture Consulting. We’ve been employed as security consultants in the area”.

Clarissa replied politely “yes, I’m aware”.

“In that role, we’ve begun approaching the largest employers in the area with a request to review all of your employees identification documents and have a brief interview with each of them” stated the associate. “We want to make sure everybody is accounted for and nobody with ill intentions, or a deserter from the Army is lurking in our midst”.

“Rick, I’d be more than happy to assist you” replied Clarissa. “Only problem is most of my employees are out in the fields, we’re expecting a big delivery of supplies any minute and I’m going to be on a conference call with the Southern Agricultural Marketing Alliance early this afternoon”.

“Mamm, I understand” replied Rick.

Before he could continue further she pressed on. “This is going to take some time to organize so we don’t disrupt the operations of the farm. Can we schedule a time later in the week so that you can do your jobs quickly and I won’t lose a day’s work from my folks. I’ll set up tables for your men over in the shade and make sure you have power” she said with a board smile. Despite the warm smile it was clear that Rick would be returning later in the week.

“Ma’mm, that is a great idea. Thursday morning we’ll be back. I appreciate your assistance”. They again shook hands and he smartly turned and returned to the truck.

Clarissa stood and waved politely as the men loaded up in the SUV and drove off. The dust trail again kicked into the air and followed the vehicle back up the driveway.

As she climbed the stairs to the farmhouse her father couldn’t resist himself.

“Who the hell was that?”

“Some associates. They want to review the ID’s of all the employees” she said. The implications and ramifications were clear.

“And what the hell is the Southern Agricultural Marketing Alliance? I never heard of them,” Greg declared.

“Best I could come up with on the spur of the moment Dad”.

As she walked back down the stairs she knew the meeting later in the week would likely generate more problems than she cared for. She glanced over at one of her employees working on the recalcitrant ATV that wouldn’t start and beamed one of her radiant smiles.

****

“What the hell was that Rick?” asked one of the men in the back seat. “I thought we were tearing the place apart today?”

Rick turned and delivered his best icy stare. “Judgment call, and last I checked you weren’t the one being paid to make a judgment”.

The driver, in an effort to break the mood offered up “Did you guys see the black dude working on the ATV? I swear he looks just like Cuba Gooding Junior”

The men mostly ignored the remark as they drove on to next business on their list.

****

After a long day of going to businesses and giving the same spiel Rick was exhausted. He wanted a hot shower and some grub before relaxing in the temporary barracks in the high school. He knew that wasn’t to be the minute Caddy walked into the ready room.

“How’d it go Rick?” demanded Caddy.

“We ticked most of the businesses off the list. Most of the smaller ones really. Nothing was out of place” he replied hoping that the conversation would end, but knowing it wouldn’t.

“And the larger ones?”

He took a breath because he figured Caddy wouldn’t like the answer he was about to give. “Well Caddy, most of the larger ones asked that we come back in a couple of days. They wanted time to get all their employees rounded up so they could be run through in an assembly line process. I’ve already scheduled the times with them. Can’t say as though I’d blame them given we are shutting them down while we’re there”. He knew he made a mistake the second he said it.

Rick was right and Caddy was not pleased. But he was also savvy enough to know that making a scene and forcing their way into places would only serve to ultimately make their task harder.

“This might play into our hands. Give me a list of the businesses that asked you to come back. We’ll start checking them out beforehand so we have more information to work with. I’ll tag along and if information doesn’t add up or we start getting bad ju-ju off the owners we’ll deal with it” came the response that shocked Rick.

“Let me type it up for you because I’ve destroyed this list with my chicken scratch notes. I’ll have it for you right away” said the relieved Rick.

Caddy started heading to the door of the ready room. Rick began to think he’d make it to the showers unscathed. “Sounds great” replied Caddy as he left.

As Caddy disappeared around the corner Rick breathed a sigh of relief. He began picking his things up so he could make his way back to his bunk to get his laptop so he could get Caddy the requested information. No sense in pressing his luck by sticking around.

“Oh and Rick” came Caddy’s voice as he popped his head around the corner. “Write me up a full report on the day, and put together some operational plans and suggestions for when we go back to each business later this week”.

Rick knew it was too good to be true.


****
“I don’t like it at all,” replied an irritated Werner as he tossed Rick’s list of businesses on the desk. “The idea was the element of surprise. Now these people will have time to hide troublemakers and get all their information in order. Hell, we can’t even get a read on their behavior since they’ll have nearly a week to rehearse” he thundered.

“I agree Werner. However, you said not to go in like jackbooted thugs” replied Caddy. Caddy was never moved by Werner’s occasional outbursts.

“What the hell was Rick thinking?” he pressed on.

“I’ll deal with him. In the meantime, I’m going to make some house calls to these businesses that asked us to come back later. Call it recon. Why don’t you work the phones with this network of snitches of yours and see what it can dredge up on these companies” Caddy had no use for spies and snitches but recognized that once in a while they could be useful. “Who knows, they might turn up some intel we can use against them”.

Werner, who had already started to calm down agreed. “You’re right. Make it happen. I’m sending some men out to the eastern part of the county tomorrow to make some calls. You want to tag along with them?”

“We’ll see” said Caddy. “I’ve got a special morning drill planned for the response team”.

“Play it by ear. Let me know by 0800”

Werner poured himself a glass of Jack Daniels whisky sank into the couch that had become his nightly resting spot. The noise of the office work outside his room had died away and City Hall had become quiet. He liked this time of the evening so he could think clearly and prepare for the following day.

His instincts told him that something was brewing. And if there were some fledgling resistance group getting organized he needed to crush it sooner rather than later.

[The Stig]

Evening had set in across the northern United States. The moonlight illuminated the countryside but the cold evening air prevented any romantic strolls in the woods. Instead what was strolling through the woods was a detachment of Abrams tanks and Bradley fighting vehicles.

One of Crutchfield’s younger commanders and put together a plan that was bold enough that it captured the rebellious ex-president’s imagination. Within several weeks they had worked out the details and had troops moved into position. It was a near record time, and likely too short for a proper campaign, but Crutchfield sensed an opportunity.

His young commander would lead essentially a division of armored and mechanized troops on a pseudo-blitzkrieg attack that would thrust towards Franklin, Pennsylvania from the Jamestown, New York area. If they were able to capture the city it would lay bare the roads to Pittsburgh and Cleveland, Ohio. President Alan would again have to split troops, and reduce his overall strength. Further troops had been marshaled in the area to exploit the advantage should the attack be successful.

The plan was not without risk, however. If the President suddenly grew a backbone and counter attacked from both the Cleveland and Pittsburgh areas at once, he could decimate the attack and Crutchfield would lose critical numbers of troops.

Crutchfield was relying on surprise, however. Thus far most of the fighting had been around the eastern end of Pennsylvania so little attention was paid to the western end of the state. President Alan, and his staff were far too worried about strengthening the “containment zone” and the Washington DC area and didn’t move to attack the exposed end of New York State. The military commanders had begged to make the attack but the political advisors overruled them. It wouldn’t be the last time in history that politicians interfered with military men doing their jobs.

The other mistake President Alan’s staff made was focusing too much on the importance of Washington DC. They invested most of their airpower there. While capturing the capital would have been a huge political victory, Crutchfield was more interested on capturing real estate in the Midwest. Doing so would add resources to his war machine and he could recruit new troops from the area. It would also signal to foreign concerns that his movement was legitimate. Big, conventional battles in the east risked big defeats and a loss of trust by his backers.

As the enterprising young commander steered the lead elements of the attack into position they quickly realized they were going to cover vast tracts of land with little to no resistance. There were several firefights and a couple of tanks destroyed but mostly they advanced unmolested.

By dawn his troops had all but encircled the city of Franklin. The few troops available put up a valiant and intense fight to slow the attack. M-47 Dragon and TOW missiles took their tool on Crutchfield’s armor but they had numbers on their side. Several aircraft were able to join the fray in time to aid the defenders, further sapping the strength of the armored units.

Crutchfield and his military council were wily enough to avoid getting sucked into protracted sieges or slugfests. By early morning the smoldering wreckage of US Army Humvees and mangled bodies of her troops indicated that Crutchfield’s forces had prevailed at Franklin.

His gambit had paid off and they had both momentum and surprise to aid their advance. Following his military commanders advice he had the armored thrust pivot westward and begin moving towards the Cleveland, Ohio area. Reinforcements poured into the new territories and raced to link up with the advance elements.

They had no intention of trying to capture Cleveland through force but he wanted to threaten the city and avoid opening a salient if he continued on towards Pittsburgh. Also, capturing further ports in Erie, Pennsylvania and the North Eastern corner of Ohio would give him more options for Great Lakes freight and troop transports.

The Presidents hand had been forced. He had to act or the door to the heart of one of his containment zones would be wide open.

****

Before the defenders of Franklin had fought their valiant, if futile, battle against Crutchfield’s forces, Miller and DeMetrie discussed the news they heard regarding the contractors plans.

“Either way you slice it, it isn’t good for us John” said DeMetrie. “Until we get better fake licenses we’re never going to withstand a through investigation. If we bug out now we loose all the resources we’ve accumulated over the past six months”.

“We’re not going anywhere. The inspections go live in four days?” inquired Miller. DeMetrie nodded in the affirmative.

“Another four day window of time before all hell breaks loose?” Miller thought to himself. The last time he was given a four-day window of time he had been on the run awaiting a plane ride out of the area.

Miller thought for a while downing the dinner of pork chops and black-eyed peas before saying, “don’t worry about the id’s. I’ve got something worked out for that. Let’s focus on our next party with the contractors”.

DeMetrie agreed. They kicked around ideas for the better part of an hour but nothing seemed to fit. They finally agreed that they would continue smaller, more harassing attacks. There would be a time for a big event but it was too soon in their timetable for that.

“But keep the attacks flashy” instructed Miller. “Show people that the contractors are not invincible”.

Once they agreed on a continued plan of harassment everything else fell into place. A source of information had delivered once again and they’d have their chance to make Miller’s statement soon enough.

As they broke up for the night DeMetrie commented, “yea, that ought to be considered flashy by most folks”.

[The Stig]

Rick was exhausted. He had been up most of the night preparing his reports and putting together operational plans for the inspections later in the week. Thanks to Caddy’s homework assignment he ultimately he ended up getting a couple hours of sleep before it was time to start his day.

He and his men were heading out to the eastern part of the county to begin the identification sweeps in the more outlying areas. There were smaller numbers of businesses so it would entail a lot of driving in addition to giving out the same spiel and performing the mundane checks.

It was actually a new assignment for him handed down at the last minute by Caddy. A different team was originally supposed to perform them. Rick suspected that the last minute change was one more piece of Caddy’s punishment for screwing up the ID checks the previous day.

After a rigorous workout he felt better and ready to take on the day. He took a light breakfast and sat down with his team to review their plans for the day. Fortunately, the previous team leader had worked those out in advance. By mid morning they were on their way to their first stop.

Surprisingly, his men were in a jovial mood. While he was an excellent soldier he was proving to be a poor leader of men. Many days the tension in the air was palatable. Werner was close to removing him so Rick knew he was on the bubble, but today was different. They seemed to be enjoying each other’s company and working as a team.

“Maybe they were starting to jell as a team after all”, he thought.

As the day wore on the men became tired of the dull assignment but the pushed through and by late in the afternoon they had completed the entire list of businesses. Rick was pleased and thought it might help to get him out of Werner’s doghouse.

Soon they were pulling back into the outskirts of Shelton. A couple houses sat back from the road and a lone small business stood tucked up to one side of the road. The driver, who actually liked Rick, prepared to turn the big SUV at a t-intersection. Before pulling out he stopped to check for cross traffic. “Hey guys, did you hear the….”

He never got to finish the sentence. Multiple rifle rounds crashed through the laminated safety glass. Bullets do strange things as they penetrate automobile glass. Sometimes the rounds glance off as if it were armored plate; sometimes the rounds penetrate the glass but careen off course, often at very odd angles. Occasionally the rounds will continue on to their intended target.

In this case, the driver was unlucky that the shooter understood the effects of automobile glass on ballistics and fired off many shots to ensure some would disable the driver.

On cue the remaining three men bailed out of the vehicle. Rick smartly posted his door by using his foot to push the heavy door open and then brace it to prevent it from bouncing back in his face. He tried to scan the horizon as he fell to the ground and prepared to find cover towards the rear of the vehicle.

He scrabbled backwards as more shots impacted the now driverless vehicle. Miraculously, Rick had yanked up the emergency break lever before bailing out. Soon it didn’t matter, however, as round after round slowly began to tear apart the engine compartment.

As all three men cowered behind the stricken SUV Rick’s mind began to race. They had to come up with a plan soon or else they’d eventually be eaten alive. Whoever was shooting was using a suppressed rifle so they didn’t have any indications where the rounds were coming from other than from generally in front of the SUV.

It quickly became obvious that their only cover better than their current position was the small ditch just to their right. Rick instructed the other men to make a break for it while he provided some sort of cover. He wasn’t even really sure where to shoot but his concern for launching bullets at random evaporated when the rear window of the SUV exploded and showered him with glass.

“Go now!” he yelled as his two men dashed for the ditch. He fired off some wild shots from his pistol and hoped it would be enough to keep the snipers head down for a while. His men had disappeared so he counted to three and then made the same five-yard dash to the relative safety of the ditch.

As he tumbled over the side it was obvious the ditch was deeper than it appeared. He quickly looked around only to see his two men lying motionless on the ground. Adrenaline combined with confusion overtook him before he felt a sudden jab in the back of his upper thigh and a burning sensation begin to creep over him.

His entire world went black.

****

Werner got the call within an hour of the attack. Some passersby on a jog saw the disabled truck and called the emergency 911 number.

Within minutes he and Caddy, along with a contingent of their men arrived on scene. Werner had barely gotten out of his truck when one of his men flagged them over to the small ice cream stand on the side of the road.

“Found them right here Mr Werner” said the associate.

Werner was stunned. Caddy, on the other hand, tried to suppress laughter. The three men were all stripped to their boxer shorts and trussed up like Thanksgiving turkeys. Someone had scrawled a letter on each mans chest in heavy black paint. All together they spelled LOL.

Some of the men began to untie the two men that were out cold. Rick was just starting to come out of his animal tranquilizer induced slumber. Nobody lifted a finger to assist him.

“Rick, what the hell happened? Your driver is dead and you…well…you’re a mess” declared the exasperated Werner. "And what the hell is LOL?"

One of the men offered up "its internet slang sir. It means Laugh Out Loud".

Caddy continued to laugh in the background.

****


Even the normally reserved DeMetrie couldn’t contain his laughter as Lowry described the inspired comic touch after they trussed up the unconscious contractors.

“Hey man, I saw the big paint marker and it just happened. Sometimes comedy gold just happens,” he said chuckling at his own comic brilliance.

Sam couldn’t help it either. “Tell you what Cap, I’ve never laughed so hard on a mission before. One minute you’re punching holes in a truck, the next this clown is giggling and writing letters on their chest”.

Still cackling at himself, “hey, it’s a gift. Besides, the dude with the teddy bear boxers deserved it”.

“Ok boys” interjected DeMetrie. “Fun time is over, stow your gear and then we need to talk about the next one. These guys aren’t going to take Mr. Funny Guys stuff sitting down”.

Sam and Lowry were still reliving the ambush as they took their gear down to one of the storage rooms. They didn’t want AR15 rifles, ammunition and chest rigs lying all over the place in the event an unintended visitor showed up. Between plastic storage totes that were buried under food stores and hollowed out areas of the floor, the gear disappeared. The hideouts wouldn’t survive a complete search, but to a casual glance the buildings appeared to be living quarters.

“Where’s Miller” asked Lowry as they returned to the eating area.

DeMetrie answered without looking up, “He had to go make a call”. Lowry and Reynolds both knew enough to not ask. Miller kept his business to himself to protect the rest of the team. It also served to protect the rest of his contacts in the event DeMetrie, Lowry or Reynolds got nabbed.

“Now, lets talk about the next event in our little traveling tradeshow of fun” instructed DeMetrie. As they ate the rest of their dinner they kicked around the plans for their next raid on the contractors in the dim light of their eating area.

[The Stig]

It was the next morning when Miller made his way to the small building near the coast. His trip had taken him several hours as he carefully made his way from Lumberton down to the coast area. He wanted to avoid another interaction with law enforcement so his route took him on the less traveled path.

He was cursing himself for not having the fake ID’s done sooner and now his team was in a pinch because of it. Miller was the sort of man who’d ignore all the good things and focus on the one bad that caused pain for his friends.

“Well hello brother Miller” called out Barnes as Miller quietly slipped into the warehouse portion of the building.

“Good morning Reverend Barnes” Miller responded. Miller could tell by the way Barnes had called out his name that someone else must be present. He played along and followed Barnes’s lead.

As Barnes leaned forward to shake Miller’s hand it was clear that his gut feeling was correct. “Brother Miller, have you met Cecil Davenport of the Gulf Coast Charitable Brethren Association,” said Barnes as he swept his hand off to his side to introduce the slender middle-aged man.

“Pleasure to meet you” said Miller as he extended his hand.

“Likewise” responded Cecil as he looked Miller over head to toe. “And I thought I knew all the other members of the charitable organizations in the Gulf Coast. Who are you with?”

Miller calmly replied, looking Cecil dead in the eyes and hoping Barnes hadn’t already crafted a different story. “Well sir, I am with the Central Alabama Church of Christ Congress out of Montgomery”. Miller avoided all the tell tale signs of a lie like averting your eyes or hesitating before you answer.

Barnes quickly stepped in to cut Cecil off. “Brother Cecil is part of the largest charitable organization on the coast” Barnes hoped the flattery would cut off further interrogation. “You’d be amazed at all the good works they do”.

“GCCBA does many outreach activities Mr. Miller”. Barnes had been wise to play to Cecil’s ego as the older man proceeded to bore Miller and Barnes to tears with a ten-minute recitation of his organizations good works.

“Well” Cecil finally offered up. “I best be going. Nice to meet you Mr. Miller”.

“Drive safely and see you next week” said Barnes.

Miller saw how he missed the car on his way into the building; Cecil had parked several blocks down in front of some other businesses. As the older man got in his station-wagon and slowly drove off Miller turned to Barnes, “That’s the second time he’s been here when I was. I dodged him the first time and this time he just happened to park way down the street?”

“I’ve known Cecil for years John. I can’t imagine its anything other than a coincidence” demurred the clearly embarrassed reverend. He had been working on his spy-craft but it was obvious he was still an amateur.

“There’s no such thing. You haven’t told anybody about our meetings?” probed Miller.

“No John. The two members who are helping us know of you, but not your name, description or that we meet here” replied Barnes as he motioned Miller to sit down.

“Don’t discuss it on the telephone?” pressed Miller.

”John, I’m telling you, the only person who even knows I’m here is the church secretary” fired back Barnes, getting a little defensive.

Miller frowned but knew he was pressing his friend too hard. Barnes was exposing himself to a great deal of danger to help Miller and he didn’t want to rattle him. “Lets not worry about that now” he said. “Whether its coincidence or not, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t want to get you guys caught…..” Barnes trailed off a bit dejected.

Miller smiled, “don’t worry Tim. We’ll get that part figured out. Now, you said you had a solution for the fake id’s?” he asked, changing the subject.

Barnes smiled back, “it would seem one of our Deacons has been ministering to some gentleman who were recently guests of the state. Turns out they know a good deal about underhanded things”.

“Your man took a hell of a risk going to a convict for this” declared Miller.

Barnes took the comment in stride. “In a past life this Deacon wasn’t as pure as the wind driven snow himself. Our friend, the rehabilitated criminal, thinks he’s participating in some sort of casino scam”.

“Sounds great” Miller said as he stood up. “What do we need to do?”

“You’ve got the digital pictures?” Barnes asked as Miller nodded in the affirmative as he felt the thumb-drive in his pocket to make sure he hadn’t forgotten them.

“Then lets go get some lunch. I know a great place right on the beach, with the best oyster sandwich you’ll ever have. After that you can come back here and help me reorganize some things for an hour or two. By the time you leave you’ll have a whole new start on life” said Barnes, proud of the system he had devised for the handoff of information.

“Actually” replied Miller. “I am hungry now that you mention it Reverend Barnes”.

The two men locked up the building and began walking down the street. It was only a few blocks and would conserve fuel in the car. While being in public was a risk, Miller did the mental calculation that risk was outweighed by the ability to discuss information without fear of overhearing ears. He was no longer certain Barnes’s car wouldn’t have listening ears in it.

Despite having casually swept the street as he exited the building, neither Miller nor Barnes noticed the middle aged man several blocks down the street. He was changing a tire on a station wagon and both the car and man were partially obscured from view.

Cecil made a note to report in about the strange man claming to be from Montgomery as he finished changing his tire.

[The Stig]

The building, right on the beach, was still new and not coated in an inch of grease like older seafood places tended to be. A cute waitress took them to their table and they settled in. Miller had just begun scanning the menu when Barnes suddenly excused himself and went to the washroom.

When he returned he give Miller a smile and a wink. “Just that easy. We’ll know something in a few hours”. Within a few minutes a man walked out of the mens room and left. Clearly the thumb-drive had just been transferred. Had anybody else been watching it would have likely been equally obvious to them what had transpired.

As they sat waiting for their oyster sandwiches to arrive, Miller was worried. He didn’t want to push Barnes too far or too fast, a classic mistake of spymasters. Having an inexperienced operative is already risky; asking them to go beyond their comfort zone is quite another. Many a spy have been caught by asking one too many questions or attempting to purloin one too many documents. On the other hand, Barnes was starting to tread in dangerous waters. He had already slipped up by using Miller’s last name in front of Cecil back at the warehouse.

As Barnes was describing the effects a hurricane five years had on the area five years previously, Miller was feigning interest and doing mental calculus. He was in a precarious position as he realized that backing off from Barnes might result in hurt feelings and resentment. It’s a short hop from there to turning Miller in. But if he didn’t rein in Barnes, there was a really good chance he’d go too far and get them all shipped off to a camp.

“About three to five blocks in from the beach were totally wiped out” declared Barnes as he waved his hand to emphasize his point. “Sad stuff. Hundred year old homes completed demolished. Pecan trees shredded. Just awful”.

The restaurant was good for a meeting like this. It was crowed enough that they didn’t stick out and noisy enough to prevent people from paying too much attention to their conversation. Miller had steered them to a back corner booth, which provided him a view of the entire dining area.

As the waitress delivered the food and pertly turned to tend to other tables Barnes continued on his monologue. “You see, people got plenty of warning but there’s only so much you can do to fight off the storm surge”

Miller nodded as he continued to mull over his next move.

“Let me ask you” said Miller after deciding his friend needed another lesson in spy-craft “how did you get the idea to send your deacon off to the less savory characters for the paperwork?” Nobody could hear them but he stayed intentionally vague.

Barnes smiled, obvious proud of himself. “Oh, just did some research on my own”

As he dipped his sandwich in some fantastically spicy mayonnaise based sauce Miller probed further. “Barnes, we both know you didn’t go to the Internet or local library for that information. Did the Deacon bring the idea to you?”

“No” Barnes replied cautiously, sensing Miller was going in a specific direction.

“Well then” Miller continued in friendly tones “did a little birdie sing it to you?”

“I see you aren’t going to let it go” said Barnes in a playful response. He could tell by the look in Miller’s eyes that he would not let the subject drop and that it was apparently serious. “I’ve been calling on a sick member at the hospice. Sad case really. This man is, well, connected to some colorful characters I suppose you could say. He’s shared interesting little antidotes from time to time.”

Rescuing a stray oyster from the sauce Miller continued. “So did you ask him straight out?”

“Geez man, do you think I’m stupid?” replied Barnes, hurt that his friend though he was a dolt. “it’s not like I declared I needed fake ID’s for a band of resistance fighters and could I pick some up at the grocery store. I got him talking one day about his exploits and led him in the direction of what I wanted to know”. In his hurt Barnes had gotten a little loud. Miller made clear from his facial expression that he might consider toning it down. It didn’t take Barnes long to pick up on the signal.

“I’m sorry, I’m just feeling a little defensive. This cloak and dagger stuff is all new to me”

Miller flashed a big smile, “and you are a fine understudy and have been doing a great job supporting our little project. Our success isn’t possible without the entire team contributing from each of their disciplines”. Miller’s was careful to speak in generalities while getting the point across. For as much as anybody knew they were discussing the implementation of software at an office building.

“I just want you to be careful. If we get sloppy the entire project can be shelved and the principals, of whom you are one, could be transferred to other branches. Next time just run the details of your proposal past management first. That’s all”.

Barnes nodded, still a bit crestfallen.

Miller wanted to be sure to not leave Barnes feeling like he failed. Agents who feel they need to redeem themselves with the boss get sloppy and overreach. “Without you, I can’t do my part of the project. You are central and I’m not just saying that. It’s just that the fewer people we involve the better.”

“I hear you” said Barnes with a forced smile.

“I’m not kidding. You have been doing fantastic. Without you my group is dead in the water.”

With that they went back to small talk and Barnes’s description of the hurricane damage. Miller stayed cautious but worked to ensure his friend was actually content. He didn’t want to leave a disappointed contact behind.

He finally got to enjoy his lunch and the fried oysters really were rather good.

****

DeMetrie, Reynolds and Lowry all toiled away at their menial farm jobs as the day wore on. Some days they’d be assigned to different crews and wouldn’t see each other until the time to drive home. Other days, they’d luck out and be on the same crew. This was one of those days.

“Mike” said Reynolds quietly, “I think me and Lowry have a good idea for another get together”. Get together was the phrase they used for an ambush on contractors. Normally Reynolds would have waited until they got back to their compound to discuss it, but he and Lowry had worked out the last final piece of the plan and the timing of the raid would be critical.

“Sounds good” replied the former Army captain. “Can it wait until tonight?”

“Yes sir” said Lowry. “But you’ll have to get us the day off tomorrow” he instructed with a sly smile across his face. A quick glance at Sam confirmed that they were serious.

DeMetrie sighed in fake resignation. “Ok, I’ll see what I can do”.

****

At the exact time Miller and Barnes were reorganizing some storage containers while they awaited the return of their new identification cards and paperwork, Cecil Davenport was at his office.

He had never heard of the Central Alabama Church of Christ Congress, and he had pretty much met everybody of importance from nearly every charitable organization within three hundred miles.

Digging out a directory of charitable originations in the area, Davenport eventually found a small listing for the CACCC. It appeared they were a legit but rather small organization out of Montgomery, Alabama. Unlike most other listings involving charitable organizations, this one did not contain pictures of the important members. He’d have to dig further.

As he dialed the phone number for the CACCC he couldn’t help but think something was strange. He knew most everybody involved in charity work in the area and it wasn’t likely that someone from two hundred and fifty miles away would come this far for handouts. There were plenty of charity groups closer to Montgomery. Fortunately Montgomery laid just inside the calling region for allowable phone calls.

“Hello” came the elderly voice at the other end of the phone.

“Yes mamm. This is Cecil Davenport from Gulf Coast Charitable Brethren Association. We’ve got a man named Miller applying to work for us. Claims he’s moving down here. Can you recommend him for the good work?” he said in his best southern gentleman impression.

There came a pause at the other end of the phone so long that Cecil almost thought they’d been disconnected. Finally the voice replied, “Sure do honey. Good man and hard worker. Honest as the day is long”

Cecil continued the charade. “Fantastic. Always glad to add another solider to the lord’s army down here. Just making sure we’re talking about the same man, can you describe Miller to me? Don’t want to fall for some scam you know.”

There was a chuckle from the other end of the phone. “Goodness no sweetie. He’s white, about six feet tall and has thick brown hair”.

“Perfect. That’s him” came Davenport’s reply. “Thank you for your time Mrs…….”, He paused, clearly trying to draw out her last name.

“Klepper, sweetie” came the elderly voice. “Themla Klepper”.

“Thank you manm”. As he laid down the receiver, Davenport tipped back in his overstuffed office chair. Something wasn’t right to his busybody senses.

[The Stig]

A couple hours later, as Miller and Barnes were just about finished moving around some supplies, a man came to the warehouse door. Barnes immediately saw the man and met him in the office. After a brief conversation the man handed Barnes a manila envelope and left.

Miller cringed. It wouldn’t take a super-sleuth to figure out some sort of information had just been delivered to Reverend Barnes. It could have just as likely been church bulletins or an announcement of a fish fry, but Miller preferred to generate as few questions as possible.

Barnes was clearly proud of himself as he handed the envelope to Miller. Miller stepped inside the small bathroom, out of site of the windows and quickly tucked the information into the back of his shirt. Since his shirt was tucked in it provided a place to store information temporarily.

“Aren’t you going to check it” inquired Barnes.

Miller pulled his light jacket on over his shirt to further hide the envelope. “Nope. I just have to trust your man did his job right. Anybody who’s peering in the office window just saw a man arrive and hand you an envelope. Might be the handoff of visitor information cards or it could be microfiche of the JFK assassination. But when you turn and handed it to me, someone not involved in your church, it raises suspicion further. We’ll have to do a little 101 lesson on information passing when we get a chance.”

Miller didn’t want Barnes getting discouraged again. “No worries. You did good stuff here. This will help us do what we need to do much, much easier. And that last shipment of equipment was spot on. I’m glad we listened to your suggestion to use this place.” He figured a little vanity might keep the reverend turned underground freedom fighter happy.

“Thanks John” said Barnes “I appreciate that”.

As Miller prepared to leave he reminded Barnes he wouldn’t be back next week so that suspicion wouldn’t be raised. He also made Barnes recite the emergency number he had the minister memorize in the event of dire emergencies.

They shook hands and Miller made his way to the truck. He did a subtle but quick scan of the surrounding area and saw nothing. Within minutes he was on his way back north. Within a few more minutes Cecil returned to his office after observing all of this behavior and picked up the phone.

Something wasn’t right and he aimed to let his friends in the government know about it.

****

Werner and Caddy reviewed all sorts of operational details as they finished their nightcap. It was a call and refrain session where Werner would inquire about a specific subject and Caddy would supply the needed information. Then Caddy would do the same in reverse.

After a quarter hour of information sharing Werner interjected regarding the identification checks scheduled for a couple of days.

Caddy quickly reviewed a couple of pages of notes. “Looks like we’re all set” came the gruff reply. “Got the teams assembled to go to the three big employers all at the same time so they can’t swap notes. Each time is assigned and the response squad will be on alert in the event of trouble at one of the places.”

“Good” replied Werner. “We need someone to go out East. Chasing down a couple of loose ends and interviewing some elderly folks at their farms. Suggestions?”

Caddy chuckled and offered up Rick. The man had taken non-stop verbal abuse since he and his crew were found tied up and painted the previous evening. Again Werner replied “Good. This guy just flat isn’t working out. Put him on shit details for a while. Maybe he’ll quit.”


Caddy mostly agreed that Rick likely didn’t have what it took for a leadership role, but he was a good solider that he didn’t want to waste. “Rick’s a good solider. He might not be ready for a section leader role but we shouldn’t crap all over him. He can still generate revenue and get the job done as a troop.” For being a life long solider, Caddy was a surprisingly good businessman.

Werner acquiesced and moved on to other topics. As their conversation was winding down Werner made a comment that actually took Caddy by surprise.

“You know” he said thoughtfully “in some ways I wouldn’t blame people for wanting to fight back. I wouldn’t want to be told what to do”.

Caddy merely grunted a response.

[The Stig]

Hardee Park was built from donations given by a local real-estate man who had died and left a large sum of money to the City of Shelton. The park had been built in a large, bowl shaped depression that had once been the site of a factory. Lightly tree covered hills nearly surrounded the entire park

Like any other park, in any other rural city, Hardee park offered a little bit of everything; walking trails, gazebo, football field, skateboard area were among some of the amenities built with Mr. Hardees money. There was also a brick building in the center of the large park for a snack bar, offices and public restrooms.

As the birds and animals began to stir in the light mist the first jogger of the day carefully drove his car down the winding entranceway to the facility. He intended to get in a jog before his day of business meetings down on the coast. Dawn was a good time since the park was usually deserted until later in the morning.

He began stretching against the side of his car before realizing he needed to use the facilities. It was as he walked towards the office building that he realized in the dull gray light of the dawn sunlight something wasn’t right.

It didn’t take long to realize that vandals had ransacked the office complex area. Windows were busted out, trash-cans overturned, benches broken and paint splattered all over the concrete. Most troubling was the huge banner planted in the middle of the football field on large posts. It read: Aperture Consulting: Contractors Go Home” in large hand painted letters. It was obvious someone was sending a message to the contractors.

Within twenty minutes a truckload of contractors and sheriffs deputies had responded to the scene to investigate. Werner had dispatched the six men to investigate the scene, find any evidence that might lead to the vandal’s location and generally make a show of force. His immediate feeling was this was the work of some teenagers.

As the four contractors and two deputies walked the park the squad leader got an initial statement from the jogger who was then quickly escorted out of the now closed park.

For ten minutes the men stopped around the bowl of the park looking for anything that could be helpful. Mostly they found a mess. These men were used to fighting, not doing amateur police work. The lightly chilled air and the mist that stubbornly hung in the air provided a strange sense of eeriness to the still morning.

“Alright boys. This is a waste. Round up and lets do a sweep around the hillsides. Then we’ll head back”. His men, who had loosely gathered around their section leader nodded their agreement and began to disperse. All of them wanted to be back at City Hall, not walking in a park.

It was as the men were turning away from the section leader that the first shot cleanly dropped one of the men where he stood. All the contractors heard was the crack of a rifle shot bouncing around and reverberating off of the low hills that surrounded them. Two more shots rang out, one of them resulting in a contractor falling to the ground with a mortal head wound.

The remaining four men had scattered. One found slight refuge behind a metal trashcan. Two others scattered inside the building. The section lead broke and tried to run the twenty yards back to the truck. All he accomplished was dieing tired as two rounds, in quick succession, punched into his back. Before the gunfight was over he would bleed out and die in a parking lot.

The man behind the trashcan fared little better. While the small structure, smaller than a post box, offered some concealment it provided no cover to protect him from fire. While he desperately scanned the hills he heard the rifle rounds starting to impact the thin sheet-metal walls of the trashcan. The third round pierced the trashcan and the man’s upper chest. As he attempted to conform to the small shape of trashcan another round found it’s mark ending the life of another of Werner’s men.

In the seconds it took for the other four men to be removed from the fight, the two contractors who took refuge in the brick office building tried to figure out a plan to survive the ambush. It didn’t take long to realize their best bet was to hold out and await reinforcements. One of them had already radioed headquarters and support would only be delayed by ten minutes at the most.

In their hurry to find cover they had gotten lucky and crashed through an unlocked door into an office. They could hear rifle rounds pinging off the brick façade of the building, which served to keep their heads from poking out any of the two available windows. Several minutes pasted before the rifle fire stopped and rescue seemed to be only minutes away.

What they failed to notice was a small package in the corner of the office, which was tethered by wires to a small, ominous, looking black box. The small package was affixed to a plastic two-liter bottle containing some thick brown substance. As one of them worked up the courage to gingerly peek out the windows the other suddenly noticed the object perched on a couple of boxes of paperwork.

Just as the contractor started to scream to his partner the item exploded with a tremendous roar. For the contractors, the world went dark.

[The Stig]

Before the echo of the last shot Reynolds, Lowry and DeMetrie were disassembling their warm AR15 rifles and placing them in small canvas knapsacks. Dusting the leaves and twigs from their clothes each made his way to a small motorbike that had been hidden along the trails. Within minutes each had traveled away from the park to avoid being ensnared in a cordon.

To avoid suspicion they all took several short routes to a heavily wooded area where they began traveling overland towards a specific rally point. Within ten minutes from the first shot being fired they linked up outside a small clearing.

“Well, that was entertaining” declared Lowry, slightly out of breath from the excitement of the ambush and ride through the thick woods.

“Entertaining yes, but also far to risky to attempt again” stated DeMetrie. “We best get going it’s a long ride back to the farm”.

The three men nodded in agreement and resumed their trip through the woods.

****

In slightly less than nine minutes Caddy and Werner had rushed to the scene at Hardee Park with a small squad of men. The excited radio call from the contracts already warned them that shots had been fired and the scene could well be dangerous.

The ambushers had chosen their site well. There was only one road into and out of the park. It took Werner’s truck on a narrow and twisting path into the park. The driver, realizing he didn’t have to worry about the grass, gunned the large V8 engine and covered the distance to the body near the parked SUV by ignoring the roadway.

The second truck full of contractors dispersed immediately and began sweeping the hillsides surrounding the park. Werner, ever conscious of putting on a show, strode around oblivious to whatever danger may still exist while Caddy coordinated the men.

It didn’t take long for the contractors inside the building to be found. They were just regaining consciousness as Werner’s man found them.

“Sir” the contractor yelled out. “You want to see this”.

Werner and Caddy trotted the twenty yards to the building but pulled up short as they started to go through the entrance into the office area. Everything inside the room, including the contractors, was covered in a thick brown paste. Their efforts to scrape some of it off succeeded only in further smearing it around. The pungent order was nearly overwhelming.

“What in the hell is this?” bellowed Werner in amazement.

The contractor who had found the hapless men turned and blithely replied, “I think it’s cow shit sir”.

****

Werner was furious. This was the third direct attack on his men, and besides the financial cost to his company, the taunting nature of assaults only infuriated him further.

“These twits are making us look idiotic” screamed Werner, as he slammed his hand into his desk hard enough to knock over a can of soda. This, quiet naturally, only served to make him more angry.

“Exploding cow shit bombs? Really? This is the kind of crap we’re dealing with” he railed to nobody in particular.

Caddy calmly listened to the ranting but finally felt the need to interject. Sometimes Werner could get a little carried away. “The cow crap and painted chests were specifically to get under your skin. It’s working”.

Werner continued to fume and Caddy, wisely, decided to let him.

After a while Werner calmed down and they got to the serious business of how to deal with these attacks.

“These are obviously pros. The big banner and pranks aside, these are well executed, thought out attacks. You aren’t going to see that from an angry redneck with an SKS. Don’t screw around with these guys” advised Caddy.

Werner didn’t waste much time. “The ID checks start tomorrow we’ll leave that on schedule. I’m calling in reinforcements from our guys down on the coast. You’ll have at least twenty extra men this time tomorrow. You take your squad on some raids, we’ll work on the targets next. But make it clear to these locals that we aren’t screwing around.”

Barely taking a breath he continued on, “start roving patrols in Shelton and Lumberton. So far the attacks have been centered around Shelton, but lets assume everybody is as pure as the wind driven slush. We’ve been doing random checks, but I want restaurants, bars, stores and gas stations raided at random times to check out anybody inside.”
Caddy nodded and made mental notes as Werner continued to bark out orders. “Its time to play hardball. These rednecks want a fight, and that’s just what we can give them. Anybody, and I mean anybody who gives us the slightest whiff of trouble gets hauled off. Make it clear that these people need to get in line.”

“Looks like you’ve changed your tune from the other day when you told me to use restraint” taunted Caddy. There were times when he liked to push Werner’s buttons. When he was wound up was one of them.

Werner just charged ahead. “We’re going to nip this thing in the bud, before it gets out of hand” he declared. “Julie” he called out to the assistant who worked at City Hall. After she poked her head into the room he instructed her “make sure all the section leaders report in immediately. Make sure there’s food for everybody and make sure there is a night shift of administrative people ready. We’re going to be putting in some long hours”.

“Yes sir” she replied as she efficiently replied and turned to carry out her orders.

“We need to make a big display…send a message” stated Werner.

They got to work putting together a list of companies to raid and how they’d go about sending a message to whoever it was that was attacking them.

[The Stig]

“The cow shit bomb was a nice touch Lorwy” said Reynolds as they slumped into chairs to eat for the first time in hours. They had to leave in the middle of the night to get into place for their dawn raid on the contractors. Then the thirty-mile trip took several hours as they weaved and darted from one wood-line to the next. While they were satisfied with the results of the ambush, they were tired.

“What would have done if those dudes didn’t go in that office” asked Reynolds.

Not missing a beat, Lowry replied, “I left the door open so anybody with sense would have ducked in there once the shooting started. I almost set it off when they went in the first time but figured it would have been a nice going away present”

Reynolds and Lowry dissected the entire raid as they finished making their meal and started to eat. It soon became apparent that DeMetrie was saying little.

“What’s wrong Cap?” asked Lowry, “You haven’t hardly said a word”.

“These guys aren’t going to keep the kid gloves on much longer. What we did today was too risky, too exposed. The contractors are going to come at us in force and we can’t afford a single head to head engagement right now. We pulled off today because he had surprise. We’re going to have to be a lot more careful”. DeMetrie returned to his silence and contemplated his bowl of soup.
He brought a certain chill to the air. But he was right. The men were playing a very dangerous game and one mistake could be deadly for all of them.

****

Reverend Barnes stood in his office wondering what to do next. The words of Miller were ringing in his ears after the two contractors left his office. Just yesterday Miller was warning him of the seriousness of what he was doing, now he stood trembling after the two contractors came to visit him.

They had been very polite but also made it clear he was walking a tightrope. He was reasonably sure he’d be watched now. Miller was right, he was being too flashy and someone had reported him.

The cold reality now was that his efforts to help Miller would be even tougher and require more thought and deliberation. He was a man of principal and there was no doubt he’d continue to offer his support to Miller. He just realized he had to be careful.

What terrified Barnes the most was when one of the contractors mentioned “we’ve been getting reports of suspicious activities”. Someone had sold him out. Was it someone internally like one of the men helping him? Perhaps the criminals they employed for the ID? It didn’t really matter now. What did matter was that Barnes triple his efforts to be safe.

He pulled on his coat and decided to pay a visit to his friend Ron Little. While he knew the man had been involved in many bad things, probably even killing people, he genuinely liked the old man. Maybe he’d have something to cheer up the minister.

****

“He’s really not well” said the nurse. Barnes had checked in with her before visiting the dieing man. “He’s not long for this world. Tonight. Tomorrow. Who knows”.

“Good afternoon Ron” said Barnes as he tried to put on a cheery face.

In between coughs Ron was able to choke out, “come to loose more money?”

The sick man could tell something pressing was on the minister’s mind. After a couple minutes of small talk Ron asked what was on his mind. “Even a dying man knows when a friend is hurting”.

Barnes looked deeply into his friend’s eyes. It wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt a compelling need to bare his soul to the old man. It was a strange role reversal. Getting up he quietly shut the door to the room and sighed out a deep breath.

“Ron” he said hesitantly as he weighed the ramifications of what he was about to share. “It would seem I’ve tried to play a game I wasn’t prepared to play.”

“Reverend Barnes” said Ron, “you don’t think you could fool a fool did you? Tell me all about it”.

Taking another deep breath Tim Barnes proceeded to do exactly that.

****

It was several hours later, and early evening, when Reverend Barnes left the company of Ron Little. The dying ex-crime boss took the ministers confession in a bizarre reversal of roles. As the clock ticked in the remaining hours of his life, Ron relished being involved in one last caper.

Barnes grasped the key Ron had slipped him and wondered what items lay behind whatever lock fit it. He stopped at the front desk to make a quick phone call before getting in his tiny car to return to his office. He had a lot of paperwork to do as he had spent a great deal of time with Miller yesterday and Little today.

Fastening his seatbelt he glanced in the rearview mirror before backing out of the reserved parking spot. He was startled to see a man standing directly behind the car. He even gasped a small “oh” as he stomped the brake-pedal and turned to his side to see another man standing just outside his door.

Before he could turn off the ignition to his car, the man ripped open the door and forcibly yanked Barnes from his car. “Hey!” he exclaimed in complete surprise.

“Mr. Barnes” said the man who had been standing behind his car, “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.

“I’m not going anywhere” he started to protest.

Cutting him off with a wave of his gloved hand, the man continued. “We’re going to go for a little drive”. He gestured towards a large SUV that contained two other men. “Right this way please”.

The men proceeded to manhandle Barnes into the back of the truck. Suddenly he was situated between two men in the back, while the apparent leader sat in front. There was nothing Barnes could do as the truck pulled away.

[The Stig]

“You see Mr. Barnes, we’ve been getting some interesting reports about you” said the man in the front seat. The driver was driving slowly as he wove his way through the streets. Barnes tried to figure out where they were headed but couldn’t.

The leader of the men continued, “It would appear some of the men you’ve chosen to trust have not returned the favor”. The man let the statement hang. It was a common interrogation technique as it caused Barnes to question the loyalty of nearly everyone around him.

“You really should have chosen who you worked with more carefully”, said the man.

Driving on in total silence, within fifteen minutes they were in the parking lot of Falls Creek Christian Church. The man resumed the interrogation. “This isn’t going to be like the movies Mr. Barnes. There will be no witty back and forth or verbal sparing. You are going to tell me the names of everybody in your network of agitators or I am going to do very bad things.”

After ten seconds, which seemed like an hour, the leader nodded to the man to Barnes’s right. The man promptly delivered a crushing blow into Barnes side, doubling him over. As Barnes pitched forward in agony, the man raised his knee into the minister’s face. This move elicited a cry of pain.

“Ok Mr. Barnes” the man upfront continued. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to tell me the information I want.” So far, it was playing out exactly like the movies.

Barnes sat in terrified silence. Never once did being a turncoat cross his mind. Mostly he tried to figure out how to get away from these men. Sadly, he was just too inexperienced and the situation such that he stood no chance.

After the thirty seconds expired, the man in front nodded again. The man next to Barnes repeated the process and Barnes again yelled out in pain. Again, he remained silent.

Sighing, the leader said, “I had hoped this would be easier”. He nodded to the driver who exited the SUV and retrieved a box full of glass bottles from the stairway leading into the church. Disappearing into the church, Barnes alternated between fear, trying to figure out who turned him in and morbid curiosity.

It didn’t take long to see the giant fireballs pluming inside the church building. The flames immediately danced in the windows of the sanctuary. The driver quickly exited the building, with two glass bottles in hand. Holding the door open he lit the cloths dangling from the makeshift Molotov Cocktail in succession. Tossing them into the lobby area, it too was soon engulfed in flames.

The pal of smoke and burning materials clung to the driver as he got back into the truck. Barnes watched in anguish as the flames grew in intensity and began to consume his church.

“Mr. Barnes, you had your chance to do this the easy way. Perhaps now you will understand that we are serious men”.

The truck slowly pulled out of the driveway, but the driver made sure Barnes had a clear view of the church. Flames had already started to dance outside the roof as the building slowly incinerated.

Barnes was terrified. He really had no idea what to do.

****

By the time they pulled into in front of the warehouse building Barnes was fully terrified. The drive, made in perfect silence, only added layer after layer of tension to the ordeal. After hauling him, unceremoniously, into the building, they searched him but found nothing of value.

Tossing him into his office chair, and his belongings on the desk, the leader of the men resumed his interrogation. “Mr. Barnes, we’ve torched your church building, and one of your alleged friends has sold you out. Surely now, you’ll tell me what I want to know”.

For the third time Barnes attempted his most courageous pose and told them nothing. He thought it odd that while his life was being threatened, he remembered a famous line from a gangster movie, “never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut.”

Again sighing in resignation the leader said, “Alright Mr. Barnes. You’ve made your position clear. We’re going to tear this place apart. If we don’t find anything here, we’ll go to your parsonage. Between the two, we’ll find something useful. Once we do, if you’re lucky I’ll just drop you in a camp. But I wouldn’t count on that”.

Barnes didn’t want to contemplate what that meant.

The men proceeded to begin rifling through his desk and filing cabinets. The computer, a gift from a wealthy member, was booted up and one of the men began searching though files.

“This will take a while Mr. Barnes so relax. By the time we get back to your parsonage, the fire department will have nearly extinguished the embers of your former church building.”

Ten minutes into the search process the SUV’s car alarm began blaring. It startled all of the men as its loud siren made it’s whooping sound. Nearly instantly the leader dispatched one of his men outside to investigate.

“Henry, check it out” he said nodding his head towards the parking lot. “Be careful”.

Turning his attention back to Barnes, “Mr. Barnes, if this is some attempt at your rescue, I’m afraid your chances of only going to a camp have just been eliminated.”

“Holy shit” declared one of men who peeked out the window to check on Henry’s progress. “He’s down!”. Both he and the other man sprang up, one of them banging his knee on the desk, and began moving towards the doorway. They quickly but carefully began working down the short hallway that led to the parking lot.

“Mr. Barnes I’m tired of these games…..”

The bullet impacted his spine slightly below his neck. It was a lucky shot really as it cleanly clipped the man’s spinal cord. Like a marionette who’s strings had been cut, the former leader of the team of contractors crashed to the floor in a heap.

Barnes spun around just in time to see Miller entering the room from the door that opened directly into the warehouse. He wasn’t sure what had just transpired. He heard a dull thump but no gunshot.

“How?”

Before he could finish the sentence Miller cut him off. “No time now. Those other two will be back in shortly. Grabbing Barnes by the arm he began to pull him towards the rear exit of the building.

“Wait” said Barnes as he reached out to grab his belongings off the desktop. Securing them both men made their way to the back door of the building. Miller carefully opened the door and was relieved to see no contractors. He motioned Barnes over to some trashcans. “Get behind those for a second”, he instructed.

Miller ran to the side of the building and positioned himself in such a way that he could pop out from the corner without exposing much of his body. He really didn’t want to get involved in a gunfight.

He mentally counted to three and then rapidly, but under control, he popped out from behind the corner just enough to see the contractor, but only exposing a tiny bit of himself. Luckily, the man happened to be looking away from the corner. Miller dispatched three rounds from his suppressed pistol dropping the man in the alleyway. The contractor had only made it a third of the way down the length of the building so they might just get away with this.

Burning his fingers on the hot tube of metal of the silencer, he quickly unscrewed it as he moved to collect Barnes. Barnes, lost in the whirlwind of action, didn’t know what to think when Miller produced a motorbike from behind a tarp and some cartons.

“Had just enough time to push this into position before coming to get you. Now come on”.
Miller and Barnes hopped on the bike. With a single kick, Miller expertly started the bike and it’s small engine roared to life. He revved the engine and shot out down the alleyway like a rocket, leaving a trail of smoke and burning rubber.

The bike had made it almost a block before the remaining contractor turned the corner. Running full steam after hearing the bike engine, he turned the corner with enough forward momentum that his first several rounds went crashing into the side of the brick building beyond the warehouse. By the time he dropped to a knee to make accurate shots Miller had turned a corner and roared out of the line of fire. There was nothing the contractor could do.

They weren’t out of the frying pan yet. The remaining contractor would be sure to radio for help. And two men, riding a dirt bike in the early evening would be an odd enough sight to garner some suspicion.

Miller tried to get as much ground behind him as possible before he began traveling overland. It would be a long night’s right to get back to the farm.

[The Stig]

“Oh my god!” Exclaimed Barnes after they had ridden for nearly an hour. “What is happening?” asked the terrified and confused man.

Miller pulled the bike over into a small stand of trees and killed the engine. While he’d rather of been putting more distance between them and the coast, and any contractors following them, it was probably a good idea to regroup and make sure Barnes was under control.

“I’m afraid you were sold out by someone”, said Miller. “Tell me exactly what happened. Be quick but don’t leave out any details”.

After hearing the synopsis of what transpired it didn’t take Miller long to figure out what had happened. “Well Tim” he started “they knew enough to take you to the warehouse instead of the parsonage across the parking lot from the church. Whoever burned you knew you were up to something at that warehouse.”

Barnes nodded in agreement but still had no idea who it could have been.

“How much do you trust this old man at the nursing home?”

Barnes thought for a minute. “Well, I guess I don’t have a reason to trust him, but there’s something about him that makes me think he’d rather help someone like us than the government. That was his profession for a long time. Unless the key he gave me is a fake it would seem he’s trying to do what he can to help us”.

Barnes continued, “I’m just glad you showed up when you did. Thanks”.

Miller replied, “You were right to call when you did. I got to the church lot just as you were leaving. You being held by men in an SUV and your church being on fire were subtle clues that something was wrong.”

Even in the heart pounding terror of the situation Barnes found the strength to smile.

“You got luck really Tim” Miller continued. “They were trying to intimidate you so they took a roundabout way to the warehouse. I had just enough time to get into position by pushing the bike the last few blocks so they didn’t hear me. It was close”.

Miller was anxious to get going. “What city did you say this storage locker was in?” While Miller wasn’t keen on a wild-goose chase, nor did he trust Ron Little any, Barnes was insistent they go.

“Poplar” replied Barnes.

Miller consulted his paper map and prepared to go. “Alright Barnes, hold on. The ride is going to be bumpy. Hope this Little guy isn’t setting you up”.

Deep inside Barnes hoped the same thing.

****

It was fully dark and well into nighttime when they got to Poplar. The direct route wasn’t all that far, but between the circuitous route and overland travel through some marshy areas, it had taken longer than either man had counted on.

The found a spot just outside of the small town to stash the motorbike. Poplar had never been much of anything. There were a total of four streets in the town, two running north and south, two running as cross streets. Other than the post office, small gas station and forty houses there wasn’t much else. The one exception was the Quonset hut left over from WWII. Someone had bought it, brought it to town and had subdivided it into somewhat secure storage lockers. It had actually been a successful venture, one of the few in Poplar’s history. Between people in town, people in the rural areas and people from out of town, there was enough business to make the owner a tidy sum every year.

The biggest advantage the building had was distance from major population centers; the other was its semi-seclusion. It was located on the last lot on the edge of town, behind a small grain elevator. There was just enough traffic going into the building to prevent someone from noticing someone else was going in. Conversely, there wasn’t so much traffic that you would run into other folks inside the building.

Miller and Barnes walked quickly to the main door of the rigid sheet metal building. While only a door stood between you and the contents of the building, it was one of the most substantial doors Miller had ever seen. Barnes breathed a sigh of relief when the door handled turned and opened.

After finding the light switch, Miller and Barnes took a second to adjust to the low light of the building. It was set up simply, with a narrow hallway down the length of the building, and different rooms partitioned off to form nearly forty separate storage areas.

Barnes led them to the locker Little had told them about. “Here it is Miller” said Barnes. “Locker 12. I guess we’ll find out what Mr. Little thought was so important.”

Looking down, Miller saw what appeared to be the most substantial combination lock he’d ever seen. Miller knew nothing about locks, but he had to believe that the chances of cutting through or busting open this lock were nil. Little had chosen his stash place wisely.

“Ok Barnes,” asked Miller. “Now what?”

Barnes fell to a knee as Miller illuminated the dial with his flashlight. “No problems” smiled Barnes, “he made me memorize the number before I left. Was quite insistent”.

Quickly turning the dial Barnes worked the combination lock. He again held his breath as he gave the lock a yank. It opened up as if it had been recently oiled and ready for their arrival.

Opening the door both men quickly stepped inside the room that was barely wider than their shoulders. On both sides of the small isle were shelves running from floor to ceiling. They got progressively lower as the curved walls of the building sloped downward. There were various items on the shelves ranging from boxes of paperwork to canvas bags with old rifles and pistols. One bare bulb hung from the ceiling to almost illuminate the space.

But what Miller and Barnes were most interested in was the small canvas satchel near the back of the room. Little had been specific that this was what Barnes needed to get. Barnes quickly found the bag and opened it.

He literally gasped when he opened the bag.

“Holy lord” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe this”.

Miller leaned in to get a look at the contents Barnes was showing him and was impressed. Little had stashed away some items that might be of use to someone on the run. Or in Miller’s case, several someone’s.

After going through the contents Miller was able to find at least one hundred thousand dollars cash, a small revolver, a Browning High-Power pistol with a barrel threaded for a suppressor and several maps with odd notations. Of most interest to the men, however, were the various fake drivers licenses, complete except the picture. Obviously they were forgeries but fantastic ones, and as an extra bonus, up-to-date.

Deep at the bottom of the bag was a leather-covered notebook. Miller thumbed through it and found nothing but names and phone numbers. Each name had a small symbol, number or letter behind it.

“If I had to guess, I’d say these are important contacts, but I doubt the numbers match up. Most be in some sort of code. And these symbols mean something, but who knows what?” said Miller.

Smiling back up to his friend, Barnes was pleased to have the upper hand for once. “Ron said to pay attention to the name with three iron crosses behind it. It was the most important.”

“David Benner” said Miller after finding the name deep within the book. “And there appears to be notes associated with the map.”

Miller began placing the items back in the bag. “Lets clean this up and get out of here”.

Barnes put up no resistance to the idea. He was suddenly very tired and he knew they had several more hours of riding, at night, to get to the place Miller called the farm. Following Ron Little’s instructions, they skipped over the other items on the shelves, pulled the door shut and relocked the combination lock. Soon they were heading back off into the night.

What neither of them noticed were the small metal contacts at the top of the door. Had they noticed them, they might have followed the wires to the switch box and realized the door was wired to signal someone if it was opened. The wires ultimately led to a house a hundred yards away from the Quonset hut. Shortly after Miller and Barnes entered the room a small buzzer went off inside the drab kitchen.

The owner of the house simply got up, and made a short phone call to a nursing home on the coast.

After getting the call Ron Little leaned back against his pillows, smiled, and breathed his last breath knowing that he would help pull off one last caper.

[The Stig]

Clarissa Donner was worried. Today a host of contractors would descend on ClarMar Farms under the guise of double checking everybody’s identification papers. She wasn’t particularly worried about that process as she was reasonably sure her employees were legit.

What bothered her, and was keeping her up nights, was that a group of the contractors would most likely be wandering around her property. In general this bugged her anyway. This was her property and people just looking under tarps, and in drawers, was just plain nosy. But she worried at what else they might find.
They had already worked at making sure there would be nothing to find and setting up an inspection station of sorts out near the front of the house. This would help her father, Greg, to keep an eye on things from his usual command station, the front porch. The inspection station had tables, chairs and even power. Clarissa intended to try to manage the situation as much as possible.

She told herself not to worry and forced herself to go through her normal routine as her day started. After the operational meeting with the staff, she sat down to review the mail and correspondence from the day before. Years ago she imagined herself in a house full of children as the dutiful military housewife. Mark and her had never had children, a situation that served to start a rift in their relationship. The years of active duty, deployments and, of course, the baby dieing had further driven their relationship into the ground. Clarissa knew the marriage was dead but in her heart she still loved Mark and held out a grim hope that something would change. At the very least, she was going to wait until an appropriate time after he returned from this latest deployment before ending it. She refused to distract him from his work in combat by sending a Dear John letter.

She had to chuckle to herself about her situation. Never in a million years would she have guessed she’d be running a successful independent farm and be a hard-nosed businesswoman. The farm generated profits from the day she took it over and continued to produce revenue despite the situation the country was in. She took pride that her business provided good jobs to those willing to work. Owing the farm also provided other freedoms that helped her pursue other rewarding activities.

She was walking from the farm office back to the house when she spotted the lone sedan driving slowly down the long driveway. “That’s odd” she said aloud as it was far too early for the contractors to arrive and they would have brought more men anyway. Waiting on the porch steps she kept an eye on the non-descript sedan as it pulled into the circular part of the driveway.

The two men, somewhat robotically, exited the car, smoothed out their military uniforms, and strode directly towards the farm office. Intercepting them, Clarissa called out asking them what they needed.

“We’re looking for Mrs. Clarissa Donner mamm” replied the officer.

“You found her. What can I do for you gentleman today?” she asked with a beaming smile. Her beauty struck even the chaplain that was calling on her.

“Can we talk in private mamn?”

Leading them into her kitchen Clarissa couldn’t figure out why these two men where here. The contractors were the ones doing the ID check later that morning, not the US Military. She certainly didn’t have any involvements with the military other than her husband. Hopefully her houseguests were not the cause of this impromptu visit.

The guests politely refused her offer of coffee as they sat around her kitchen table. Greg was watching a television program in the next room. As usual, the TV volume was near ear shattering levels and all three people at the kitchen table laughed in silent understanding of the ills of getting old.

The man who had done all the talking thus far cleared his throat and spoke up. “Mamm, we regret we have to inform you that your husband, Staff Sergeant Mark Donner was killed in the line of duty. Your country thanks you for your sacrifice.”

The words hit Clarissa like a freight train. She sat in stunned silence as the men talked through all the available counseling and insurance options. It wasn’t like Clarissa to have a public emotional breakdown, but she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. While she knew her marriage had long since been over, she still loved the man. And respected him for being a warrior.

The rest of the twenty-minute conversation went on in slow motion as she numbly went through the motions of answering their questions and reviewing their checklist. She didn’t hear them as they explained that other people would contact them about the details and their expressions of sympathy.

Greg might have been old, and nearly deaf, but his sixth senses were not dead. Sensing something was wrong with his baby girl he slowly made his way into the kitchen. He knew what was happening as soon as he saw the two men and her tears. He understood the hardships of a military marriage and never blamed Mark for the strains on the marriage.

After several minutes Greg escorted the men back to the front porch while Clarissa stayed glued to the kitchen table. When he was sure he was out of earshot he said to the men, “Indulge an old Gunnery Sergeant, what happened?”

The lead man spoke up first. “Sir, we don’t know the details, but apparently it happened at what is being called the Battle of Franklin, in Pennsylvania. Staff Sergeant Donner has been recommended for the Medal of Honor. I’m sorry for your loss sir. He must have died heroically.”

Greg was never one for being maudlin. He’d had men die in his arms before and witnessed the horrors of war first hand. While the marriage to his daughter was over, he never doubted that an honorable spirit flowed through Mark’s blood.

Watching the car drive off, on what was sure to be a day full of morbid notifications, Greg wondered what the hell was happening to his country.

****

The associates arrived at ClarMar farms as anticipated and quickly and efficiently got to work. Within thirty minutes they were ready to begin the process of having all the employees checked for identification and questioned. Werner’s goal was to ask general, broad questions in an attempt to pick up on any stories that didn’t gel or people acting suspicious. The whole event was a big fishing expedition.

Clarissa had pulled herself together enough to great the leader of the team of associates and help them get started with the onerous process. Her puffy eyes belied her cool and business like demeanor as she also coordinated another team of associates who were going to do some nosing around the property.

She wasn’t particularly worried about them finding anything. They had made it clear that they would only look in a couple of buildings, and not look at anything that wasn’t in plain site. There was a whole charade going on to give the proceedings an air of legality when they clearly weren’t.

What did worry Clarissa was the squat, barrel-chested, associate who spent most of his time leaning against one of the SUV’s , chomping a cigar or talking on the cell phone. He looked like a Marine drill instructor from Paris Island in 1945. She was savvy enough to know that he was both in charge, and spending his entire energy observing. There was little doubting that he was experienced enough to sense when things were not as they appeared.

Busying herself coordinating the background checks and managing the legitimate operations of the farm kept her busy throughout most of the day. Finding a minute when the older associate was apparently distracted on the cell-phone she made sure to whisper in her fathers ear.

“Dad, keep an eye on that one” she said as she leaned over to pour him another glass of tea.

Greg chuckled. “Already am sweetheart. He’s been watching everything from the minute they arrived. He’s the dangerous one”. Greg might have been in the waning years of his life, but the old Marine hadn’t lost his faculties.

[The Stig]

Clarissa was wise to be wary of Caddy as he was doing exactly what she thought he was. His sole goal was to observe the identification checks and see how everybody was responding. Werner had gotten some reports of some suspicious employees from one of his snitches. There was nothing solid, but Werner and Caddy both felt it warranted some follow-up.

There was a younger supervisor running the entire operation so nobody directly approached Caddy. He stood within a few feet of the SUV and simply watched. He had survived many dangerous scrapes in many dangerous corners of the world by noticing a small detail or sensing a strange vibe in the room that others had missed. It was his ability to notice the grass bent the wrong way to disguise a trip-wire or small detail an operative mixed up that Werner wanted around the inspection of ClarMar farms.

Little escaped Caddy’s notice including the three men that exuded military experience. Their clothes were wrinkled, several had facial hair, and their haircuts were no longer high-and-tight but there was no mistaking that the three men were fighting men. They walked differently, paid more attention and carried themselves with a demeanor that the other itinerant workers didn’t.

They hadn’t come through the lines together, but Caddy noted the time so he could call the men aside and question them later. Perhaps they were recently discharged from the army but that wasn’t likely since most of the troops up North had stayed loyal to President Alan and reenlisted in droves. If anything, they were deserters from units in the south as many had simply walked away when Senator Donovan’s actions became more sinister.

They could possibly be simple deserters, in which case, Aperture Consulting was duty bound to apprehend them and return them to the military for court-marshal. A more threatening aspect of having former military men in the area was that they were the most likely to act as partisans. And dangerous opponents they would be.

As the inspections were winding down Caddy strode over to the inspection table. The teams that were searching the buildings had long since reported in and were doing what military men spend most of their careers doing; waiting around for something else to do.

“Finkle” he called out to the young man in charge “how’s it looking?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary sir except one man. His ID is coming back as a convict currently being held in the state penitentiary. We’re making phone calls to verify right now”

“Where is he?” inquired Caddy.

“Right over there sir. Under the big tree with Scott” said the section leader as he gestured to the black-man and one of the associates sitting under a tree. They both laughed out loud like two men talking shop or swapping good jokes. Werner had instructed all of the men to keep things light and jovial unless the situation dictated otherwise.

Caddy turned and studied the man. It turned out that he was one of the three men he had noted as possible ex-military throughout the course of the day. This only served to deepen his suspicions.

“Thanks Finkle. You about done here?” asked Caddy.

“Yes sir. Another twenty minutes and we’re out of here”.

“Outstanding” said Caddy as he was turning and starting to stride towards the black man who had been pulled aside. As he got closer Caddy’s sixth senses started going into overdrive. The man locked eyes with him and never broke as Caddy covered the distance. This man was experienced and Caddy didn’t care for it.

Just as he was about to get to the tree a younger associate dashed up and distracted his gaze with the suspect worker with the shaky background.

“Sir” said the young associate as he got Caddy’s attention. “Sir, the Gunnery Sergeant on the porch requests a few minutes with you”, said the man gesturing towards the porch of the main house.

Caddy turned to see the older man in a rocking chair smiling back at him. Glancing back at the suspicious man under the tree Caddy turned away and broke back towards the porch. His impromptu interrogation would have to wait.

****

“What can I do for you Gunny?” asked Caddy as he shook hands with the old man.

Motioning to the seat next to him, Greg replied, “humor an old Gunnery Sergeant would you Marine?”

Despite the stubby cigar in his mouth Caddy had to smile. Marines could usually smell each other from a mile away.

“When were you in Gunny?” replied Caddy.

“Left Paris Island in late forty-three and got to wade ashore at Guam and Okinawa. Good times those were. You?” asked older man.

“Was on the Island in 1980. Joined up after the thing in Iran at the embassy. Got an all expenses paid trip to Granada and Panama, amongst other places. But you didn’t call me over here to swap service records did you Gunny?” asked Caddy.

“No” Greg chuckled. “No I didn’t. See son, I spend a lot of my time on this porch. I watch people come and go all day long. I know who’s supposed to be here and who’s not.”

Caddy nodded as the older man continued. “We’ve been getting deliveries of supplies from Expedite Fright Lines. Have been for years, but the driver is new.”

“Pardon me for saying it Gunny” replied Caddy, “but having a new man on the route isn’t a crime is it?”

Greg took a long drink of his iced tea. “No, I suppose not. But I’ve noticed him pacing out distances between buildings and writing notes in a small notebook while he’s waiting to be unloaded. Worse off, he’s one of those Arabs”. Like a lot of people of his generation, Greg pronounced it a-raab.

“Well Gunny” replied Caddy after thinking for a minute. “Now you have my attention”.

“On his last trip in” continued Greg “he was snapping shots with one of those cell-phone camera things. He was trying to look like he wasn’t, but I saw him”.

Caddy stood. “Thank you Gunny. I’ll check into it. Expedite Fright Lines right?”.

Greg nodded and shook Caddy’s hand. “You’ll have to excuse an old Gunnery Sergeant for not getting up.”

“Not a problem” said Caddy as he descended the stairs. “You see anything else you let me know”.

****

“So what’s the story on this guy” Caddy said as he got back to Finkle.

Checking a sheet of paper the younger man replied, “clerical error sir. We had his middle initial wrong. He’s clear. In fact, we just released him”.

Caddy wasn’t buying it. He watched the young man walk back across the yard and disappear into a building.

“Alright” he said suddenly. “You wrap things up here. I’m taking my detail back to headquarters. Report in once you get back. Good work here Finkle”.

“What did the old man want?” asked Finkle.

Pulling his stubby, chewed cigar from his mouth and inspecting it as if it were a nuclear bomb Caddy replied, “If I didn’t know better I’d say he was stalling me from talking to our friend, the employee of questionable background”.

[The Stig]

“Dad” exclaimed Clarissa Donner. “that was a hell of a risk you took. Besides, that driver from Expedited Fright isn’t Arab. Frank’s from Oklahoma for Christ’s sake”.

They sat around the table in the darkened kitchen of the farmhouse. The day was done and the sun long since dipped below the horizon. They shared a small, simple meal of fried chicken and beans. Since it came fresh from their farm it was a hardy and delicious meal. The kitchen still smelled like fried chicken grease.

“You told me to keep an eye on him” Greg protested.

“Yea, but I didn’t say make up cockamamie stories about poor old Frank being a crazed Al-Qaeda bomber. They are probably going to storm his house in the middle of the night and haul him off to the swamps” cried Clarissa half jokingly and mostly serious.

Shaking his head and using a dinner roll to soak up some juice from the beans Greg replied, “no such thing will happen. They’ll run his records, see that he’s not even Arab and write me off as an old kook”.

“You better hope so,” chastised Clarissa.

After some more small talk Greg finally addressed the subject they were both avoiding. “I’m sorry to hear about Mark. I know you two were over, but he was a good man”.

“I don’t want to talk about it now Dad” said Clarissa as she stared down at her empty plate. Silence filled the room as the light from the candles danced across the ceiling.

“Sweetheart” said Greg gently “you aren’t ready now. But someday, when you need to talk, I’m here”. Despite being a cantankerous old Marine, Greg was sentimental father who still saw his middle aged daughter as the little girl he bounced on his knee. Clarissa had been born when Greg was well into his forties but it still seemed like yesterday.

After several more seconds of awkward silence he reached over to grab her hand. “Dad, not now” she said brusquely as she jerked her hand away. In the process she launched her ice tea glass all over the floor. She was mad. Mad at her glass. Mad at the Army that took her husband. Mad at the kingpins in the North that were destroying lives with their political pissing match. But mostly she was mad at her dead husband.

“Should I come back later?” came the voice from the doorway.

Looking up Greg could just barely make out the figure of the man in the dim candlelight.

“Come on in. You are always welcome at our table” announced Greg as Clarissa cleaned up the spill. She was embarrassed that their visitor witnessed her outburst.

The man and Greg engaged in some small talk while Clarissa put together a plate of food for their guest. Even in the midst of her heartache and the turmoil of the country, Southern Hospitality was never dead.

“Here you go,” she said with a forced smile as she handed the man her plate.

Looking up into her tired but beautiful eyes, John Miller could find nothing to say.


****

Clarissa, Greg and John Miller spent the next several hours reviewing the details their respective adventures. Clarissa and Greg both sat, mouth agape, at the escape of Miller and Barnes from the contractors and for his part Miller was happy to hear nothing major came of the inspections.

“Did Reverend Barnes get settled in with DeMetrie and the boys?” asked a Clarissa. It was her nature to be concerned about those she called friends, or those her friends called friends.

Miller smiled, “Yes. He’s a little shook up, but I got him settled into the compound and DeMetrie got him a bunk and some chow”.

“I’m glad to hear that. And Lowry and Reynolds liked the last delivery of supplies I brought over?” she continued on.

“Absolutely, Lowry about went nuts over the peach cobbler”.

The arrangement had worked out well. Miller had known the Donners since shortly after he and his wife had relocated to the South. Clarissa and Christy Miller hit it off right away and became good friends. When the mess in the north resulted in Senator Donovan’s power play, and the resultant influx of contractors and military to the area, Miller had his wife and daughter relocated to the north in a daring midnight escape on a plane.

It hadn’t taken much effort to convince Clarissa and Greg to allow the base of operations to be housed on their vast property.

The four buildings Miller, DeMetrie, Lowry and Reynolds had been using as a base camp were located at the far distant end of the massive spread of land that made up ClarMar Farms. Clarissa could easily siphon off supplies from the farm without arousing suspicion and the farm provided the men a place to blend in and maintain an existence until their operations were up and running. For now it was the perfect base of operations for a resistance movement.

“These guys are getting out of hand. Coming in here like that and demanding identification papers” piped up a clearly irritated Greg.

“Tell me about it Dad” bemoaned his daughter. “They stomped all over my farm buildings and gave my people the third degree”.

Silence fell for a few seconds before Greg interjected, “Maybe they’ll leave us alone now”. It was clear from his tone that he didn’t believe what he had just said.

Miller, as he was so skilled at doing, took the lead and guided the conversation. “These guys aren’t leaving anybody alone. Based on what DeMetrie told us, and what interactions we’ve had, this Senator Donovan isn’t just going to turn tail. That means he’s trying to set up a power base strong enough that when the mess up North settles down he’ll be unassailable. From there he can negotiate anything he wants. In the meantime, these contractors are hauling people off into the swamps and setting up a police state”.

He let the words of his speech hang in the air for emphasis.

“The bottom line is they are coming back to ClarMar, one way or another” declared Miller. “So far we’ve been pissing in the ocean in our attacks. We need to put together something a little more dramatic. First, we need to continue to send the message that the contractors aren’t supermen. If we are going to get something more wide spread going we need to add people to our ranks because the four of us can’t carry the load forever.”

Greg grunted in agreement while Clarissa straightened up things in the kitchen.

She said, “Sounds like you have something in mind”.

“Oh yes” he chuckled “Yes I do”.

Greg pounded the table with excitement. “Hell yea. This is why I liked this boy. A man of action!”

Chuckling Miller said, “You still have that special dispensation to have freight hauled out of the southern zone right?” Donovan realized he couldn’t completely isolate the southern areas and utterly destroy commerce. The shut down of the Internet and phone services had nearly done that. So he allowed select businesses, which could show cause, to make shipments outside of the Southern zone. Miller had seen the benefit of a link to the outside world and convinced Clarissa to apply.

Thus far they had used their truck sparingly to pass messages to Miller’s family in Wyoming. It just so happened that one of the farms biggest customers was in the state. Once the truck got out of the Southern zone the trip wasn’t so bad. The western states were mostly staying out of the fracas in the North East and life operated mostly as normal. However, crossing over the border, and at random spots along the route inside the Southern zone was an entirely different matter.

Trucks would be inspected, down to the last nut or bold if needed, should something not be right with the paperwork. Many businesses had entire loads of freight confiscated because a guard had a bad feeling about the driver. Crossing would be a risky proposition at best. At worst, ClarMar could be exposed to a lot more attention than they desired should their shipment be stopped.

“Yep, in fact another load is supposed to go out in the morning,” replied Clarissa.

“Good, we’ll have to pass a note to the driver that he’ll be bringing back some special cargo” advised Miller. Greg and his daughter merely exchanged glances.

“You’ve got stocks of fertilizer and diesel fuel for use around the farm right?”

“Of course” she replied with a puzzled look.

“I may need to borrow some of it and that old farm truck in the bean field barn”.

[The Stig]

At the same time back in Shelton, Werner and Caddy held a similar bull session reviewing the day’s events. After nearly forty-five minutes of operational details Werner took the subject back to the business inspections.

“So basically despite the days activities, we came up with a fist full of nothing,” concluded Werner.

“Wish I could say otherwise, but basically yea. Nada” said the typically levelheaded Caddy.

Sighing Werner said, “Damn, I had hoped they would turn up something useful”.

“Nothing back in from your snitches?”

“Not really” replied Werner. “There was some talk that ClarMar farms might be housing illegals from North of the border but nothing that could be substantiated. And the guy giving us the tip is a drunk mechanic anyway so I’m not sure he’s reliable”.

”I was at ClarMar for most of the day” replied Caddy as he sipped his coffee. “There was an incident with one guy. Paperwork typo. But there was something odd going on there.”

“Where there’s smoke there’s fire” offered up Werner as he poured a small amount of Jack Daniels into his coffee. He found it helped him wind down and sleep at the end of a long day.

“There were a couple of guys there who were ex-military. And an old man made a point of distracting me just as I was getting ready to talk to the guy with the paperwork issues.”

Sitting back in his chair as he ate a sandwich, Werner replied, “Not much to go on. We do have to have some semblance of legality to our actions.” In response to the attacks Senator Donovan had given Werner more leeway to respond but made it clear there was still a line to walk to avoid inciting a rebellion.

“I’m going back there tomorrow,” declared Caddy. “I want to sniff around a little more”.

“Whatever you need to do. We’re playing defense and not all that well.”

****

Clarissa Donner sat at her desk in farm office attending to the normal paperwork as she did most every morning. She was exhausted from emotional atomic bomb of learning about her husband’s death and the previous days activities with the contractors.

Despite being tired she got to work as best she could although she found her thoughts wandering off track.

“Get it together young lady,” she scolded herself. The cold reality was the business of the farm had been significantly disrupted for an entire day and there was a lot of catching up to do.

For the better part of an hour she responded to correspondence, routed invoices and payments to the farm managers desk and attended to the routine work required of any business. During one of her various daydreaming sessions she had to stop and remind herself of the ramifications of the games they were all playing. Certainly all of Millers men, her and her father would be hauled off to God-knows-where should they be caught. For her elderly father that was tantamount to a death sentence. Her farm would be confiscated and shut down robbing hundreds of people of good jobs. If what happened to Reverend Barnes’s church was any indication the situation could get very bad.

The door chime startled her as someone walked into the office. She was the only one in the small building so she pulled herself back to reality and poked her head out of the office.

She tired to conceal her shock of seeing the bull-chested man from the day before standing in their lobby area.

****

“So you see Mamm” said Caddy pouring on the charm “you can understand our concern. Several men have died at the hands of these troublemakers. Good men. And they died unjustly.”

After the obligatory introductions Clarissa had invited Caddy into her office to discuss whatever he had on his mind. Despite her suspicions of the true nature of his visit she couldn’t stop herself from pouring him coffee.

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with my farm” said Clarissa, staring Caddy dead in the eye. She wasn’t one to be intimidated.

“Well mamm” replied Caddy as he sipped his coffee and glanced down at his cigar. “It would seem to me a farm might be a good place to stash some supplies and house some people intent on causing trouble.”

“Again, what does that have to do with my farm?” parried the strong willed farm owner.

Glancing up, “Mamm, I’m not saying anything about your farm. But we both know there are some unsavory characters on your payroll.”

Doing her best to stare holes in his head Clarissa calmly responded. “Mr. Caddy” she started before clearing her throat. “I can assure you our employees are hardworking men interested in a good wage. I think yesterdays background checks proved that, don’t you?”

With a large smile Caddy responded, “Yes mamm. Your men’s records all came back clean as a whistle.”

“Then I fail to see a problem,” said Clarissa with a smile and eyes hard as flint.

“By my estimation you have at least three men on your farm who are ex-military. I could give a hoot about whether they deserted from the North or South, or whatever their story is. But the attacks against my men have been made by men with military training and experience.” He tone was casual, smile friendly and eyes radiating charm, but he pulled no punches.

Clarissa held her ground. “Again Mr. Caddy, I understand your frustration but I fail to see what any of this has to do with my farm.”

Standing up and smoothing out his uniform front, Caddy laid his cup of coffee on Clarissa’s desk. While maintaining a smile he locked eyes with the ClarMar Farms owner and responded with, “Mamm, I don’t know how your farm plays into all of this yet. But I assure you I will find out and you will be watched very closely. I just like to be very straightforward and open with folks. Makes life easier I’ve found.”

Shaking hands and leading him back to the office door Clarissa continued to yield any ground. “Mr. Caddy, I hope you find out who killed your men.”

Shutting the office door behind her she continued the charade by waiving goodbye and putting on her best smile.

Inside she felt cold as ice. He was on to them and had thrown down the gauntlet.

[The Stig]

Miller and Barnes sat around the kitchen table enjoying a warm cup of tea while looking over some maps of the area. Miller was briefing Barnes on the geography of the county and some of the actions they had taken to disrupt the contractors. Since Barnes could never return to the coast he was now part of the team. In an effort to make him feel included right away Miller had been giving him a non-stop lecture for the past hour on various subjects related to his original interaction with the contractors, his friends who had escaped the area, their operations so far and so forth.

Barnes was an eager student. He fully recognized that his life had changed and while he would remain a man of the cloth, he had to adapt and do so quickly. So between bites of egg and toast, and with the occasional question Barnes listened intently.

A sudden knock at the door startled the men. DeMetrie, Lowry and Reynolds wouldn’t knock and the only other visitor, Clarissa never visited during the day. Surprise turned to action as Miller heard the door opening. Springing to his feet he motioned for Barnes to stay still. In what appeared to be seconds he had taken up a position outside the room he and Barnes had occupied and before the main door.

“Hello” called out Clarissa.

“Clarissa?” challenged back Miller, scowl across his face.

“Yes John. Come here, it’s urgent”.

“It had better be” was the response he kept to himself.

****

“He just spelled it all out?” challenged John.

Clarissa was clearly shaken up, but wasn’t out of control or distraught. “Yes, identified three military men, said he knows were connected to the attacks, the whole deal”.

Miller thought for a second or two before replying. “He was fishing. Being a military man he’s going to spot other ones. I’ll give him that. But beyond that he’s just fishing and trying to get a read on you. If you were nervous or went out of your way to invite him to look around it would confirm his suspicions. Actually, the worst thing you could have done was to invite him to poke around. He’d have gladly accepted the invitation”.

Calming herself down, Clarissa hoped that she hadn’t over reacted by making the roundabout journey out to the isolated buildings. “John, I hope I’m not causing your trouble by coming out here”.

“Not at all. I’m glad to know about the visit. But relax. He’s just fishing and we’ll have to deal with that”.

“And your men?” she asked since other than Miller and Barnes the complex was empty.

Winking at Barnes, Miller replied, “They had to run an errand.”

“I’m sure they did” said Clarissa with a smile. Turning to Barnes, “Reverend Barnes, do you need anything? Clothes?”

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t really have time to pack an overnight bag” responded looking down at his wrinkled shirt. He didn’t bother to change it before collapsing on the cot the night before.

“No problem” she said with a smile. “I’m sure I can rustle some up for you”.

Miller walked her back to the main entrance of the complex. “Clarissa, we’ll have the hardwired field phone installed in a few days. Not sure why we didn’t think of it earlier. Then there will be a secure, direct connection between your house and out here. Of course you’ll have the phone hidden but should something like this happen again you can call out here”.

“Will do. Sorry for panicking John. I was just thrown by his directness.”

Giving her a small hug he replied, “You did fine Clarissa. We wouldn’t be anywhere without you”.

Shutting the small, partially below grade door, Miller paused for a minute. This Caddy had obviously been around the block, and wasn’t afraid to charge right into the enemy camp to see what fell out of the tree he just rammed with a bulldozer.

Caddy could become a big problem.

****

“Why don’t I ever get to drive?” bemoaned Lowry.

“Because you drive like shit?” fired back the friendly jest.

It was early evening before Lowry and Reynolds had made it to the rendezvous point with DeMetrie. They had spent the entire day traveling two counties over to buy a pickup from a used car lot with the cash they acquired from Ron Little. After doing so they found a secluded spot to grind off the vin numbers as best they could. Like most of their attempts at disguising their actions, the effort wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny, but to the casual observe the numbers would be obliterated.

After a short detour to ClarMar they traveled another forty miles south east of Shelton to a small town where they linked up with Captain DeMetrie and his jeep full of supplies.

“You two bicker like a married couple,” said DeMetrie. He said it mostly in jest, but sometimes the constant jousting did get old.

“That’s because he never lets me drive” said Lowry with a big smile.

“Ok, put on your war faces” instructed DeMetrie. The simple direction brought an air of seriousness back to the conversation. Lowry and Reynolds had both heard that charge in various places around the world. Usually they heard it before a particularly difficult assignment or if the Captain had to calm down a panicking solider in the midst of a fire-fight.

Pulling the pickup into an abandoned gas station garage, the men closed the roll down door behind them and sprang into action.

Lowry used a knife to cut slits in the bags of ammonium nitrate fertilizer exposing the pellets. After doing this he used the cans of diesel fuel handed to him by Reynolds to completely soak the fertilizer.

“Damn” said Reynolds. “That stinks”.

“Yea. Not exactly the Polo you’re used to wearing” fired back Lowry.

While they worked the captain installed what would serve as the igniter to their homemade explosive concoction.

When they were done Lowry tossed his friends a couple of cans of spray paint. “Bet you’ve never vandalized a business with graffiti have you Captain?”

“You’d be surprised. Lowry” said the DeMetrie. “You’d be surprised”. Reynolds and Lowry exchanged glances as all three men went outside and got to work.

Within thirty minutes the trap was set.

[The Stig]

Caddy and Werner were enjoying dinner in Werner’s office when one of the contractors came running in.

“Sir, one of the patrols came across a small gas-station in Latimer. There were a bunch of burning tires and trash in a dumpster and anti-contractor signs and graffiti all over. The patrol has held back awaiting instructions.”

Caddy turned to Werner. “After all the attacks, I didn’t want the men going into a situation half-cocked”.

Werner nodded in understanding. “Caddy, take your response team. Don’t muck around”.

****

By the time the response team arrived, the fires had all been extinguished. The putrid smell of burnt rubber still hung in the air and caused several men coughing fits. The original patrol had cautiously set up a perimeter and called back to headquarters for further instruction.

Caddy strolled up to the section leader and asked for a situation report.

“Sir” said the young section leader, “came across the scene about an hour ago. Set up a perimeter and called back to await instructions.” The young man was clearly proud of himself.

“All right son” replied Caddy, chomping on his stubby cigar. “Have you done any sweeps of the surrounding woods?” The old abandoned gas station and small restaurant stood alone along a lonely stretch of state highway. At one point it had been a thriving business, now it was a decaying part of Americana.

“No sir. I didn’t want to get sucked into any engagements with only four men”

“Ok. I’m talking a couple of men and starting to work in those woods,” said Caddy pointing to a stand of trees about one thousand yards away. “From there we’ll work backwards to your position. The remainder of my team will breach the building along with yours. If you don’t find anything you start working the woods in the other direction. Probably a better chance of people being there anyway. Keep a sharp eye out.”

“Yes sir” said the young man before turning and giving instructions to his men.

As Caddy was starting to drive off in an SUV he leaned out the window and said, “wait till I radio that I’m in position. If someone is laying in wait in between us we may be able to catch them in the middle. If you find anybody on your side, radio back and we’ll flank them”.

Again the men responded with a crisp “yes sir” before readying his men to enter the building. Performing the breach was probably overkill on what was more than likely a prank by some teenagers. Not every disturbance was the work of troublemakers, but the section leader figured this would be good practice for his men. They hadn’t breached a building in a long time.

Within several minutes Caddy radioed back that he was in position with his two men and was working the woods in search for anybody who might still be watching the contractors. The section leader gave the signal and his men started approaching the building, each man providing cover to the next. It looked like something out of a Hollywood movie or a television show.

As they got to the main door to the garage the contractors assembled into a stack where each man stood tightly against the man in front of him in the formation as they prepared to breach the building. Each man would enter the room as quickly as possible, one man after another, each pealing off in different directions as they entered. Giving the go-ahead motion, the section leader, standing at the back of the stack, held his breath in anticipation of the entry ram knocking in the door.

It was the last thing he’d ever do.

As the entrance door to the building crashed open thanks to the battering ram, a small wire pulled a Popsicle stick out from between the jaws of a clothespin. As the clothespin shut, wires that had been glued to each jaw connected, closing the circuit of the wires between a battery and a small rocket motor like those found in children’s toys. As the circuit completed current was sent down the long wires that stretched across the garage floor to the back of the pickup truck bed. This ignited the toy rocket motor, which in turn ignited a homemade mixture of potassium chlorate and Vaseline that Reynolds had carefully mixed on site. This mixture immediately exploded, which ultimately caused the explosion of the crude mixture of fertilizer and diesel fuel.

While it was a crudely constructed device, the results were devastating. Despite being nearly a third of a mile away, Caddy was nearly knocked to the ground by the pressure wave that careened through the woods. He was fortunate that most of the blast dissipated as it traveled away from the gas station and through open air. Still the noise was deafening and all three men momentarily looked at each other before instinctually dropping to the ground.

Most of the men were killed in the first milliseconds of the explosion by the intense wave of overpressure that blasted through the air at twelve thousand feet per second. Those that weren’t killed by the pressure wave ripping apart their bodies were hit by debris and chunks of concrete from the building walls, which bludgeoned them beyond recognition.

The sad reality was that eight men were utterly vaporized and erased from the earth without a trace large enough to recognize as once belonging to a human being.

[The Stig]

Werner and Caddy oversaw a team of contractors who went over the smoldering remains of the gas station. Debris was thrown in nearly all directions for incredible distances and nothing recognizable of the building remained.

The pickup truck DeMetrie and his team used to haul their cobbled together device was blown into a million pieces. Substantial items like the engine block were pulverized into chunks, some big others small. Less substantial items like sheet metal and interior components simply evaporated under the force of the explosion. And, as in many explosions, odd things happened, like the rearview mirror that would be found twenty seven hundred yards away in a farmer’s field, nearly intact.

“I’ve already spoken with Donovan. He won’t pull troops away from the border with the northern states, but he’s sending in men from several other firms to operate under our command. They are smaller companies, so they really didn’t have a choice in the matter.” Werner was furious about the attack, but kept focused on solving the problem and keeping his emotions under control.

Caddy acknowledged the statement with a grunt as he reviewed some chunks of debris one of his men had brought to him.

“I’m also pulling out more of our men from the coast area. They really aren’t doing much down there anyway. In a couple days time we’ll have nearly triple our manpower. I want increased patrols, increased raids and constant presence from teams in likely target areas,” commanded Werner.

To this Caddy responded with another grunt and a puff on his cigar.

Werner, undaunted, continued. “We’ll also have the manpower we need to set up more random roadblocks. These idiots are moving around the county at will. I want that stopped.”

Caddy again nodded in his silent affirmation of all that Werner was saying.

“Caddy?” said the irritated Werner. “Are you going to say anything?”

Caddy shot him a look but decided the better of getting into a pissing match with his boss. “I agree. We should do all of that. Consider running more background checks on people and ramping up your radio detection efforts” Pausing for a second, he added, “although these guys aren’t likely to be that dumb to use over the air radios”.

Werner continued to issue commands to the people on the scene, and make calls to various officials both in Donovan’s administration and to other contractor firms. He was calling in as many favors as he could. The other attacks were serious, but this bombing took things to a whole new level.

Werner left Caddy alone for a good thirty minutes as men worked around them searching for remains or any fragments that would indicate the nature of the explosive device. Despite being fully dark, the rows and rows of portable spotlights, like one would see in a construction zone, illuminated the area as if it were a sports stadium.

Finally, Werner had enough and was curious what his second in command was up to. “Ok Caddy, times up. What are you thinking?”

“Besides wanting to kill these sonsofbitches?”

Werner had to smile despite the seriousness of the situation. “Well, yea. Besides that”.

“We know these guys are pros right?” Werner nodded in agreement so Caddy continued.

“These guys know how to assemble improvised explosives and work with military grade materials. They also have been able to move around with impunity and this bomb could have done a lot more damage in a more populated area. So they could have blown up whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted to and done a lot more damage. Instead, they chose a lone gas station in the middle of nowhere. Why?”

Werner thought for a minute. The conclusion was obvious and unavoidable.

“This was a practice run for something much bigger” stated Werner.

“I’m afraid so” replied Caddy. “The question is what do they have planed next?”

[The Stig]

Barnes helped the men put away their gear after the mission. A small part of him wanted to go along on the mission and help in some way. But the reality was he had no skills that could be used, and would have been more of a burden.

“So you accomplished what you wanted right?” the reverend inquired.

“Yep” said Lowry as he unloaded several packs and placed the contents into their various hiding spots.

“So that’s good right?” continued Barnes as he pressed the unusually tight lipped Lowry.

Reynolds jumped in. “Don’t let him bother you Rev” said the unusually cheery Reynolds. “Lowry’s just mad”.

Still not grasping what was going on the Barnes stammered, “I’m sorry guys. I hope I…..”

Again Reynolds jumped in. “Ask Lowry to take off his shirt Rev” instructed the now laughing solider.

Still not understanding the situation he stammered out the request of Lowry.

“Damnit. It’s not funny!” he gasped as he tore off his undershirt.

DeMetrie, Reynolds and the Reverend Barnes all burst out laughing. Lowry’s torso was covered in bright red welts.

“You see Mr. Barnes,” declared the Captain, “we were almost discovered by some contractors as we were observing the target. In an effort to take cover quickly, Private Joker here landed on a fire-ant mound. Since the contractors were almost on top of us he couldn’t move or make any noise. Needless to say he isn’t pleased.”

“If it’s needless to say, Captain, than with all due respect don’t say it!” said the exasperated Sergeant Lowry.

Howls of laughter filled the room as all three men had a good belly laugh at their friends’ expense.

****

Several days passed and the flood of contractors into the area continued. Soon their manpower increased to levels that allowed Werner to have multiple roving patrols and roadblocks running in different parts of the county at nearly all times. It also afforded him the ability to run shifts so that he had better coverage for longer periods of time. Within a few more days he’d have enough to have around the clock coverage.

More threatening to Miller and his men was that Caddy was finally able to have his main team, and an alternate team on the prowl looking for suspicious activities nearly all the time while still having a fast reaction squad on hand.

The balance of power had shifted clearly in favor of Werner and his men. Senator Donovan realized the importance of clamping down on any possibility of an insurgency springing up. He’d been careful thus far to make small concessions to keep the majority of people relatively content. If he took away Internet service he allowed phone calls to reach out further. If he reduced the monthly allotment of sugar, he’d allow the power to stay on a little longer each day.

What he didn’t count on, however, was allowing that incompetence of men usually found it’s way to the surface no matter how good of a plan one was following. Most military contractors were honorable men trying to use their skills to provide for their families and support their communities. Even Werner’s group, Aperture Consulting, were generally decent men who exercised restraint. But, like any organization, there were bad apples. The contractors, who were in Werner’s district when the hostilities broke out, or even the ones along the coast who resorted to burning churches to the ground were men more likely to cheat, steal and kill than honorably earn a living.

Despite the lack of Internet or long distance phone calls, word was spreading through the area like wildfire about an incident in a small town at the other end of the Southern District. Contractors had turned several counties into an area under siege and harassed the population mercilessly. The men stole and menaced the townsfolk and generally acted like desperados of days gone by.

Tensions slowly rose until one day a local townsman had reached a braking point. While checking out of a small store some contractors started harassing the man, claiming his papers were out of order and generally working the man over for a bribe. When he attempted to turn and walk away from the two men they tackled him. In the process of slamming him to the ground the man had a heart attack and died. As the evening wore on men of the town attempted to storm the local contractors barracks and seven men were left dead before the shooting stopped.

This event only sparked further controversy and outrage. With a series of several days twenty nine more people would be dead, several young girls raped and untold businesses and buildings burned. It was like something out of Nanking in the late 1930’s than something ever imaginable in the United States.

This spark sent shockwaves through the Southern District as word spread. For his part Donovan had the contractors removed and hauled off to a work crew in the swamps and replaced them with the best men he had. Buildings were rebuilt and the Senator made several personal visits to the area handing out cash money as if it were Halloween candy. While this seemed to calm the tensions in the immediate area, other towns and cities were set abuzz with word that people were standing up to the contractors.

Outside the immediate area, however, the Senator reversed course from his benevolence and moved more towards a return of martial law, further restrictions on food purchases, flagrant phone taps and encouraging people to turn in their neighbors for petty matters. Roadblocks sprang up and people were suddenly required to register for a new identification card, which would force them to declare any weapons they owned, large stores of precious metals or food. The Senator even strong-armed several larger credit card processing companies to feed him information on people’s purchases for the past year. He had a small army of technical people pouring over them to determine who had bought what and who might be a threat because of it. In each successive area there was a general oppression reminiscent of a mid-century Eastern Bloc country as the changes happened.

As word of the massacre spread around the county, and in Shelton and Lumberton themselves, people began connecting the dots between the previous attacks on the contractors and what would be possible if people put their minds to it.

[The Stig]

“Damn Miller” said DeMetrie. “At the rate the contractors are pouring into the area we won’t be able to sneeze without being seen”. DeMetrie wasn’t a worrier, but he was a realist. The numbers just weren’t on their side.

“You aren’t kidding,” said the equally concerned Miller. He too recognized that there was only so much their small group could accomplish.

The men kicked around different ideas for their next strike but the planning phase was taken to a whole new level. Where before a plan could be hatched and implemented in a day now planning alone would take several days. With only four fighting men they couldn’t afford a single mistake that could result in an injury.
“I was thinking. Maybe we ought to put together an exit strategy. I’m nowhere near done with these pukes, but if everything goes to hell how are we going to move all of us and the Donners out of here?” DeMetrie liked to cover all his options.

Miller leaned back in his chair. “I think I have something for that. Barnes has been pouring over the black-book of contacts and thinks he’s broken the code. Not sure how he did it but that guy has been at it for nearly three straight days. Turns out some guys near Woodville run a taxi service of sorts.”

“You got me” said DeMetrie, “Never heard of it”.

Pointing it out on the map, it became very clear that the taxi service was a boat taxi. Woodville sat on the banks of the Mississippi River.

“Problem is” continued Miller, “it’s at least two days ride there and back. I hate to be out of the fight that long but I need to check them out”.

“Oh goodness Miller” fired back the Captain “how did we ever survive the sandbox without you?” with a broad smile on his face. He was clearly referring to his military service in the Middle East.

Miller was never one to back down from playful teasing. “Just think of all those fine, modern, clean and vibrant cities you left behind”.

“Yea,” snorted back the Captain. “A real paradise.

“Since you are used to much larger urban metropolises I’ve sent for someone who can give you boys a little backwoods guidance,” replied Miller.

“Outstanding” replied Millers friend with mock enthusiasm.

****

Barnes alternated between a steaming cup of coffee and the black notebook they had acquired from Ron Little. He had stared at it for days and nearly cracked the code. Or, at least he hoped he had done so and wasn’t sending Miller off on a wild goose chase.

“Still studying your book” said Clarissa as she walked into the farm office. She clearly started the Reverend who quiet latterly jumped out of his chair. He was so engrossed in the book that he hadn’t heard the door open.

“I’m so sorry Reverend!” exclaimed Clarissa as she got behind her desk and prepared to tackle some bills before the company truck arrived on it’s return trip from Wyoming.

Barnes attempted to compose himself while responding. “You are fine Mrs Donner. I’ve been so engrossed in this book I must be in a different world”.
“Please Reverend” said the pretty brunette, “it’s Clarissa”

“Only if you quit calling me Reverend”.

Smiling her beautiful smile Clarissa replied, “You do make a good point. I just hope Miller knows what he’s doing on this expedition to Woodville.”

“John can handle himself,” said Barnes has he closed the notebook and wiped his tired eyes.

“I know. But there’s never been anything good come from Woodville.” Her words trailed off.

“Don’t worry” replied the churchless Reverend. “John’s quick on his feet. Besides, Woodville has never met John Miller”.

“I hope you’re right Rever….” she stopped herself….”Tim. Now, I better get some of these bills processed so the taxman won’t come calling.

****

“If anybody pegs your asshat meter, take care of them” directed Caddy to the checkpoint team leader.

“Yes sir” the young man replied into his radio. “Man thinks we’ve never run a checkpoint before” he thought to himself as he turned and returned to his work.

The small team was running a checkpoint at the intersection of several country roads. The roads barely registered on a map, however, those who knew the area often used them as shortcuts. As such there was a fair amount of traffic and Caddy had personally chosen the spot.

To affect the roadblock, a large pickup truck had been parked in the middle of the intersection. Anybody approaching the intersection would have to slow down which allowed one of the contractors to approach the vehicle to interview the driver while his teammates provided cover from suitable positions. It was an effective, if simple, arrangement that allowed the ten men to completely shut down the intersection.

The team had been at work for several hours, mostly dealing with people going to work in the early morning, when a large semi-truck pulled up to the intersection. It squeaked to a stop, airbrakes making their distinctive whoosh noise as one of the team members motioned for the driver to step down from the cab.

“Where you headed,” he asked as the driver climbed down the side of the big rig.

“Just making a delivery to ClarMar farms” said the tired looking man. “Here’s my ID, fright manifest and logs”. As he handed over the stack of information it was clear the driver had been through the process before.

Giving the truck driver his best glare the contractor appeared to study several pages of the logbook for the slightest error or omission. While he was at it several of the other contractors nosed around the outside of the truck, occasionally peering under it.

“How was the drive through Kansas?” asked the contractor. His tone and body language made the question far more menacing than simple conversation.

“I don’t know,” replied the driver.

The answer stopped the contractor and got the attention of one of the men lurking in the area of the conversation.

“You mean to tell me you came back from Wyoming and don’t know what Kansas was like?” asked the clearly irritated contractor. The tone in his voice brought the teammate assigned as his direct backup closer in.

“Yes sir” came back the heavily accented reply. Wiping his nose on his shirtsleeve the driver continued on, “Kansas is so flat and boring I just put on cruise control and take a nap”. The grin on his face was so infectious even the contractors had to laugh. The joke worked and the tension of the situation deflated like air rushing out of a ruptured balloon.

“Hey boss, called out one of the men inspecting the truck. “Want me to check out the sleeper?”

Glancing over the logbooks the contractor asked, “Anything in there you want to tell me about”.

The truck driver’s heavy draw punctuated the reply. “Well, I did have an accident that involved a Gatorade bottle and some recycled iced tea. Your man might want to watch where he steps”.

Again the joke served its intended purpose. “Nah, let it go,” the contractor called out to his man. Turning back to the driver and handing back the papers he said, “Here you go, drive safe”

“Yall stay away from the women around here. I hear they’re hairier than ZZ Top” called out the truck driver as he climbed back into his rig.

[The Stig]

Silence filled the air as the rumble of a tractor-trailer truck working its way though the gears faded into the distance. There was a light mist hanging in the early morning air as the contractors returned to their various positions and awaited the next car.

Small talk and banter kept the men occupied for the five minutes it took for another car to pull into the intersection. This time the car pulled to a stop somewhat short of the intersection, immediately setting the contractors on edge.

“Step out of the car please sir” instructed one of the contractors as he approach the vehicle. As a precaution one teammate stationed himself at the front of the car, while another positioned himself angled off the back driver’s side taillight. Both men stood far enough from the vehicle to give themselves room to maneuver should they have to, but close enough that, if needed, they could pour rounds from their rifles into the driver. The contractor issuing the commands to the driver already had his hand on his duty pistol.

“What’s that” called out the driver as he craned his neck outside the car.

“I said get the fuck out of the car, and do it now” bellowed the contractor in a tone and volume that would make a Marine Corps drill instructor proud.

“Ok man” said the driver as he fumbled around putting the car into park and pulling the keys from the ignition.

As the man attempted to open his car door, but got hung up in his seatbelt the contractor’s patience gave out. The other men in the team had begun moving into advantageous positions should trouble erupt with the driver, but they continued to pay attention to the area around the intersection in the process.

Reaching into the open door, the contractor pulled the man out of the car, slamming him to the ground. The man cried out as his face bounced off the parking lot, leaving several teeth lying on the ground in a pool of bloody spittle.

“Jesus man, you knocked my teeth out” screamed the man, blood pouring down his chin.

As the contractor placed hand restraints on the man he replied, “you’re lucky we didn’t perforate you dickweed”. Pulling him to his feet the contractor and an assistant started pulling the man towards the pickup stationed off the side of the road.

“You better have a…….” was all the lead contractor could say before the first shot rang out. A shotgun blast exploded from the wood line fifty yards from the side of the road. Several pellets of OOO buckshot impacted one of the contractors, knocking him to the ground. At the same time, a rifle shot cracked through the air, passing through the driver of the car and striking the contractor with enough force to take him to the ground. The driver was dead before his body slammed back to the pavement where he had left his teeth just minutes ago. A small revolver fell out of his pocket and chattered across the blacktop.

Like a macabre ballet the contractors instinctually moved to cover where they could find it; some behind the pickups, some in a small ditch and others behind a small stone outcropping just off the side of the road. Several more rifles opened fire as the contractors sprinted and danced in an effort to find haven from the bullets crashing around them.

It didn’t take long to identify that the rifle fire was coming from the east side of the road. In a series of hand motions and head nods, the lead contractor soon had his men returning fire and tossing smoke grenades to provide additional distractions to the men attempting to kill them.

As the shotgun roared and the rifles cracked, the contractors quickly regrouped and began maneuvering in an effort to return fire. Within a few seconds the bursts of the contractors AR15’s and AK47 pattern rifles filled the air as well aimed shots began chewing up the trees surrounding the would be attackers.

Several of the contractors in the ditch were able to move to the north and cross the road. Despite the ping of buckshot dancing across the blacktop road, all three men were able to cross the road unscathed. While they were making their sprint the contractors who had found cover behind and around the pickups unleashed round after round of 5.56x45 and 7.62x39 rounds into the woods that their attackers had chosen as cover.

One more lucky shot found its mark as it remorselessly drilled its way through flesh and bone and the young contractor who asked about inspecting the tractor-trailer tuck yelled out in agony. The man had made the mistake of standing very close to the side of a pickup as he returned fire on the attackers. He kneeled against the fender of the truck in the classic position often seen by police during standoffs. A rifle round had glanced off the hood of the tuck and impacted him though the skin of his cheek. The bullet dug deeply into his sinus cavity before finally exiting the back of his skull in a shower of blood, bone and brain.

While the young man lay twitching on a rural Southern road, the three contractors who had crossed the road managed to move within twenty-five yards of their attackers. Within minutes the man with the shotgun was gunned down in a hail of bullets as he futilely attempted to return fire. In the panic and terror of the moment he didn’t aim his weapon correctly and pellets harmlessly whizzed passed the contractors. The old adage that you didn’t need to aim with a shotgun turned out to be false.

Being careful to avoid the crossfire from the men on the road, the contractors continued their relentless close with the men who attacked them. It didn’t take long to find the firing positions of the men who had unwisely chosen to remain stationary.

One man was desperately trying to reload his SKS rifle with ammunition on a stripper clip. The man had once bragged to friends that he could reload just as fast as a man with a magazine fed rifle. It turned out his bragging was more bravado than fact as he fumbled the reload and was unable to accurately guide rounds into the chamber of the rifle through the narrow slots on the front of the bolt mechanism. While he stood struggling with an empty rifle, one of the contractors calmly aligned the red dot of his electronic sight on his target and rattled off five rounds. All five rounds slammed into the man’s chest in rapid succession sending him spinning to the ground. His empty SKS fell uselessly into the grass.

The fire from the attackers dwindled down to a man with a bolt-action hunting rifle with a cheap scope. There was no contest between him and the experienced men with modern weapons.

In the short five minutes of the fight, two contractors and the four attackers lay dead.

While two contractors were killed, the entire group attacking had been wiped out. In short, the attack was an utter failure.

****

“You aren’t going to believe this” announced Greg Donner as his daughter came to the breakfast table.

Wiping the tiredness from her eyes and drearily navigating her way to the coffee maker, Clarissa finally responded, “probably not Dad. What is it?” She was in no mood for games. Since the news of her husbands’ death she hadn’t been sleeping well and it was starting to catch up to her.

Greg beamed as he finally had a morsel of information to hold over his daughter. As his health had declined he had felt more and more powerless as his Daughter assumed more of his care. The old Marine wasn’t used to having his little girl taking care of him. Having some information gave him back some sense of control, even if temporarily.

“You sure you are ready for this?” he taunted.

“I can still put you in a home” she fired back.

“Word has it a group of men attacked some contractors a few days ago” He let the statement hang in the air as she processed it.

The words hit her like a baseball bat to the head. Suddenly all of the tiredness had left her body. “What? When?” she stammered. “Who?”

Greg leaned back in his chair while sliding his empty coffee cup across the old wooden kitchen table that had sat in the same kitchen for over a century. He locked eyes with his daughter until she picked up on his playful extortion.

As the coffee poured into his cup, he explained. “Turns out we aren’t the only ones socking it the contractors. After news of our first attacks spread other folks worked up the courage to do something. Three men tried to bushwack them at a checkpoint but things went tits-up and they didn’t make it. But the important thing is people want to do something. Miller was right. Fight back and others will join in.”

“Oh Dad” she exclaimed. “That is awful. Who died” she asked, genuinely concerned.

“Red Johnson and a couple of his pals. Don’t know his friends.”

As she started making breakfast for the both of them, as was her ritual, she mulled the news over in her mind. She couldn’t decide if this was good news or bad news.

“Listen” he said with an uncanny excitement in his voice. “Get on that field phone and get that Captain DeMetrie over here. He needs to hear this pronto.”

“Dad, I don’t think that’s smart. They aren’t supposed to come to the house,” replied his daughter.

“Horseshit” Greg exclaimed as he tapped the floor with his cane for emphasis. “There’s too much of this James Bond stuff. Trust me, he’ll want to hear this right away and I’m not riding out to the Farm.”

“Alright, eat your eggs and I’ll call out there. They likely haven’t left to come over here for work anyway. I’ll go call them”

Greg continued to gloat over his intelligence coup and sudden ability to call the shots for once. He knew it wouldn’t last but it reminded him of the good old days, even if only for a minute.

[The Stig]

At that exact moment, Werner and Caddy leaned over a table in the city hall conference room.

“Take your team to this farm here” explained Werner. “I’ve got good intel that they have a lot of weapons and have been making noises about starting a resistance”.

“Damn” replied Caddy, puffing on his first cigar of the day. “Lots of open land around the main building complex. No worries. We’ll get it done”.

“Good. Now, lets talk about the other raids we wanted to try up in the north-eastern part of the county”.

“Yea” replied the always to the point Caddy. “Oh, Rick’s team has been in the doghouse long enough. I’ve replaced their driver and I’m taking them along as backup. They’ll still do the shit work but I think the boy deserves another chance”.

Werner was surprised by Caddy’s compassion. Usually when he’d soured on someone he’d ride them till the broke and slinked away. Something about Rick’s refusal to break struck a cord in Caddy who, in turn, commuted Rick’s sentence for the time bearing.

Rick would never realize how close he’d been to being shipped off to a camp.

****

Miller awoke from his rest in a makeshift shelter he had made at the top of a small hill outside Woodville. It had been a long ride across country and Miller was feeling the tiredness creeping into his bones.

Cleaning up his camp and policing any signs that he had been there, he rode several miles to a secluded inlet off the river. There he carefully stashed his motorbike under a small clump of trees. To avoid a complete disaster he marked the location on his map. It was risky, because if someone found the map they’d uncover his bike and he’d had a long walk home. Of course, if they found the map it would be because Miller was dead and the walk would be the least of his problems.

Donning a small knapsack he carefully began making his way towards town. Patting the false ID he had acquired from Ron Little’s stash and updated with his photo thanks to the wonder of modern digital photography, he began a brisk but calm walk towards town.

His destination was the Floyd Brothers Water Livery. The Floyd brothers, Tom and David were born losers and only got worse with age. By the time they turned eighteen they had both done time for various unsavory activities. Their time as guests of the state was due, in part, to their own ignorance as is often the case with criminals.

They inherited several small boats from a dead uncle years back and had continued on with his nearly defunct water taxi business. Supplementing their meager living by transporting those who needed to move themselves or items long distances without risking air travel or trips down heavily patrolled highways, they had found a niche in life.

Senator Donovan’s prohibition on travel outside the Southern District and heavy road patrols from contractors served to boost the Floyd Brother’s business, as the Senator was smart enough to leave control of the massive waterway system bordering the state well enough alone. This afforded the Floyd Brothers the opportunity to move people and light cargo long distances and with very few questions asked.

By breaking the code in Ron Little’s book Barnes had suggested their names as possible alternate transportation for large groups of people traveling long distances. DeMetrie was right, Miller thought to himself, they needed an ace in the hole in the event everybody needed to leave at once.

Miller walked the several miles to town and then made his way to the riverside. After a while he found the dilapidated old building that housed the offices of Floyd Brothers Water Livery. The two-story building looked like a cross between a set for the Broadway adaptation of Popeye combined with the urban decay of modern day Detroit.

Gasping the door handle Miller confidently pushed it open and stepped inside the dingy office. The pungent aroma of stale cigarette smoke coated the ripped and torn mid-century deco furniture with a thick layer of despair. Papers were scattered all over the old wooden desks, two of them back-to-back, often times buried beneath ashtrays and old coffee cups. While there were some nautical looking charts on the wall Miller was reasonable sure they hadn’t been updated in years. There were several base radios on cabinet behind the desks but computers would have been as out of place inside the office as working girls in church.

“What do ya want” growled Tom.

“Looking to possibly move a couple things north” replied Miller. Sizing up the men, Miller wasn’t impressed. Both brothers were six foot tall, two hundred fifty pounds and wore clothes that hadn’t seen a washing machine in several years. Their limp greasy hair and missing teeth rounded out their charming physical appearance.

“That’s what we do” came the curt reply.

“Well good” Miller beamed. Helping himself to one of the dirty chairs he casually began asking a litany of basic and banal questions about water transportation. The entire time he sat inside the office he was taking mental notes of the layout of the office, what he could see outside and any other useful information he could gather.

He smiled. The Floyd Brothers were perfect for his needs.

****

“I’m telling you Clarissa” Greg declared, “We’re doing the right thing. The Captain needs to know about this right away.”

“Ok Dad” she replied, more to avoid a lecture than to agree.

“They’ll be here any minute. Now, we have about twenty minutes before you need to leave for the office and another hour before the workers start to arrive. We’ll compare notes and plan accordingly. No problems and he’ll be on his way before you know it” explained Greg as he hoisted himself into an easy chair in the living room. This would serve as his command station for the briefing,

Within a few minutes came a light knock at the side door to the house. Greg gestured towards as a way to instruct Clarissa to answer it. She was willing to give him a moment in the sun, but sometimes he didn’t know when to stop.

Quickly pulling the door open Mike DeMetrie slipped inside. Just as she went to shut the door another person began crossing the threshold. It startled her as she assumed Mike was coming alone.

“Morning ma’am. Is this the way to the nerve center of ClarMar farms?”

Before she could say anything, Dink Roberts shut the door and was standing inside her kitchen.

****

“Miller figured yall could use some more local flavor” said Dink with a smile as they ate breakfast. DeMetrie had dispatched Lowry to the main entrance of the farm to take up an observation post in the event contractors showed up. DeMetrie and Dink would have plenty of time to fade into the woods and make their way back to the semi-secure confines of the farm should that happen.

Dink, the former country sheriff turned rogue, was a friend of Millers and helped him and his family escape the clutches of a corrupt Sheriff and some contractors at the beginning of the countries problems. Along the path to their escape they adopted a young girl, Maggie, whom Dink took under his wing. For the past few months they, Miller’s family and their friends, the Webb brothers, had been riding out the conflict on a large ranch in Wyoming.

Miller knew he’d be gone for the better part of a week while he arranged transportation in Woodville and didn’t want to leave the men shorthanded. Even when he returned they needed more hands to fight the escalating situation with the contractors. He calculated the risks and used the ClarMar Farms delivery truck to smuggle in some added help.

Nobody was more surprised than John Miller when the slightly built Dink Roberts crawled out of the hidden compartment in the semi-trucks sleeper cab. He had sent for their friend Webb knowing that Dink was tending to Maggie. Murphy’s law had reared his head and Webb had badly sprained his knee. There was no way he could have stuffed himself in the small compartment let alone ride there for the border crossing.

“Looks like people are waking up from their damn fog and starting to fight back.” declared Greg. He had triumphantly told DeMetrie and Dink about the attack on the contractors. “Bout damn time too.”

“Maybe now you can recruit more men Captain” added Clarissa.

Dabbing some eggs with a piece of toast DeMetrie looked up. “Lets not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to figure out how to organize people without giving away who we are. Not like we can put an add in the newspaper.”

“That’s why you need a displaced hillbilly like me” said Dink. “I’ll put together a list of people to approach and then we figure out the way to send out the bat-signal.”

“Agreed. I think we also another big attack before Miller returns. Something to really get people’s attention” mused the Captain.

While they finished their breakfast the group discussed various topics. There was no mistaking that everybody fully grasped they were pressing ahead into a potential cauldron from which there was no turning back. They could all walk way now and likely remain unscathed. They could even all migrate to the ranch in Wyoming. They hadn’t passed the point of no return.

It was clear none of them considered turning back, even if for a minute.

[The Stig]

“Wadya have in mind” asked Tom.

“I may need to hire one or all of your boats, with little notice, to move a fairly long distance,” Miller calmly stated as if he was asking for extra napkins at a restaurant.

Exchanging glances before answering Tom grunted out, “that’ll cost”.

“Not a worry,” continued Miller. “What do you have in mind?”

The beady eyes of Tom Floyd narrowed and he ran his hand across his pate and through his disgusting hair. David simply leaned against the wall in the back of the room picking his fingernails with a pocketknife. Miller could see him clearly in the reflection of a small mirror that hung on the wall.

“Ten thousand up front. Two thousand a month so we don’t forget you and twenty-five when we drop you off. Could be more depending where you want dropped off,” replied the older of the Floyd brothers.

“Try again” said Miller with a polite smile.

“I’m not the one who needs to move cargo,” replied Tom. “And we risk of losing our business”.

Looking around at the drab office Miller replied, “Looks like you could take any business you could get now.”

An uneasy silence hung in the air as Miller and Tom stared holes into each other. After an awkward pause Tom broke first. “We hafta make a delivery. Why don’t you take a ride too? That’ll show you the boat and how we handle an problems.”

Miller agreed and all three moved to the dock area. Within minutes the greasy Floyd brothers had launched their twenty-eight foot cabin cruiser boat. The boat was in the same condition as the offices, shabby, broken down and dirty. But the engine ran smoothly and it handled well.

Five minutes into the ride Tom Floyd left his brother at the wheel and tossed Miller a dirt covered can of beer. Cracking his own open Tom said over the roar of the engine. “If we do this, you able to pay up-front money today?”

Miller nodded affirmatively.

Smiling his toothless and greasy smile Tom ambled his way back to his brother and said something into his ear.

Miller leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the early morning boat ride. He had no doubts the Floyd brothers fully intended to kill him.

[The Stig]

The men walked silently down either side of an old country road. Like a scene out of a World War II movie they walked with rifles at the low ready and kept an eye out for trouble. To the casual observer, all of the men had the same appearance: boots, bloused trousers with pockets, chest harnesses and helmets. Equipment was strategically strapped in various places, ready at a moments notice.

Rick was happy. Caddy had granted he and his team a reprieve and it appeared they would finally have a chance to work back into his good graces.

Their job today was simple. They were to set up a screening position on a farm that was being raided. Their job was to take positions one hundred and fifty yards to the rear of the collection of buildings around the farmhouse. Should anybody try to escape in their direction Rick’s team would be in a position to stop them.

Thirty minutes of walking later they approached a small wood. Rick motioned to his men and silently they all disappeared into the thick underbrush. From the road the men were invisible within seconds.

They had stalked their way into position and could see the collection of buildings across the open field.

“Team 2 in position” he said quietly into his raid.

“Copy that” came back the digitized voice of one of Caddy’s men. The man himself was along with the primary team. He preferred riding with the men to the stuffy confines of City Hall.

“Team 1 initiating approach” crackled the same voice. Within seconds Rick could see two large SUV’s driving towards the farmhouse. Caddy’s simple plan was to approach the house directly, stride to the front door and demand entry like a policeman serving a warrant. He’d leave half his team behind the vehicles and have the other half with him on the porch. The direct approach was tactically unsound but Caddy sometimes preferred to “drive straight up the middle” to borrow the football analogy.

Through his binoculars Rick watched as men crisply exited the vehicles. Oddly Caddy remained with the men at the trucks. “He must be letting the other guy get a chance,” he thought to himself.

“Are they moving in?” asked one of his men.

“Yea,” replied Rick. “Caddy and the backup team will probably be moving towards the house once the first team makes entry.”

Rick had no sooner gotten done saying then when gunshots rang out from the direction of the farmhouse. The team of men behind the trucks, Caddy included, immediately opened fire on the farmhouse, a tidal wave of bullets slammed into the hundred-year-old plaster and lath walls.

His men instinctively tensed in preparation of possibly going to battle.

“Stay alert” Rick commanded.

Peering back through the binoculars, Rick watched the man on the far end of the trucks, the one who had knelt behind the front wheels, suddenly lurch over. Other men frantically tried to pull him back further into cover from whoever was shooting at them from one of the barns to their left.

It didn’t take long from them to hose the old building with bullets. The concussion and roar of a hand grenade exploding tossed a fountain of dirt and dust high into the air near the front of the barn.

“Team 1, advise,” Rick said excitedly into the radio.

Caddy’s voice, calm and in control, came booming back. “Team 2. Move towards the buildings to your right, thirty yards left of our position. Team Lead stay in position to provide cover.” Caddy could have just as easily been ordering a pizza.

Rick barked out the orders sending the other three men moving towards the buildings and double-checked to ensure his rifle was loaded.

The sound of rifle fire continued as rounds tore into the old building. The once proud farmhouse simply began to disintegrate under the hail of copper coated wrecking balls. Another terrific explosion marked a grenade blasting a gaping hole in what once was a picture window.

“Team 2, storm the black barn, furthest to the right behind the silo” boomed Caddy’s voice, still calm and cool. “Some bastard is in there with a rifle, kill that fucker” came the explicit instruction.

Watching as his men began quickly but cautiously approaching the building Rick noticed a plume of flame begin licking from underneath the eaves on the backside of the house. Within seconds a significant portion of the roof was engulfed in flames.

As he heard the distinctive pop-pop-pop noise of his men dispatching the sniper he also noticed two men running from the back of the house. To his horror he realized they were running directly towards him.

Pulling the magnified optic to his face he could clearly see the terror in the men’s eyes as they ran, full speed, across the open field in a desperate attempt to make it to the woods before being spotted.

“Team 1, be advised two males exiting the rear of the house, heading directly towards me” exclaimed an excited Rick.

“Take them out” came back the remorseless directive.

Glancing back through the optic the men had already covered nearly fifty yards. He pulled the butt of the rifle back into his shoulder and nervously clicked off the safety catch. He could see the plumes of dust being kicked up under their feet as they ran.

While time started to slow down Rick’s mind raced. Maybe the men would give up.

They were almost seventy-five yards from him when Caddy’s voice again burst out of the radio. “Shoot those fuckers. They killed four of our men” For the first time Caddy’s voice rose above a calm, detached tone.

Caddy’s voice broke Rick from his stupor. Taking in a deep breath he took aim at the first man and pulled the trigger. The man staggered and broke his gate as the round slammed home into his chest. Fractions of a second later, Rick’s second bullet found its mark causing the man to collapse and tumble across the ground. A cloud of dust was kicked up as body plowed a shallow troth in the dirt.

The second man broke stride at the sound of the rifle shot and his friend’s shout of agony. Rick could see the consternation on the man’s face as he debated, for a fraction of a second, whether he should continue on or attempt to help his friend.

“This guy has to see me,” Rick thought to himself. Rick had been in the military and been trained. He even saw duty in the Middle East. But the stark reality was that he had never had to kill a man before. He secretly prayed to himself that the other man would stop running towards him. In the background Rick could see Caddy and his men rounding the corner of the farmhouse and surrounding the now fully ablaze home.

Involuntarily Rick yelled out at the man to stop. It had no effect.

Sweat dripped down Rick’s face as he began to squeeze the trigger for the third time. The man was now close enough that they were looking in each other’s eyes. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he shot the man through the heart. Three more rounds hit the man before he finally crashed to a heap almost five yards in front of Rick.

“Team 2 report!” demanded Caddy.

Rick’s hands shook so badly he couldn’t find the microphone switch. After several drunken stabs at it he found the button and croaked “Both subjects down. Rear secure” in to the radio.

Looking back at the now blank eyes of the second man Rick was horrified to see they aimed directly at him. The bile now fully rose from his stomach and he vomited. He was still retching as Caddy and another man approached.

The other contractor checked to ensure both men were dead while Caddy waited for Rick to compose himself. Finally the churning of his stomach stopped long enough to gasp for air.

“Come on Rick. Get your team. We’ve got dead men and injured to attend to”.

Breathing hard and wiping the spit from his mouth Rick began to shakily follow Caddy across the field. After twenty yards he looked back at the second man one last time.

He would never forget the look on the man’s face right before Rick took his life. The eyes were permanently burned into his psyche.

[The Stig]

As the boat glided into the inlet off the river Miller knew the Floyd Brothers were going to make their move on him. They had continued their pretense of making a delivery as they anchored the boat slightly offshore. The silence of the cove was startling after hearing the rumbling engine for so long.

He sprawled casually across a seat at the rear of the boat as the two brothers spoke in hushed tones in the cabin.

“Hey, come’ere” one of them called out.

Miller stood, knapsack in hand and cautiously began walking forward.

“Is there a problem?” he asked casually.

Tom Floyd smiled his greasy, toothless smile and there was a strange glint in his eyes. “Yea mac, there is a problem. You’ve got our money. Now hand it over,” he commanded.

Miller noticed the small pistol in David’s hand and the knife in Tom’s as they gestured for him to hand over the knapsack.

Calmly Miller replied, “Boys, we don’t need any trouble here. Let’s just sail on back and part company”.

The other men were standing just outside the small cabin area of the boat while Miller was still in the open rear seating area. Tom stepped forward, knife at the ready, and said in an evil low tone, “mister, you isn’t going back. Now give me the money”. What Tom failed to notice was that had stepped in front of his pistol-wielding brother in the process.

Miller, almost carelessly but suddenly, tossed the knapsack to Tom. Trying to catch the knapsack one handed, while retaining the knife in his other hand, caused him to catch the cloth bag awkwardly. For a brief second he fumbled with the lopsided bag and nearly dropped the knife. Miller didn’t hesitate and, dropping his shoulder, shoved the man backwards as hard as he could.

His timing was perfect and the older brother crashed backwards into the younger, his knife dropping harmlessly to the deck of the boat. David exclaimed “hey” as his brother landed against him. The exclamation was nearly drowned out by the report of the automatic pistol discharging a round into Tom Floyd’s back. The surprise and inertia of his brother crashing into him caused him to involuntarily fire the gun.

David moved backwards to untangle himself from his brothers lifeless body as Miller rose to his feet and scrambled to the side of the boat, just slightly out of view of the younger Floyd brother who was now fully in the small hallway that lead to the cabins. Recovering quickly, David confidently stepped forward knowing Miller had nowhere to hide.

He was right, as he swung outside the hallway Miller was meekly standing there, arms at his side. David raised his small pistol and aimed square at Miller’s chest. “Ya sonofabitch. I’m gonna fuck you up” has all he could spit out in his rage.

“By all means” taunted Miller.

As he pulled the trigger he was surprised when nothing happened. Like in the movies, when the badguy runs out of bullets and keeps pulling the trigger, David Floyd again fruitlessly pulled the trigger. He didn’t realize that firing his pistol while the barrel was directly against his brothers body knocked it out of battery. Unless he racked the slide to chamber another round it would never fire. Almost instinctually he glanced down at his weapon. It would be the last mistake he’d make.

Miller expertly lunged forward, using one hand to guide Floyd’s gun hand to the side and the other to strike the younger brother squarely on the jaw. The pistol clattered to the deck as Floyd was knocked backwards and fell. Miller pounced on top of him and using the all weight of his body he could muster, crushed the other man’s trachea with his forearm. He held pressure against the neck and windpipe until the younger brother quit squirming.

While it wasn’t part of his original plan, it looked like Miller’s group just acquired three boats.

[The Stig]

Flames still licked at the remains of the farmhouse as Caddy and his emergency medic dealt with two injured men. They had been drug far away from the inferno of the farmhouse so the medic could attend to them without fear of a burning house collapsing on them.

As Rick unsteadily wobbled around the corner, still shaken from his experience in the field, he came upon the team medic working feverishly over a wounded man.

Caddy had most of the team searching the outer buildings and securing the area while a designated man communicated with the helicopter that was coming to take the two men to more advanced medical care.

The wounded man, stripped to the waist had a small wound in his upper chest. The ugly purple edges of the upturned skin gave way to a dull gray patch with small smears of blood. Rick was struck by how little blood there was but the gurgling sound of raspy air, wet with liquids, was unmistakable. Rick realized the man had been the one he saw being shot and then drug back behind the vehicles during the fight.

Caddy knelt beside the man and calmly told the man he would survive and help was on the way. For a hard fighting warrior, Caddy truly cared for his men and hated to see them suffer. “Gibbons, stay strong son” advised Caddy as he placed a cool wet cloth across his lips. “The helo’s on the way”.

“Yes sir” mumbled the man. The Fentanyl lollipop in his mouth was already delivering it’s dose of pain killers, easing the mans pan. “Sorry Cappy…….” was all he could mutter.

“You did fine son” Caddy replied as he carefully took his man’s pulse. “Just relax,” he said, as a father would console a son who had just lost the homecoming football game.

“Looks like Gibbons took one to the upper chest. No exit wound that I can tell,” announced the medic as he dug through his bag of supplies. Rick watched him pull a yellowish film from a pouch and after wiping the excess blood from the wound area he expertly slapped it into place. He double-checked to ensure the chest seal had fully covered the wound area. Using a couple pieces of tape to further secure it he triple checked the man’s body for any other hidden wounds. As far as he could tell there were none.

“Let’s keep him still until the bird gets here, then we can carry him over” directed the team medic.

“How far out is the bird?” yelled Caddy to the man coordinating the arrival of the chopper. After a short delay the man held up all ten fingers.

Turning back to his man Caddy continued on, “Ok Gibbons. You are good to go now. Bird will be here pronto. Just hold on son”. Caddy had lost men before, and they always took a horrible toll on his conscious.

Sensing a break in the situation he asked about the other wounded man who was sitting a couple yards away.

“He’ll be fine for the most part. Horrible scar though. Took a round through the meat of his thigh ripping open a wicked gash. He bled like a stuck pig so after putting on a tourniquet, I packed the wound with quick clot gauze, placed a pressure dressing over it and an Israeli compression bandage over that. I marked the tourniquet time and other info on his wound tag”.

Rick glanced over to see the white laminated placard hanging from the man’s chest. They had all been trained in emergency combat medical care and been issued full individual first aid kits. Aperture Consulting was one of the more cutting edge contracting firms that wanted to give their men the best tools possible. The placard had basic information so those who would tend to him next would have the information they needed.

The medic continued, “he’s may have nerve damage but mostly he should be fine”.

Turning their attention back to Gibbons, the medic noticed his shortness of breath and him grasping at his chest despite being in a narcotic fueled haze.

“Aw damn” exclaimed the medic. “He’s got a tension pneumothorax.” He immediately fished around in his bag looking for something.

Caddy noticed Rick’s confused look and volunteered, “air in the chest wall collapses the lung. It won’t re-inflate”.

The medic drew out a stout looking needle from his bag and probed Gibbon’s chest looking for his second rib. “Caddy, put that lollipop back in his mouth” he directed. Finding the spot he wanted, he rubbed an alcohol pad on the area. Rick stood transfixed, having never seen anything like this before.

The medic pressed the needle deep into the man’s chest. Even over the commotion going on around them, Rick clearly heard the whoosh of air leaving the man’s chest. Giving it a second to ensure Gibbon’s breathing returned to normal he then removed the needle and jammed it deep into the ground. Using some tape he secured the catheter that remained in Gibbon’s chest to ensure it wouldn’t become dislodged.

“Rick” the medic suddenly commanded, “go check out Charlie’s wound dressing. Make sure there’s no blood seeping through it. If there is call me. If not, let him suck some water from a bandage and talk to him. He’s coherent”.

Turning to Caddy, “That kid was in combat? He looks like a deer just before the semi-truck turns it into highway hamburger. I sent him over to Charlie so he wouldn’t barf on me”.

Caddy glanced over at Rick and then back to the medic. “Yea, I don’t know about him at all….”

The distinctive sound of helicopter rotors boomed over the horizon as the medievac chopper moved towards their positions.

The medic instantly sprung into action. “Ok, Caddy, cover up his chest with a jacket or something. Once the bird lands we’re going to carry Gibbon’s over. Get some other guys to help.” Caddy responded immediately, being a smart enough solder to know the medic was in charge of the scene despite Caddy’s rank.

“Rick” the medic yelled over. “We’re taking Gibbons first. Be right behind us with Charlie. He’ll need help to walk.”

Soon the chopper was moving into a hover in the clearing behind what once was a farmhouse. All the men worked together to help their friends move towards more advanced medical care. Like a scene out of Viet Nam, Gibbons was carried in a poncho liner by six men and carefully slid into the floor of the bird. Rick, despite his nausea soon led Charlie into the back of the bird.

All the men cleared the area as the engines strained to return the helicopter to its unstable dance across the sky. Rick wondered how more of the choppers didn’t crash to the ground as they defied physics.

As soon as the helo cleared out the medic was on the radio giving the in-flight medics a rundown on the two men and the medical attention they had received thus far.

All of the men, Caddy included, starting feeling the letdown as the crisis ebbed to a conclusion. The medic, gloves and jacket covered in blood, began picking up his bags and gear. The other men milled about as they completed their duties. Rick finally regrouped with his men and began, somewhat shakily, to find out what happened when they stormed the barn.

“Alright everybody” Caddy bellowed. “Let’s get back to the ranch and figure out what the fuck went wrong”.

[The Stig]

Dink and DeMetrie had only met once before, and that was only for a few brief minutes. But they were similar men of similar natures. While Dink was more likely to crack a joke they were cut from the same cloth when it came to tactics and being vicious. Dink was not a military man, he was just a good ole boy who knew how to handle himself.

“So Captain” Dink said as he leaned back in a chair, “what sorta message are we going to send?” The candlelight that illuminated the room danced across the ceiling.

Barnes, Lowry and Reynolds kept in the background as they cleaned weapons and loaded magazines. Reverend Barnes had been loading ammunition to augment the stockpiles they had been able to accumulate. It was tedious work, but Lowry and Reynolds had tutored him on the various shortcuts to speed up the process.

The addition of Barnes to the mix really helped the team. He was able to do the more time consuming tasks like load ammunition so the rest of the team could plan, rest and eat. He actually relished the role.

The ammunition-loading role was more vital than he realized. While they had a healthy stock of factory loaded ammunition, if their situation dragged on, or they needed to supply other team members the stockpile would dwindle quickly.

DeMetrie was acutely aware that while they had decent supplies now, that situation wouldn’t last forever.

“We don’t want to get drawn into a conventional fight. We don’t have the manpower or resources. So we keep up the ambushes and bombings,” stated the Captain.

“I like sneaky” replied Dink.

“One of Sergeant Lowry’s many fans passed on that the contractors are expecting a plane load of supplies and equipment at the airport tomorrow. You know much about the airport?”

Smiling Dink replied, “Good layout, nice tree line and hillside to provide cover. All the hangers and buildings are clustered together. Really only one road in and out”.

Dabbing up some water he had spilled, DeMetrie frowned. “Almost too good to be true. And we’re not going to have enough time for proper recon. Might be risky”

Lowry finally spoke without looking up from the rifle he was cleaning. “Captain, we know when the plane lands. We could stage a diversion. Now that Dink’s here we can split up two and two and still get the job done.”

Reynolds nodded in agreement.

DeMetrie really didn’t like the idea of splitting his forces. They weren’t much of a force anyway, and couldn’t afford diluting their strength. But hitting a supply airplane would make a big splash.

Never one to dally too long DeMetrie made his decision. “Ok, we plan this down to the nub. No winging it. Mr. Barnes you better join in the party too”.

Barnes, somewhat surprised to be included, eagerly joined the table as the men began to plan their mission.

It was well into the night before DeMetrie was satisfied with their plan. “Ok, get some rack time” he directed to his men. After Barnes, Lowry and Reynolds Dink and the Captain remained behind in silence. Each man lost in his thoughts. DeMetrie went over the plan for the hundredth time, looking for any flaw or oversight that could endanger his men. Dink wondered what Maggie was doing and if she understood his absence.

“Tell you what Captain” Dink said, finally breaking the silence. “This is a hellofa mess we’re in”.

All Mike DeMetrie could do was agree. The odds were against them pulling off their next attack, let alone surviving a prolonged conflict with the contractors. Part of him prayed Miller secured transportation so they could all head off to Wyoming and forget this mess.

****

Rick laid in his bunk at the high-school across the square from the Shelton City Hall. He could just barely see over the sandbags that lined the tall windows. Caddy had them put in place when the attack against the contracts began in earnest. We watched the trees sway in the light breeze and lights dance across the moonlight square.

He desperately tried to fall asleep but his mind was spinning. Every time he tried to sleep the eyes of the man he had killed invaded his thoughts. Before long several hours had passed as he lay staring out the tiny crack in the window. Those eyes haunted him.

He was lost after he got back from a tour of duty in the Middle East. He never experienced combat, always being behind the wire in more of a service role. Despite his lack of direct combat experience, Werner had decided to take a chance on the young man. It was clear to all involved that he just wasn’t cut out for this line of work.

It was Caddy that saved his life. Werner was fully prepared to ship him off to a work camp in the swamp to be held for an indefinite time. Since Donovan had opened them the camps had swelled as people were sent there for crimes real and imagined. He used the free labor to begin stockpiling various goods that may be needed if the conflict in the north spilled over into the Southern Zone.

All throughout history there have been examples of people, given a small amount of power over those who can’t defend themselves, running amok and abusing the responsibility. Those lording over the camps were no different. It didn’t take long before “residents” were disappearing or severally injured. It wasn’t uncommon for work parties to go out into a swamp and come back missing several people. In short, the camps were spiraling out of control.

Much like the incident with the contractors, word of the camps was starting to spread through the countryside. First it was a whisper of strange happenings. Then rumors flowed of how friends and acquaintances had disappeared. Before long people were taking it for granted that the camps existed and you did not want to find yourself an inhabitant of one.

Caddy, the soldier’s solider, went to bat for Rick. While it was obvious this wasn’t the right line of work for the kid, there was no sense throwing away someone that might be useful in other ways. He convinced Werner to allow Rick to simply walk away and be a potential asset down the road.

The truth was, Caddy just couldn’t bring himself to sentence the kid to death. When it came to fighting there was no warrior fiercer than Caddy. You did not want to be his enemy. The reality was Rick was not the enemy. He was a kid looking for where he fit into life. It was not unlike Caddy when he joined the Marines all those years ago.

The minutes turned to hours as Rick played the shooting at the farm over and over in his mind. Every second. Every detail. Occasionally he was sure he smelled the field and heard the crackle of the firing consuming the farmhouse. Like a never ending tape the scene played though his mind. If those men had just stopped running. Or run a different direction. Or if his weapon had malfunctioned. There were a hundred different things that would have prevented Rick from having to take the life of men he had never met.

He finally took solace that he was flying out of town on the supply plane the next day and he wouldn’t have to be in that situation ever again.


****

A dense gray mist descended over the entire county rendering the landscape into a patchwork of gray as light was blocked from reaching earth. The mist and fog added an eerie dimension to everything as visibility would be lost or gained within seconds.

Greg sat on the front porch of the farmhouse, drinking coffee, as his daughter got ready to walk over to the farm office to begin her daily routine.

“Doesn’t look good,” he said as he sat down in a chair to spend a couple minutes with him. She had a busy day ahead of her but always made time so she wouldn’t take her father for granted. Time was starting to run out for the old man and she didn’t want to miss a second of it.

“No, this isn’t good at all” she agreed.

Sipping his coffee and looking off towards nothing in particular he said, “DeMetrie won’t call it off. If anything, this helps him.” DeMetrie had made a quick visit prior to the men leaving for their mission to attack the contractors. He always made sure Greg and Clarissa knew where just in case people came snooping around. A suitable cover story had been hatched long ago.

‘Dad, how is this going to play out? Those men are taking big risks, and sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it”. Clarissa Donner wasn’t one to turn tail and run, but at the same time she knew that sometimes coming back for a fight on a different day was better than never coming back at all.

His answer surprised her. “Sweetie. Men are going to die. No two ways about it. But what Donovan is doing isn’t right. Sometimes you have to do what’s right even if it don’t make sense.”

She walked over, kissed his forehead and walked to work with a terrible foreboding about what would transpire that day.

[The Stig]

It was well into the morning as the pilot circled above the single runway of Shelton’s airport. He had flown in from Florida with a load of supplies and would leave with some documents and a passenger. Donovan had people coordinating supply flights to augment what the contracting firms could do for themselves. Some of the flights were military, and many of the smaller ones were other contracted firms. He was spending a lot of Federal assistance money that he had deftly convinced President Alan he needed to make sure his area was a secure as possible on the program.

Glancing out the window he saw a break in the stubborn fog and decided that it was worth taking a chance to land. He radioed the tower regarding his intentions and began maneuvering the plane into a crosswind approach to the airport.
The twin engine Piper Navajo responded as he eased the throttle back to begin losing altitude. The aircraft had all the advanced navigation equipment one could imagine along with a small cargo door. This made it ideal for ferrying in miscellaneous equipment to some of the smaller and more remote areas. Today’s delivery was mostly first aid supplies and radios.

Expertly transitioning back and forth between the instruments and the outside world the pilot began the turn to the downwind portion of his approach. If luck held, and the gap in the fog didn’t close up he’d be on the ground in a few minutes.

****

One of Aperture Consulting’s M35 six wheeled trucks slowed as it approached a series of turns in a road eight miles to the east of Shelton. Werner had purchased several of the trucks to move large amounts of men or material and they augmented their fleet of SUV’s and pickup trucks nicely.

The driver, his assistant and the small team of contractors following behind in an SUV was heading out to the north east corner of the county to take a load of ammunition and other sundry supplies to the small outpost Werner had established there. He had placed the base there to help manage the collection of small towns in the area and act as a forward staging area for operations. He dispatched the truck to deliver the food and ammo they would need for prolonged operations against any troublemakers.

The road was just one of the millions of small, lane and a half sized roads that crossed the south like ribbons. For the next quarter mile the truck would slow as it maneuvered the turns and then finally cross a one-lane bridge before hitting a long straight away. The contractors were fully aware the turns were a perfect spot for an ambush. The misty fog didn’t help their anxiety.

As the truck would slow for a turn the tailing SUV would slow accordingly to avoid becoming too bunched up. All of the eyes in both vehicles, short of the drivers, were scanning the adjacent roadway for any signs of trouble.

****

Just after the Navajo had turned to the final approach the fog closed back in. Cursing the pilot moved the throttles forward, raised the nose and calmly announced a missed approach over the radio.

As he climbed out over the field he though to himself he’d give it another fifteen minutes then he’d divert.

The fact was he was dieing to use the restroom.

****

The driver of the duce and a half truck breathed a sigh of relief as he worked his way through the gears after negotiating the last stretch of curves before the bridge. The contractors were keenly aware of the attacks against them and fully expected something to happen in the turns while they were moving so slowly.

Turning to his assistant the driver commented that they were almost home free as he aimed the front wheels of the truck at the small bridge. In a couple more seconds he could jam the accelerator, as much as the old truck could accelerate, and get out of the area.

Had the driver not turned his head at that instant, and distracted the assistant, they stood a slight chance of seeing the two small black boxes about a quarter of the way across the bridge deck. While remote, they may have been able to slam on the brakes and avoid crossing the small light beam that one box shot across the bridge deck towards the other box, containing a reflector.

This simple arrangement, stolen from a residential garage door safety system, served to seal their doom. As the wheels of the big truck broke the light beam a small electrical signal was transmitted along a wire that ran beneath the bridge.

The Captain had authorized the use of some of the C4 explosives they had stolen from the military when they left so many months ago. They had been hording it and using other improvised explosives in their other attacks to conserve what they had of the military grade materials. As the electrical charge reached the detonator it served to explode the C4 explosives, which were nestled between several residential propane tanks, common to millions of barbecue grills across the country.

The explosion was deafening and clearly heard in the outskirts of Shelton. As the bridge deck simply vaporized the large truck was hurtled nearly ten feet into the air before slamming back down, on it’s side, in the shallow creek bed. Truck parts and contents were sent flying in all directions, some as far as several miles.

Traveling behind the truck, just coming out of the last turn, the SUV slammed on its brakes and pulled off the side of the road to avoid being stuck in the open. As the occupants threw open the doors a hail of gunfire slammed into the truck from the opposite side of the road. The driver had broken to the right and fortuitously chosen the side away from Reynolds and Lowry. Had he swerved left they would have been nearly on top of the men and stood no chance of exiting the vehicle.

The SUV provided some cover as the occupants on the far side spilled out. The man in the backseat was able to crawl across the seat and crash out, nearly on top of another contractor, in his hurry to find cover. The driver, however, trapped by some gear that hung up on the steering wheel never stood a chance. Reynolds cleanly shot him, through the door, with enough rounds to ensure he’d hit his target.

One of the other contractors made the mistake of leaning too far from the end of the vehicle in an attempt to locate Reynolds and Lowry. Lowry, who was positioned more towards the curves quickly dispatched him.

Even over the gunfire and ringing from the explosion, Reynolds could clearly hear one of the men screaming frantically into his radio for help. He smiled knowing that forces, only eight miles away in Shelton, would converge on their location. Their instructions were to draw in as many other contractors as possible and so far the plan was going smoothly.

[The Stig]

The pilot of the Navajo was once again on final approach as the mercurial fog presented him another opening. Instead of flying a formal pattern approach, he immediately dove towards the airport at the first sign of an opening. He wasn’t going to miss his chance again and it wasn’t like there were other recreational flyers boring holes in the sky.

As he bled off airspeed the plane continued to sink closer and closer to the ground. Making sure he didn’t allow his aircraft to enter an aerodynamic stall he monitored the instruments closely as the end of the runway got larger and large in the windscreen.

Glancing up towards the far end of the runway to ensure he was still lined up he sensed it was time to flare the aircraft. His five thousand hours of experience guided him as he eased the yoke back and cut the throttle slightly. He felt the wheels make contact and chirp as the plane momentarily shuttered.

He announced over the radio he was leaving the active runway heading towards the hanger area. Through the windshield he could see several men maneuvering a pickup truck, ostensibly to offload his cargo. Using his toes to work the brakes he deftly worked the throttles to smoothly propel the plane forward. Soon he saw the lone man, with a large duffle bag and several backpacks, standing, somewhat forlornly, near the side of the truck. Clearly that was to be his passenger.

Taxiing up to a spot near the truck he shut down the engines and secured the plane. After several hours in the air he awkwardly maneuvered himself out of the pilots seat and opened the cargo doors.

“Is this Air America?” said one of the men on the ground.

“I wish. This is more like Air Istanbul”. They all laughed politely at the bad joke. “All the stuff you guys need is in those bags” he said pointing backwards as he climbed down. “You guys grab them. I need the head before I wet my pants.”

The passenger hung back awaiting his ride out of town.

****

As Rick waited for Air Istanbul to whisk him off to a new beginning, Reynolds and Lowry worked to keep the two contractors pinned down until their cavalry arrived. Their plan was to break contact at the first sign of the reinforcements and haul ass out of the area.

It didn’t take long before another SUV came screaming through the curves, nearly tipping over in some curves, to help support the trapped contractors. Lowry, who had the cleanest shot calmly placed round after round through the windshield until the truck nearly flipped over. Engine racing it slammed back down on both wheels, which only served to cause the engine to die. Several contractors attempted to stagger out of the truck but they were fully exposed. While Reynolds kept the two original contractors busy Lowry slowly and calmly shot the others.

Before the last shot rang out the sounds of more engines penetrated the mist. The time had come for Reynolds and Lowry to exit stage left. Reynolds gave the signal and Lowry quickly disappeared into the underbrush.

Throwing one of their coveted smoke grenades towards the first SUV Reynolds in turn slid off the side of the embankment and began making his way through the underbrush heading off towards the motorbike they had hidden a short distance away.

As Lowry made his way through the underbrush he was surprised when a group of contractors suddenly appeared in a small clearing. What he and Reynolds didn’t know where that several more trucks of contractors were behind the first rescue truck Lowry had perforated. One load of contractors started working behind the roadways in an attempt to trap anybody who might be exiting the area.

Spotting the men, who were in the process of raising their rifles to fire, Lowry dove behind a large fallen tree. He hit the ground milliseconds before rounds started thumping the tree and ground around him.

****

“Please put your trays and seatbacks in the full, upright position” the pilot said across the intercom. He had invited his passenger to enjoy the flight from the front seat. They’d have a couple hours flying time and the pilot could use the company.

Rick smiled back as the pilot smoothly pushed the throttles forward and the engines roared to full power in response. He could feel the plane lurch forward and begin to accelerate down the runway and freedom from this dismal town begin inching closer and closer.

The pilot monitored his instruments as the plane picked up speed. At the ready, in the event he needed to abandon the takeoff, he waited until they reached the required speed to gently pullback on the yoke to start the process of climbing into the air.
The pilot said, “Here we go” as he began pulling the yoke towards him. As the control surfaces moved in concert, the airflow changed creating the lift to begin pulling the aircraft away from the concrete runway. The nose of the aircraft rose as the entire airplane tilted upwards and the nose-wheel broke contact with the runway. Seconds later the oleos of the main gears extended to their limits as the plane transitioned into full flight.

At that exact instant the side windshield suddenly cracked and spidered as automobile glass might when hit by a rock. The pilot exclaimed as more holes began appearing and Rick felt something whooshing past him like angry hornets.

“What the fuck!” the pilot called out as he pushed the throttles forward to their stops.

“Are you hit?” asked Rick.

Sweat had already beaded on his forehead as the pilot yelled out. “My leg. Something hit my leg”

Confusion reigned as the pilot struggled to guide the aircraft into the air while his leg screamed in agony. Suddenly red lights appeared on the instrument panels as the right side engine suddenly coughed and died. This only magnified the pilot’s workload as the plane both lost thrust and quickly became unbalanced due to the huge dead weight of the shattered engine.

“Do something,” yelled out Rick as the pilot, already turning pale from the blood loss, struggled with the controls.

“Tower, this is Whisky five niner”….he was able to gasp into the microphone before suddenly grunting and slumping forward. Rick could hear the pinging of something impacting the side of the aircraft. He could only assume they were bullets and the pilot had been hit again. This assumption was confirmed when the cockpit was filled with a fine red mist and we was covered in bits and pieces of the skull and brain matter of what used to be the pilot’s head.

The aircraft, with one engine dead, and barely enough airspeed to stay aloft, was now completely out of control. Rick instinctually pulled back on the yoke as hard as he could which only served to worsen the situation.

The plane, cockpit and engine in tatters, slammed back into the ground, nose first, in a crumpled heap of shattered metal and aluminum. Instantly bursting into flame, the aircraft soon began consuming itself.

[The Stig]

Lowry was stuck. The four contractors were closing in and he was running out of options. The decision to move back to the motorbike separately wasn’t tactically wise and he was about to pay for their poor choice.

Reynolds, only fifty yards away through the thick underbrush, had already started moving towards Lowry’s position when he heard the gunfire from a new direction. But he had problems of his own to contend with. While he tried to move through the thick tangle of trees, bushes, vines and thorns, the contractors from the roadway realized they had withdrawn and begin pursuing him. Every step he took towards Lowry was a step closer six contractors came to him.

Knowing the risks he pressed on towards his buddy. He and Lowry had survived all sorts of Middle Eastern hellholes and ambushes. He wasn’t going to leave his friend behind.

Reynolds, had just cleared into a small opening about twenty five yards from the tree offering Lowry his scant cover. He had to dive backwards and to the side to avoid the hail of rifle rounds from several of the contractors that were closing on Lowry’s position.

“Hold on Lowry” he yelled into his radio microphone. He knew the situation was bad, and the contractors from the roadway were nearly on top of him. He tried to find some way to break cover and put rounds towards the contractors near Lowry. If he could do that they might get out of this yet.

As rounds whizzed past him he heard his radio key. As he was staining to find a way to shoot back at the contractors he heard Lowry’s voice, calm and flat, “Reynolds. I’ll cover you. Go. Now. It’s an order”.

It took his brain a second to process what his Sergeant was telling him. He was shaken from his confusion as he heard Lowry’s rifle open up and a loud scream coming from his direction. The rounds stopped hitting around him.

Reynolds, knowing that his friend was providing him an escape quickly vaulted to his feet. Glancing back quickly he saw Lowry, kneeling behind the tree, exchanging rounds with the contractors who were nearly on top of him. Even the contractor that was shooting at him had turned his attention towards Lowry.

Knowing that he had a fraction of a second he sprinted forward with every ounce of energy he could muster. The contractors from the road were seconds from being able to see him. Ignoring thorns that tore at his skin, and vines that threatened to trip him, he pushed on to cover the short distance to the motorbike that served as his means of escape.

He heard the rifle fire die down in the background as he frantically pulled the bike up from underneath the leaf-covered tarp used to hide it. Jumping on he kicked the starter and prayed it would fire the first time.

The small engine sprung to life and he wasted no time as he lurched forward. Despite being only twenty yards ahead of the contractors they had drifted off line towards the scene of the gun battle with Lowry giving Reynolds the time he needed to escape.

Soon he had covered enough ground that he could start carefully navigating down some lonely country roads. Ever vigilant for a truckload of contractors, or a roadblock he pressed on back towards their compound. It would be several hours before he got back to The Farm.

Sam Reynolds was a hardened combat veteran, but the Corporal that looked oddly like Cuba Gooding Junior couldn’t help but have tears in his eyes.

****

After effecting their escape from the hillside near the Shelton airport Dink and Captain DeMetrie covered the ground towards their equally hidden motorcycle. Their escape had been far easier. Between the confusion over Reynolds & Lowry’s diversionary attack, and the suddenness of their own, the few contractors at the airport stood no chance of finding them, let alone engaging them.

“Damnit” said Dink as the quickly and carefully navigated through the woods. “I burnt the hell out of my hand on that suppressor”

Their plan had been simple. They laid in wait on the hill just to the side of the lone runway at Shelton’s airport. Using suppressed rifles to conceal their location both men poured as many rifle rounds as possible into the aircraft just as it was taking off. DeMetrie focused on the engine while Dink aimed what he could at the cockpit area. Their choice of vantage point was a good one and they were more or less directly across from the point where the aircraft was rotating for takeoff.

Hitting a moving target isn’t all that easy. To compensate, both men used the fully automatic selection on their rifles to launch as many projectiles as possible in the small window allotted to them. Their rifles had been perched atop backpacks to steady them an a small stack of magazines stood at the ready to increase the firepower at their disposal. They weren't even sure they could bring down the aircraft, but felt it was worth the try for such a high value target.

Soon they got back to their cached escape vehicle. They began the long journey back to the farm to swap war stories with Lowry and Reynolds.

****

“What the hell happened?” demanded Greg Donner from Captain DeMetrie. The Captain had just dropped the bombshell on the Donners about what happened to Lowry. He wasn’t over it either, but he assumed his command face and carried on in the way he had so many times before. It never got any easier.
Clarrisa Donner sat in stunned silence, face ashen with remorse. She knew there was danger and she knew the risks they were taking. Reality often hits like a freight train and this case was no different.

“It would appear that the opposition got on scene faster than we anticipated. According to Reynolds, they got separated and they backfilled on Lowry” said the Captain. While his voice was even and flat, his heart was nearly broken. This was the second of his Sergeants he had lost in this backwoods intergovernmental pissing match.

The room was dimly light. The group had once again assembled in the upstairs room of the Donner house it what had become part conference center, part command center and part refuge. Candles lit the room and the light flickered oddly across everyone’s face.

Greg finally broke the silence. “We have to get more people involved in this deal. You guys can’t carry the brunt of this forever.”

“Miller will be back tomorrow,” said DeMetrie. “Then we’ll figure out the next step here. We can’t just go door to door asking people if they want to join a resistance”.

“As long as you know what you are doing, “ grumbled the old man. He knew there was little they could do but didn’t like the situation at all.

“If yall don’t mind me saying so,” interjected Dink, “we have a bigger problem here”.

All eyes in the room turned to the ex-sheriff’s deputy turned freedom fighter.

“They are going to identify Lowry’s body. Once they do, it’s a matter of time before they connect him to Green Acres here”. The statement hung in the air as everybody contemplated the ramifications.

“Dinks right” Greg agreed. “Between military and electronic records, and the information they gathered when they came to the farm it won’t take them long to point back in this direction.”

“How long do we have” asked DeMetrie.

“Best I recon, couple days. Tops” hypothesized Dink. “If we are lucky’.

DeMetrie sprung to action. “Donners, you prepare supplies you’d need to take with you to evacuate the farm. Travel light. It’s you two only. Sorry, but the other employees are on their own. You’ll leave with us”.

“What” said Clarrisa. “Leave the farm?” She knew it was an eventuality but hearing the words turned her blood cold.

DeMetrie was not to be side tracked from his orders after all those years in the military had conditioned him to give orders not work in a committee. “Mr. Barnes is going to move in for a while. He’ll serve as watch and assist with a trip to our compound if the need arises. Reynolds will prepare our gear and transport to get us to what Miller has arranged.”

“Greg, make sure you destroy what you need to destroy and bring any cash, papers or equipment you can’t live without. Keep it light”. Greg nodded his understanding. “Have it ready no later than tomorrow morning. Use the phone and someone will come pick it up and pre-stage it at our place.”

“Clarissa, Barnes will be here tonight. You cook up a cover story to explain his presence if anybody asks. Once Miller returns and we know where we’re going I’ll deal with the logistics.”

Continuing in his smooth but not rushed cadence, “we need an early warning system so we know if vehicles roll down that drive way. We’d at least have some warning then. Who wants it?” Greg again nodded.

“Mr. Roberts and I will put together some diversions to try to keep our friends busy the next couple of days. That might buy us some time.” As was his custom, DeMetrie looked in the eyes of everyone in the room to ensure they heard his direction and had no questions.

“Captain,” came the heavily accented interjection from Dink Roberts. “There is one other thing yall should consider.”

“Yes?”

“We could always hit them, hit them hard and do it before they expect anything”. Despite the obvious risks involved, Dink beamed from ear to ear.

“Mr. Roberts” said the battle hardened Captain. “I like the way you think”.

[The Stig]

Across the country the political situation continued to spiral out of control. Crutchfield’s forces capitalized on their victory at the battle of Franklin by driving westward and essentially capturing nearly all of the state of Ohio and Western Pennsylvania. This placed the Federal forces, still aligned with President Alan, in Eastern Pennsylvania and West Virginia in grave danger. Crutchfield could now attack into eastern Pennsylvania and New Jersey without fear of exposing their flank.

And that’s just what the treasonous Generals from the North East did. Within days they thrust into the area in three main columns. The fighting was fiercer than before when battles were fought between mismatched troops and without proper support from aircraft or artillery. There it was more like a rolling bar-fight. In the east, the fighting took on the feel of the Russian plains in the 1940’s where larger formations advanced under the watchful eye of aircraft and following a thunderous pounding from the ground shaking artillery. Battles were bigger, more intense and consumed more lives.

Crutchfield played his cards well. While he knew he couldn’t afford large slugging matches for long, he played on President Alan’s apparent obsession with protecting the Washington DC area. This allowed him to both gain ground and tie down large numbers of the President’s resources in a confined area.

The same commander that had engineered the breakout at Franklin was working on a new plan. This one was more bold and on a grander scale than his previous operation. With Crutchfield’s blessing he was putting the details together for a thrust to push into Kentucky and Tennessee. This would serve to further encircle the mass of President Alan’s combat forces that had pulled back from their original positions into the Virginia’s and Maryland.

Augmenting his men with troops from the captured areas that came over to the Crutchfield side, the commander would have just enough forces to make the push, assuming the rest of the President’s combat troops stayed pinned down in the east.

And Crutchfield had another card to play. Since the battlelines were being drawn along political ideologies, a great many of the politicians from the Chicago area were pledging their support for his movement. Should this drive to the south be successful, they would cast their lot in with Jackson Crutchfield and lend whatever men and material they could muster from their areas. The key to his success was gaining ground, and more importantly, manpower.

It was important that this southern drive be successful for yet other reasons. Interests not friendly to America had pledged naval assets to Crutchfield’s cause should he gain enough ground. A navy was one thing he was not able to acquire when he turned on his country, as there just weren’t any naval assets in his sphere of influence. The situation was different there and no naval units of significance had pledged support to Crutchfield. The one area where President Alan had shown some resolve was ensuring that ships of the US Navy were far away from the North Eastern states once this trouble started brewing.

Should his move to drive a stake in the heart of the eastern US be successful, other interests would move to ensure his states were not blockaded and supplies could continue to flow into the area.

The time for President Alan to act, and act boldly was now. If he failed to act, and Crutchfield’s latest plan succeeded, the state of the union might forever be in jeopardy.


****
Barnes and Reynolds quietly cleaned and assembled gear. The Captain had called from the house indicating they might have another operation soon and the gear and weapons had to be readied.

Reynolds had lost friends before. He’d seen men die and held them in his arms as life slipped out of them. But losing Lowry, after losing a different Sergeant earlier was a big blow. Reynolds struggled when he first arrived in country when the unit was in the Middle East. He couldn’t adjust, couldn’t find a rhythm and wasn’t screwed on straight. Both Sergeant’s took the time to help him get unstuck. They saw the potential in him as a solider and helped him get through the rough learning phase of combat.

Now, they were both gone.

Reynold’s pushed that to the back of his mind while he maliciously cleaned rifles and loaded magazines. For his part, Reverend Barnes tried to strike up a conversation with battle weary Corporal but soon realized it wasn’t in the cards.

They quietly assembled the gear as they awaited the return of their Captain.

****

As the evening wore into early morning the group was exhausted. They had planned and schemed all evening to work out the details of both a possible evacuation and quick strike on the contractors. Clarissa said little except with the occasional suggestion. DeMetrie and Dink did most of the planning with assistance from Greg.

Despite the odd group assembled, they worked together fairly well. As dawn was breaking they finally came to the realization there wasn’t much left to do. Miller would be back and as soon as he arrived they’d launch the operation.

What Clarissa didn’t grasp was what DeMetrie and Dink had in mind had the potential to turn into a last stand rather than a decisive victory. All three men in the room fully recognized that four men against much larger numbers was a tall order. Surprise and experience notwithstanding the odds were against them all returning.

Sergeant Lowry’s loss wasn’t likely to be the last one before this mess was over.

****

It turned out be a very busy day for the contractors in the employment of Aperture Consulting. By late afternoon the operational tempo had reached a near manic pace.

The first incident was an attack on a roadblock just outside Lumberton. Several armed men fired on contractors as they were stopping cars and inspecting the passengers. Nobody was hurt, with the exception of the paintjob of an SUV. Before the contractors could regroup and pursue the men they vanished into the thick woods.

At nearly the same time another small explosion took place near the gas station DeMetrie’s men had destroyed. The attack was another hit-and-run and by the time contractors patrolling in the area arrived on scene none of the attackers could be found, save some motorcycle tracks in the mud.

In the far North Eastern corner there was a combined attack. A small attack hit the forward base that Werner had established with some harassing gunfire. Once again the attackers melted into the woods. Just outside of one of the various small towns in the area, however, there was a major firefight as some contractors raided another farm. Just as they were approaching the house attackers appeared from the distant woods and engaged them in battle.

It was a futile attempt, however, as the attackers fielded low grade, outdated weapons against modern military models in the hands of experienced men. One of the attackers died when his HighPoint pistol failed as he prepared to shoot a contractor. As the man glanced down to figure out why his pistol wouldn’t fire, the contractor calmly shot the man to death.

All told, four attackers died and the contractors found signs that others had escaped.

At lunch someone tossed a firebomb in one of the trucks parked just down the street from Shelton’s City Hall, the central headquarters of the entire county. The few witnesses either saw nothing or gave wildly conflicting accounts of what took place. The only casualty: one burned out truck.

Another patrol of contractors was hit by well-aimed rifle fire as they drove down a backcountry road on the way to investigate anonymous reports of a weapons cache in the extreme southern end of the county. The contractors, as they were well trained to do, immediately left their vehicle to seek cover. As they did, a wall of gunshots collapsed on them. In the brief three-minute fight, all four contractors were killed.

A short while later a drunken man attempted to run a checkpoint some contractors had established just outside Shelton. When contractors cornered him, he attempted to open fire with the aim only double vision can provide. A hail of bullets pummeled his car and rendered both it and the driver inoperable.

Things seemed to subside somewhat after an improvised explosive demolished a small building outside Lumberton that contractors were using to store some equipment. Like many of the other attacks, the perpetrators disappeared long before the contractors could respond.

[The Stig]

The tired and dirty group of men reassembled at the farm. The mean wearily trudged into the building and began stowing their gear after a long day of racing around the country to various locations.

They just wanted to rest and eat a meal. Captain Mike DeMetrie had other plans.

“Ok boys. Take ten minutes, but then we have to start gearing up for the main show tonight. It will be dark soon”. Reynolds groaned but complied, the result of years of military order. Dink made a wisecrack but too complied.

“Mr. Barnes” said the Captain. “Did you ready the equipment?”

“Yes sir” he said eagerly. “All of the fresh packs are assembled in the main room, ready for you guys to inspect. Want to make sure I did them right.”

“And you loaded all of the magazines?” continued the questioning. For what they had planned, DeMetrie didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

”Captain” interjected Dink has he massaged his bare feet. “What about Miller?”

The Captain, attending to his own personal needs, looked over. “If he gets back in time he’s going. We’ll need the manpower. If not, we have to give it a go without him. We can’t delay this.”

Dink agreed. He hoped Miller would get back in time. In addition to the extra manpower, it would be nice to ride out in a blaze of glory with a friend.

“Dinner is almost ready,” said Barnes. “It’s not much, but Clarissa brought over a few things to make it a little better.”

“You know, for a Reverend, you are turning into a hellofa supply sergeant,” quipped Dink.

Smiling the Captain restored order. “You’ve got ten to chow, hit the head, and refresh your mess. Then we gear up, review the plan, and roll”.

All of the men, Dink included, replied with a crisp “yes sir”. Mike DeMetrie was the sort of leader than men naturally responded to.

****

Werner and Caddy were having a long day of their own as they inspected the scene of the four dead contractors.

“It appears the attackers were stationed here and there,” said the contractor pointing to a spot across the road. “These guys knew what they were doing,” he continued. “Well placed shots, no wasted ammunition, perfectly executed ambush.”

Caddy knelt beside one of the young men. He tenderly collected some personal items and prepared to write the letter to his next of kin that would shatter their lives. He didn’t have to do that, but it was a carryover from his military days.

Both men were tired, hungry and mad. The attacks happened so quickly, and far enough apart that many of the contractors spent time chasing attackers that weren’t there. For each incident there would be a hurried response, frantic communications back and forth between Caddy and the field commanders, decisions made in a dynamic environment and people dispatched to respond. Many of the men were frustrated.

They spent the day chasing their tails.

“You think all these attacks are related?” asked Werner as the two men gathered by the side of the road and watched bodies being loaded into the back of trucks.

“We’ve got big problems Werner. Those attacks yesterday were by pros. And today wasn’t a mistake. Coordinated effort or random event…who gives a shit. People are fighting back.”

“Well tell me something I don’t know,” said Werner angrily.

Caddy ignored the snipe and continued on. “Other than speeding things up, you shouldn’t deviate from our plan. We’ve got the information Donovan gave us about people’s calls and purchases. We’ve got a good list of people to press. Keep on that course.”

Donovan wasn’t a name Werner wanted to hear. The Senator had already called in an irate tirade about all the attacks. Werner wasn’t sure how the Senator already knew what was going on, but he took the full force of the verbal assault without responding.

“Listen Caddy,” Werner continued. “This has been your plan. Your teams have been the ones taking losses. Your rope is even shorter than mine”. With that he turned and stormed off.

At times like this Caddy tended to ignore Werner and let him blow off steam. He turned back to the men and continued to help them process the scene.

It was several minutes later, on the drive back to Shelton, when Caddy’s voice came across the radio. After the procedural call and refrain to verify everybody was who they said they were Caddy gave him several more details about the ambush scene. He also reminded Werner of the night raid they had planned for the Northeastern corner of the county. Werner slowly calmed down as they discussed business.

Before signing off, Caddy asked, “I have the team ready to transport the prisoner. Did you make the arrangements for the travel?”

“Affirmative” came the terse reply.

****

“Dad, what have we gotten ourselves into?” wondered Clarissa Barnes as she and her father sat in front of a roaring fire. Even with the farm’s exemption, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep the power on at all times. So they’d gotten into the habit of using candles for light and the fireplace for heat and some cooking. Some nights it was almost like being thrust back into pioneer days.

Greg merely grunted to note that he heard her comment.

“I mean we’re doing the right thing. I’m glad we can help. But are we really ready to put everything on the line? We don’t even know these men,” she said into the flames as she contemplated her coffee mug.

“What’s worrying you sweetheart? You’ve been on board the whole time,” asked Greg.

She paused for a while. Clarissa wasn’t one to spout off without collecting her thoughts. “Well Dad, when this all started it seemed more like an adventure. Some guys were hiding out in our back woods and fighting evil. Let’s play freedom fighters! Now, we may have to leave the farm, that poor Sergeant Lowry is dead, and there’s a good chance more men are going to die. I don’t know……” she trailed off., “is it going to be worth it?”

The fire crackled as a log burned in two and thousands of little sparks went up the chimney. Greg leaned further back into his tired and worn chair and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly he was thrust back into a different time and different land. Despite the warmth of the room he was gripped by the bone aching chills he last felt while fighting in a frozen wasteland around a worthless reservoir in North Korea. It was funny how various things would trigger memories even after all these years.

“Sweetheart,” he started off slowly. “There was a time a million years ago when I thought the same thing. I knew we were doing good, but when I looked around at the mangled bodies of buddies, or thought about the nameless kids that came and went, I’d have to wonder.”

She sat quietly. Despite neither of them being young anymore she hung on his every word, just as she had done while she sat on his knee as a child.

“There was this kid. Good kid, big and strong with blonde hair. The kind who played football and dated the prom queen. From Iowa I think. Everybody liked that kid. He was a good solider.”
Taking a long sip from his coffee, he could almost smell the stench of the battlefield. “We were on a patrol when it happened. The Chinese jumped us. There must have been a thousand of them. Everywhere you turned you saw those little bastards. Guns nearly melted we shot so much ammo that day.”

He stopped to take a drink. He feet hurt the way they used to after a long day wearing combat boots. The sounds of gunfire and men screaming echoed through the recesses of his mind.

“So an hour into it a couple of guys are trapped. The Chinese know it and are bearing down on them. Everybody’s scrambling and yelling and before anybody can do anything this kid runs thirty yards, through the open, to get to the men. Along the way he’s shooting and tossing grenades like mad.” Greg could almost feel the pinging of rounds hitting the dirt around him.

”While this big, dumb kid is fighting the rest of the guys get off their asses and run up to join him. It was just enough to break up the Chinese so the trapped men could get pulled back to the main cluster of our unit. Saved their lives.”

As the tears started to well up in his eyes, Greg continued. “Of course, the kid was hit several times. While he’s laying there dying, guts spilling out into the dirt, I asked him why he did it. Why’d he run into certain death to save those guys?”

There was a long pause. Almost enough where Clarissa wanted to prompt her father to keep talking, but she knew enough to just let the story unfold.

Greg felt the kid’s blood spill through his fingers as he frantically tried to apply the pressure bandages and stem the flow. The feeling was so strong he looked down at his hands to ensure they were dry.

“All the kid says as he’s gasping and choking is ‘sometimes you just do right, even if it hurts.’”

The fire crackled and tears streamed down Greg’s face. He’d never told that story to his daughter. Like many men who’d seen combat, he never told any real stories of substance. But it was a long time since he’d thought about being trapped in that foxhole, certain he was going to die, and how his big dumb savior from Iowa saved his life.

****

[The Stig]

The duo sat in silence for a long time. Greg lost in days gone by, his daughter trying to dig deep and find the courage to continue this bizarre fight. For the first time in a long time, she thought about her dead husband.

As the fire died down and the embers began to glow, Greg dozed off while Clarissa contemplated the situation. She was startled when the phone rang and quickly moved to answer it to avoid waking her father. The phone didn’t ring much these days, and Miller had made it clear that it was likely tapped.

It was a short conversation. Anybody listening in, and they likely were, wouldn’t need much detective work to figure out what the conversation was about. But the caller was excited and the information was critical.

Hanging up the phone she ran upstairs to the small utility room that Greg had originally built to be a sewing room. Getting into the boxes stacked in the corner she dug out the small field phone. Hooking it up to the two wire leads hidden under the carpet she cranked it a few times and waited for the answer.

Once she got it she relayed the news the excited caller had shared with her. She couldn't believe it and shook with excitement.

****

The Farm was suddenly a beehive of activity. DeMetrie, Dink and Reynolds were about to leave on their mission. Miller had just returned and they were hurriedly bringing him up to speed on their plan. Barnes was scurrying around helping them with their gear.

Then the field-phone from the house rang.

When Captain DeMetrie returned from the office area his face was a mixture of excitement and anguish.

“Listen up” was his short directive. As usual it got the attention of all the men in the room. “Lowry is alive. They have him at the jail in Shelton.”

The news was like a bolt of lightening as all of the men were instantly focused.

“Turns out Miller’s source at City hall tipped us off. They are moving him, possibly in the morning, to the coast.”

The room fell silent as all of the men began silently plotting how they’d rescue their friend.

Dink, was the first to speak. “The jail in Shelton is attached to the back of City Hall. I’m assuming these contractors set up camp their like their predecessors?”

Miller nodded in the affirmative.

“I’m just a dumb country-boy, but I don’t see why we couldn’t modify our plan slightly and use it as a distraction. I know that jail. Me and Miller can slip in, grab our man and get out of dodge.”

Miller was the first to speak up, “That means your distraction force has just been cut in half from four men. That’s a tall order”.

DeMetrie didn’t miss a beat. “I think with our can-do attitude and some force multipliers we can make it work.”

“By all means Captain. Let’s make it happen,” said Miller.

With that all five men got to work hurriedly putting together a plan. They only had a few hours to figure out a game plan, finish loading up gear, travel to Shelton and get in place. Their only chance to was strike before morning. Even then it was a long shot to pull something like this off.

But they had no choice. It wasn’t like they could leave their friend behind.


****

The city of Shelton’s town hall was like a thousand other city halls across the country. It was a large building in the middle of downtown that commanded an entire block. Most of the ground surrounding it was open and there was a small playground to one corner of the building. The jail was a one-story building that occupied the back corner of the city hall complex.

Behind it was another open area, large enough for a helicopter to land, while to the one side, across a large open park area, was the high-school building. It was at this building that Captain DeMetrie and his men lived on their first trip into town. Several smaller buildings were scattered around the complex.

When Werner and Aperture Consulting took over the complex, he housed most of his men in the city hall buildings. He turned offices into bunk areas and living quarters. A few men were quartered in the jail area, but the vast majority were in the three story part of the building that comprised city hall.

As more and more contractors flooded the area they were housed at the school building, which was still equipped to house men thanks to DeMetrie’s efforts. The entirety of the center of downtown Shelton was transformed into a pseudo command complex. The presence of the contractor’s vehicles parked all around the grounds along with some prepared firing stations, replete with sandbags, added to the overall aura.

Due to the increased attacks on the contractors, Werner had posted men on guard duty around the building. There were teams of two men each scattered around the grounds, ostensibly to keep citizens from vandalizing cars or creating a ruckus. That the men stat behind the prepared, and sandbagged, emplacements, belied that they were ready for an attack, if need be.

The team was lucky. It was a near moonless night that added additional darkness to provide the men some aspect of concealment. Flying in the face of traditional doctrine, Caddy instructed the exterior of the City Hall complex to be kept fairly dark at nighttime. He preferred to have the same advantage of concealment, as any would-be attackers.

Their plan was relatively simple. Reynolds and DeMetrie would take up separate positions in some buildings around City Hall. Using suppressed weapons and night vision equipment they would eliminate any guards. Then using some of their homebrewed technology they’d make a scene large enough to draw out a large contingent of contractors. From that point they’d engage further.

The hope was this would create enough of a diversion for the two men to slip inside and retrieve Lowry. Dink still had keys to the jail from his days as a County Sheriff, but if the locks had been changed they might need to get creative to gain access to their friends.

Creativity was never a problem for Miller and Dink.

****

Miller and Dink moved quietly and quickly into position behind a building across the street from the backside of the City Hall complex. Their assignment was to cross the open ground behind the building and enter the jail area through a service entrance behind some electrical equipment. The service entrance led to a janitorial space, which if their luck held, was normally empty.

As they got ready to radio DeMetrie, Dink poked his head around the building to get the lay of the land. He turned back to Miller with a huge smile on his face. “I guess they were planning to take Lowry out in style” he said while jerking his thumb in the direction of City Hall.

Miller was surprised to see the helicopter parked in the open area. The landing lights surrounding it were on a very dim setting, which provided just enough light to make out the copter.

“I think I have something for that” said Miller.

“Don’t scratch the paint. I hear their insurance plan is awful,” came back the joking reply.

Miller traveled with a suppressed AR-15 that he had used since the beginning of this mess. They had shortened the barrel using some of the farm’s equipment, and rethreaded it to allow for use of a sound suppressor. This made for a more easily manageable weapon for the ambushes and attacks the men had been perpetrating.

Dink chose to travel light. He had borrowed the suppressed Browning HighPower pistol Miller and Barnes had retrieved from Ron Little. He carried nothing else but a small pouch. He didn’t know what condition Lowry would be in, nor did they know the situation at the jail so he preferred to have more of a plainclothes appearance than be decked out in fatigues.

Miller quietly said, “lets do this” to his friend.

Keying his radio he simply said, “go when ready”.

****

DeMetrie was stationed on the third story roof of a building that housed a sewing machine store and was across from the front of the City Hall building. He was closer to Miller and Dink’s starting point, which was to his right and prepared to eliminate the two guards that would most likely see them as they approached the building.

Reynolds was stationed inside the ground level of a building off to DeMetries left, and on the side of the building opposite where Miller and Dink would enter. The intention was clear; they hoped to draw contractors away from the side of the building where Miller and Dink would be working.

DeMetrie looked through the electronic sight atop his fully automatic M4 rifle. It was the same rifle he borrowed from the Army when he and his men decided this was a more noble force. With his night vision goggles he saw the area in front of him awash in a greenish tinted light, as if it were high noon on Venus.

He quietly inhaled and then released half of the air in his lungs. As he had done so many times in the past, he centered the dot of his electronic sight on the man’s chest and slowly pressed the trigger.

[The Stig]

The rifle shot was barely audible as DeMetrie was using some specially loaded subsonic rounds he had Barnes make for just such a purpose. Even with a suppressor, a rifle can still be heard as the bullet creates a sonic boom and the distinctive crack sound. In many cases, the crack is very hard to follow so the shooter can remain hidden. It’s almost distracting, especially if the sound echoes.

But in this case they wanted stealth. They had to eliminate as many guards as possible to allow Miller and Dink to cross the open area and get into the building. Then they’d switch over to normal rounds and begin making enough racket to wake the dead.

His first target grunted, grabbed his chest and fell over. This, obviously, alarmed his partner. However, the combination of tiredness, confusion and fear caused the man to make a deadly mistake. Instead of reacting he desperately looked around to see who was attacking them. Soon he too fell to the ground.

Reynolds was busy doing the same on his side of the building. Over the course of ten seconds all of the external guards were eliminated, one after another.

Captain DeMetrie spoke into his radio, “go”.

****

Nudging his friend, Miller and Dink began moving quickly across the open area towards city hall. They both hoped that DeMetrie and Reynolds had removed all the opposition.

They quickly crossed the street and made a slight detour to their left to go by the helicopter. DeMetrie watched them from his perch and silently commanded them to hurry up as they paused near it.

Soon enough, however, they were behind the electrical equipment and out of sight.

Miller whispered into his radio, “hit it”.

****

When DeMetrie and his men decided to join Miller’s cause, they grabbed as much useful equipment they could haul. Since then they had hoarded as much of the difficult to replace items as possible. DeMetrie reluctantly doled out things like explosives, if and only if, there was no other way to solve a problem. Fortunately, his men were quite creative.

In this case, however, DeMetrie was more concerned with getting Lowry out than maintaining their stock of fighting weapons.

When he heard Miller’s command to begin the distraction phase he quickly pulled the pin on two grenades and threw them as far as possible towards the City Hall building. After their fuses expired they detonated with a thunderous explosion and DeMetrie could hear little bits of fragments hitting the stone façade of the building. As soon as they went off, he hurled three smoke grenades off the roof and across the street in various places in the yard around the City Hall building.

As DeMetries grenades exploded Reynolds was preparing to do the same. He only threw one explosive grenades, followed in rapid succession by several smoke grenades. He also pushed the button of a residential garage door opener. This sent a small electrical signal to an explosive planted in a building several doors down from the one that housed Reynolds’s perch.

The explosive blew out the storefront sending purses and women’s clothes flying into the street. It was a very small amount; just enough to demolish the interior of the building but not so much that it wrecked the entire building. But it was loud.

****

The noise of DeMetries grenades exploding and blowing out windows knocked the contractors from their slumber. Most of the men had combat experience and rolled out of their beds and directly into fighting mode. A couple men were dazed but it didn’t take long for them to figure out they were under attack.

Werner jumped from his couch, grabbing for his boots as several windows shattered and rounds pinged against the stonewalls. Reynolds had fired off a few rounds just to continue the distraction from his side of the building. By the time he had them laced, Caddy came running into his office, rifle at the ready.

“What the hell is this?” exclaimed the normally unflappable warrior. “All of the outside posts are not reporting back in”.

Werner replied, “Get the men organized. Don’t let them trickle out of the building in dribs and drabs. We’ll go out in teams and deal with what we find”

“I’ll take the west side, you get some men and handle the south. Have some of the men stay behind in reserve and the men from the school building start to work their way over”.

Werner nodded in agreement. While technically he was the boss, at times like this he and Caddy took more of a co-leadership role.

****

Miller and Dink quickly made entrance into the building as the explosion of the grenades echoed off the surrounding buildings. Within seconds they were inside the darkened janitorial space. They maneuvered in the dimly lit room, careful to avoid knocking over the various mops, buckets and other cleaning supplies.

When they decided to make entry further into the building was entirely up to them. Without saying anything both men felt it better to wait until their was far more commotion before going any further. They wouldn’t have to wait long.

[The Stig]

Reynolds picked up a second garage door opener and pressed the button. One of the contractor’s trucks, to the far left of his position, exploded in a tremendous roar. Vehicles to either side it burst into flames as they were peppered with shrapnel that also blew out windows and tires.

By this time a group of contractors was running to the scene from the school. DeMetrie’s team had gotten lucky that the majority of the contractors housed in the school were on a mission to the northeastern corner of the county. As such there were only five men in the school at the time of the attack. As the group of contractors ran along the side of City Hall they quickly moved into Reynolds’ line of fire. Quickly, and with no hesitation, Reynolds shot three men in rapid succession. The remaining men sought cover in a stairwell to the basement of the building.

Soon teams of contractors were trying to exit the building and find a position, any position, from which to safely return fire. Some dove behind the sandbagged positions just outside the doors of the building. Those faired the best. Several men tried to run to the positions further away from the building and were quickly gunned down by DeMetrie or Reynolds. Some of the contractors fired off into the night at what they thought might be targets.

The smoke from the grenades hung in the air and created mass confusion amongst the contractors. As their eyes fought to adjust to the darkness, DeMetrie and Reynolds calmly dispatched those foolish enough to stray into the open. Through their night vision goggles they could see clearly, as if it were day and no smoke existed.

To further add to the confusion, DeMetrie tossed a grenade off to one side of his position. Just before it exploded he moved quickly to his left, behind some air conditioning equipment. There he lit and tossed an old fashioned Molotov cocktail into the street off to the contractor’s right. Because of his elevation, and throwing the flaming bottle from a position far back from the edge of the roof, the contractors didn’t see it until it was well away from him and arching down towards the street. By the time the bottle hit and sprayed flaming liquid all over the blacktop DeMetrie was back in his original position and preparing to fire.

****

Hearing the gunfire outside and men running around in confusion, Dink carefully opened the door to the interior hallway. He could see men running past the end of the hall but nobody in the immediate area. He glanced back at Miller before moving off into the hallway. Miller followed closely behind.

They cautiously moved down the hallway towards the jail area. The jail area was at the end of the hall and to the left. After entering the jail area there was an open reception area, with an entrance to the outside, several offices and then a locked door leading to the cell area.

Dink cautiously peered into the reception area and was relieved to find it empty. So far their luck was holding out. He motioned to Miller to take up a position behind the counter so he could cover the hallway they just came down. Quickly moving across the room, Dink found a place where he could see through the large glass doors to the outside. The burning remains of the truck Reynolds blew up illuminated the haze from the smoke grenades, causing a surreal lightshow. Rifle fire punctuated the shouts of contractors as they desperately tried to find their attackers.

Using his keys he quickly moved to unlock the door to the cells. “Let’s hope this works,” he thought to himself as he slid his key into the lock and began to twist the cylinders. If they had changed the locks this plan would unravel quickly. In all the confusion when Aperture Consulting took over command of the county, getting the locks changed in the jail was overlooked. The lock released with a satisfying click and the door popped open.

With a smile Dink moved into the cell area. There were ten cells, five per side. The cells were more like holding cells, and divided by bars, not walls. As such, when he entered the area he quickly found the jail’s sole occupant.

****

The situation outside was slowly starting to turn in favor of the contractors. While DeMetrie and Reynolds had the advantage of stealth, surprise and technology, the contractors had numbers. Twenty versus two is never a good situation, especially if you are on the side with two.

Caddy and Werner both had gotten control of their men and taken up more secure positions behind the sandbags just outside the city hall position. While they couldn’t move for fear of exposing themselves, they had the men inside the building moved into darkened rooms on the upper stories. From there, they could provide covering fire. Caddy and Werner would then lead their teams across the open ground in an effort to draw fire. They’d deal with what they found from there. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was what they had to work with.

They also recalled a patrol that was fifteen minutes away. Those men would come in behind the buildings where they suspected their attackers were hidden and begin setting up a cordon.

On Caddy’s side of the building, the two contractors remaining from the group that was in the high school had an advantageous position in a stairwell. They were just outside the glass doors that led into the jail reception area. From there, they thought they had an idea where Reynolds’ position might be. They laid down some covering fire to allow Caddy the time to get his team ready to go.

Miller and Dink needed to move fast before the situation spiraled out of control.

****

“Sergeant Lowry I presume” said Dink in an oddly cheery voice.

Lowry groggily lifted himself from his bunk. His face was bruised and swollen from an obvious beating and he shuffled to the front of the cell waiting for Dink to turn the key.

“Took you guys long enough” was all the humor he could muster.

Dink smiled, “Come on boy. We’ve got to hustle.” Grabbing Lowry under the arm to support him, he began maneuvering Lowry back towards the reception area. They might just pull this off after all.

[The Stig]

“And go!” commanded Caddy as he pushed his team out from cover. The cover fire erupted from the second story of City Hall and the men in the stairwell as Caddy’s group of three men moved quickly to the outer firing position. Rounds pinged off the front of the buildings around Reynolds. They didn’t have his exact position, but a pretty good idea and the rounds seemed to be getting closer and closer.

He didn’t want to wait too long and get himself caught. As he watched Caddy’s men moving to the outer position, he mentally calculated that he’d let them get to the position. While they were in the process of finding cover he’d pop smoke and then escape out the back of the building.

From his vantage point, DeMetrie could see across the square and noticed one of Caddy’s men who was sticking out the back of their firing position. Most of Caddy’s team was inside the c-shaped area and hidden from view, but this one man set up just slightly outside of the rear of the stack of sandbags and metal. DeMetrie coldly shot him and watched as he slumped over and was pulled from view.

His position of height was both advantageous and dangerous. Height in combat is almost always a better firing position. However, should his position become compromised, he would have to descend three flights of stairs, in addition to losing situational awareness, to get to where he could escape. That was something he wanted to avoid.

When the hail of bullets erupted from the upper stories of City Hall, they flew in all sorts of directions. He was experienced enough to know this signaled the movement of a different team. It was a tactic he had used many times himself.

Realistically they only had a few more minutes at most before they’d have to leave or risk capture.

****

“Just a walk in the park” said Dink as they prepared to make the dash back across the street from City Hall through the janitorial room they had originally entered. They took a minute for Lowry to tie his boots and get ready to make the dash.

Miller opened the door to the outside and started to pull Lowry through it. Just before he did, the doorknob to the inside of the building started to turn. In their haste they didn’t lock it behind them.

The door slowly opened as a young contractor peered into the dark room. Not seeing anything he tentatively stepped inside the space. Immediately he knew something was wrong when he saw the saw the door to the outside wide open. As he quickly crossed the space investigate, he was startled to see a man in the shadows to his left. Before he could react Dink pulled the trigger of the HiPower pistol and it dully coughed. The round crashed into the contractor’s side and spun him around. Falling into a stack of mops the man groaned.

“Sorry son” was all Dink could think as he calmly shot the man a second time. Glancing down through the darkness Dink was shocked to see he recognized the man. He was one of the former Sheriff’s Deputies who had been absorbed into the ranks of the contractors.

Ducking outside the door to the outside and pulling it shut he nodded to Miller. They could hear the gunfire and even see the occasional round that sailed off to the contractors left and sparked off the front of a building. Careful to not drift too far towards the front of the City Hall building and risk detection, they darted across the street and disappeared into an alleyway.

“Clear” was all Miller said into his radio.

****

At the sound of Miller’s voice DeMetrie prepared to make his exit from the scene. The team of contractors had moved into the forward firing positions and they were far enough forward that he’d have to expose himself greatly to put aimed rifle fire on them. Instead he chose to lob one last grenade that exploded just to the side of the sandbags. The force of the explosion knocked them and several of the men behind them, including Werner, to the ground.

As he raced down the stairs he prayed that the contractors hadn’t figured out where he was. If they had, they could very well be waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

****

Picking himself off the ground, Werner and several of his men got ready to make a dash across the street. Men on the third story of City Hall had spotted the gunman in the building opposite their location. Werner was going to enter the building and attempt to pin the man down.

He gave the command and several men from City Hall windows opened up on the front of DeMetrie’s building. Werner and his men dashed across the street, while several more men ran from City Hall all the way across the street. Within a few seconds, seven men prepared to enter the building.

On a signal from Werner one of the men busted out the glass door of the building. After two strikes from the man’s rifle butt the glass surrendered and gave way.

“Alright, move into the building and seal it off. Make sure to find any stairways near the back,” commanded Werner, “and you two go around back and find the rear doors”. The team of contractors returning from patrol to assist them was only a few minutes away and would add to the cordon. With any luck they’d have the man cornered.

****

Just as Werner’s man went to enter the building the helicopter exploded with a tremendous roar. Bits of aluminum and rotor blades shot through the air, some of the fragments reaching Werner’s position and injuring several men. Flames shot into the sky and even from their position Werner could feel the blast wave.

Several shots rang out from beyond the helicopter and added to Werner’s dilemma. If there was another group of men attacking them from that direction, Werner had to deal with that. Depending on the size of the group, he might need all seven of his men.

He hesitated for as second while his men awaited his direction. Just then a smoke grenade landed on the street outside one of the buildings facing City Hall. Anticipating that the smoke was cover for men to move into position Werner barked out orders.

Soon all of his men were moving to a better position to set up flanking fire on any men that might emerge to attack City Hall from the rear.

It didn’t take long for him to realize there wasn’t going to be an attack.

****

On his side of the building Caddy’s men also quickly moved into a better position to begin tracking down the attackers.

Underneath the protective fire of the men behind them, Caddy and several contractors moved across the street. It didn’t take long to realize which building the shooter had been positioned in.

They efficiently tossed flash-bang grenades into the space. After the defining roar they quickly assaulted the space.

It soon became apparent their attacker had long sense left his position. Given his numbers, Caddy had no choice but to return to City Hall.

****

It would be a long, hard ride back to The Farm but after several hours of riding cross-country the exhausted men returned to their makeshift home.

They had gone into the lion’s den and rescued their friend. In doing so they also eliminated a number of contractors and destroyed several vehicles.

Miller and DeMetrie had rolled the dice and won. They both knew that this attack would have serious ramifications. They just hoped their tiny band of men would be able to survive the aftermath.

[The Stig]

The sleek turboprop executive aircraft circled the Shelton airport as the pilot prepared to land. As he circled the airport in preparation he noted the crumpled and burnt out wreck of an aircraft just beyond the end of the runway. His eye was drawn to it by the tire tracks and burnt areas of the grass that surrounded it.

Despite his thousands of hours flying the scene did strike him as a bit peculiar.

Refocusing his attention on the airport as he continued his downwind visual approach he judged the distance before he’d make his turn to base before double-checking his instrument panel.

His passengers voice boomed from the back cabin, “everything on schedule Ted?”

“Yes sir. We’ll be on the ground shortly. I see your car”.

“Excellent,” was the almost jovial reply.

He dipped the nose slightly as he turned to his final approach and gently reduced his power further. Double-checking to ensure he had fully extended his flaps he also monitored his sink rate. It was far too nice a day to splatter his plane all over the runway.

Expertly he flared his aircraft and gently touched down just beyond the large numbers denoting which direction the runway pointed. The tires chirped and there was a gentle deceleration as the reverse thrust slowed the sleek and spotless turboprop to a slow roll.

Within less than a minute the pilot guided the aircraft to a spot on the tarmac just to the side of several large, black SUV’s that looked more like tanks than vehicles to haul soccer moms and four kids to the park.

As the props slowed to a stop the rear door sprang open and fell to the earth. A man in a black suit, sunglasses, an ear piece and close cropped hair stepped from the plane first, scanned the horizon and after motioning to the passenger descended the stairs. Several men, who carried rifles and military uniforms held a small parameter around the vehicles. Like men in that line of work often do, their heads were focused away from the vehicles, scanning for trouble.

“I’ll only be a few hours Ted. No later than this evening,” said the passenger with a broad smile.

“I’ll be ready sir.”

As the driver of the second vehicle fluidly exited his seat and opened the rear door the passenger spryly descended the aircraft stairs and walked directly to the open door.

Within less than a minute all of the men returned to their vehicles and the entire convoy was headed down the road. It was clearly a routine the men had practiced many times before.

****

The pall of the previous nights battle still hung in the air around Shelton’s City Hall complex. While the bodies of dead men were gone, the spent rifle cartridges, the shattered glass, the pockmarks on buildings and blood were evident for all to see.

It was clear that a serious firefight had taken place and the contractors had taken a beating.

As the convoy from the airport pulled into the city center the men in the vehicles scanned the buildings for any sign of trouble. Their vehicles were armored for anything short of a massive IED or tank-busting missile and being unannounced nearly eliminated those as potential threats.

The scene on the airport tarmac was reversed as the vehicles pulled in front of City Hall. All the trucks were parked in such a way that they could leave quickly if needed. The men filed out of the trucks, set up a perimeter and based on a nearly imperceptible nod the passenger immerged. After tugging on his jacket to ensure it was taught he gave the signal and the entire group marched to the doors of City Hall.

Following closely behind the passenger was a small, almost impish man. With slicked back hair and a greasy demeanor, he carried a small briefcase and a large notebook. He dodged and weaved over the spent shell casings that his boss seemingly ignored.

Glancing around at the carnage the man simply whistled.

****

“Caddy, I’m telling you this is bad,” said Werner. Rarely for him, Werner was equal parts angry and scared; angry that his men had been bested, scared what the fallout from the failure would bring.

“We had our assess handed to us on a plate, lost good men and let the prisoner get away. This is not going to end well for us,’ Werner continued.

“Listen Richard,” counseled Caddy as a father would a son. “Yea, we got waxed. Happens. But you can’t shut down because of it.”

“Shut down!” Werner exclaimed. Rage rising in his face. “Who said anything about shutting down?”

“All I’m saying is that we need to fight fire with fire. We’ve raided some farms. Killed some bozos with HiPoints and SKS’s. Big deal. The men we want are pros and we need to find and get rid of them. Nothing else is a higher priority right now. Stop all those roadblocks and checkpoints. Go for the jugular”

Calming himself down Werner muttered, “you’re right. Ok. Let’s grab some lunch and figure out a game plan.”

As he rose the intercom system buzzed, almost startling him. “Sir?” came the voice of Julie, the secretary Werner inherited.

“Yes?” he called out.

Before she could answer Werner’s eye was caught by Caddy suddenly standing from the couch. He nearly leapt to attention, which, needless to say, was rather odd.

Turning to see what Caddy’s saw and caused such a reaction, the blood drained from Werner’s face. Icy chills shot through his veins and for the first time in his adult life he felt like a school boy in front of the principal.

Juxtaposed with Werner’s fear was the demeanor of the guest. He was short at barely 5’6” and was a slight man. His swept back graying hair seemed oddly out of place with his tan skin and nearly white teeth. He was clearly physically fit and his demeanor was of an older uncle who hadn’t visited in some time.

“Richard,” came the booming voice, odd for a man of that size. “I think we need to talk”.

“Please Senator Donovan” came the stammering reply as Werner motioned his guest into his office. “Please come in”.

[The Stig]

The Senator sat on Werner’s couch while Werner gave him an update on the happenings in the area. He danced around the events of the previous night. All the while he was giving the Senator an update, Werner was trying to figure out how Donovan heard about the battle so quickly.

The room was empty of everyone except Werner and the Senator. Even Caddy had left.

“Ok, cut the bullshit Werner,” said the Senator with a jovial smile. “What the hell happened here last night? All of it. Details”.

With a deep breath Werner proceeded to explain in exacting detail what had transpired less than twenty-four hours ago. When he finished, Donovan let the silence fill the room to the point of being awkward. Werner wisely kept his mouth shut.

Donovan then changed the subject and began quizzing Werner about a number of administrative tasks and situations. The conversation lasted a good forty-five minutes before the Senator brought the subject back around to the original topic. It was a tactic aimed at getting Werner comfortable and relaxed, before the Senator moved in with a hammer blow. It was a tactic that had served him well over the years.

“Listen Werner. The last guy who held this post is rotting in a swamp after it was clear he failed. I shitcanned him for far less than what you’ve done. You’re on the edge of a full-blown rebellion here. The only reason you aren’t on the way to a camp is because of your Daddy and me, but that only goes so far in covering your ass.” All the while the Senator was talking his smile and jovial demeanor remained in place, which only served to make the situation that more ominous.

“Senator, I understand”

Cutting him off Donovan continued. “I want your analysis of why things are sideways”

As the silence again filled the room, Werner once again felt like he was standing at the principal’s desk. It was a feeling he did not enjoy.

“Senator, I’ve been following the advice of my second in command, Caddy, who you just met. He’s been preaching an approach of restraint. I’ve wanted to go for the jugular with these troublemakers but have allowed my sentimentality for Caddy to cloud my judgment. He’s also suggested they are local bumpkins when we have a clear reason to believe the men behind most of these attacks are professionals. Perhaps ex-military.”

“Continue” was all the Senator said.

“As I said, I allowed myself to be swayed by his counsel and failed to evaluate the situation correctly. I can assure you Senator, I will not allow that to continue,” said Werner solemnly.

The Senator smiled. “I think that is wise. This is your company after all”.

As Werner began to comment, the Senator abruptly continued, “you will follow every lead, use every source and all of the resources at your disposal. If you can’t bring in enough men to replace your losses or get the job done, I’ll get you more. If any person farts and it smells like a resistance they will be eliminated. Their property will be destroyed and assets seized. There will be no more trips to the camps for these people. Total destruction is what you will provide them”.

“Senator, I understand fully” was all Werner could say.

Again the conversation drifted off to other topics. As the Senator prepared to leave he stood and said, “You do plan to eliminate this Caddy fellow as a problem, do you not?” Again, the broad smile and twinkling eyes gave the question a sinister edge.

Werner looked him dead in the eye. “Sir, I should have put my foot down earlier. He will be dealt with appropriately.”

“I think you can get things back on track here. Keep me posted”.

As the Senator gathered his items and summed his impish assistant he issued several directives on matters outside the country.

He turned back to Werner and said directly, “You will resolve this situation, or I will.”

“Yes Senator” was the neutered reply.

Donovan turned and talked with his aide for another few minutes leaving Werner to stand helplessly. Finally the Senator left City Hall without another word being spoken to Werner.

Standing in his office, Werner watched as the convoy faded into the distance. He acted and acted quickly.

“Julie” he called though the intercom. “Get me the section head of that team we’re sending over to Lumberton tonight. Send him to me right away. Once we’re done you can get me Caddy”.

****

A full hour and a half had passed before Caddy returned to Werner’s office. He was still picking up the pieces from the disastrous attack on City Hall. There were personal effects of dead men to deal with, next-of-kin to notify, staffing issues to resolve and damaged property to repair. In addition, he had a team of men searching the two snipers hides looking for any clues to their identities.

On top of all that, he was still sending out patrols and they had three small raids planned for the night. It promised to be another long evening.

Finally finding time to quickly eat a sandwich he and Werner discussed a number of operational details. Caddy finally broke the ice by asking, “how did it go with the Senator?”
Werner didn’t skip a beat. “Surprisingly well. He’s obviously concerned but expressed confidence that he’d get it handled.”

Their meeting finally wrapped up and as Caddy was preparing to leave Werner said, “I’ve rescheduled that raid in Lumberton for later tonight. 0:400. I want you to tag along. The section leader has been a bit flaky and I want your opinion on him.”

Caddy, somewhat confused by the request replied, “Rogers? He’s been solid. Hell of a shooter too.”

“I think he’s having personal issues. Just ride shotgun.”

Still in the dark about Werner’s intentions Caddy simply agreed.

****

As he sat in his office Werner’s request bounced around his mind. The whole situation was odd especially given the timing.

Chalking it up to post-traumatic stress after the Senator’s visit he continued on with his work.

As he was filling out some reports the team leader who was investigating the sniper’s hides used during the attacks excitedly came into the office. “Caddy, a minute?” was all he blurted out.

With a smile Caddy responded, “Go ahead”.

“Here’s the situation sir. All the brass used in the attack was 5.56x45. The smoke grenades were mil-spec. The accuracy of the shooting was phenomenal despite it being night, smoky and longer distances. The attacks were coordinated suggesting good communications and training.”

Caddy was seeing where this was all headed but let his young contractor continue. “Sir, I’m certain these men are or were military.”

Caddy said, “I agree. We’ve been saying they’re pros all along. Being full-blown military makes sense.”

“It would explain all of the attacks really. So I sent a request to the military command that Senator Donovan put together. I asked for a list of any military desertions from units either in this county or adjoining ones in the past year,” said the contractor with a grin on his face.

“Spit it out before you choke on it,” said Caddy with a grin.

The young contractor pulled out three color photographs from a folder and handed them to Caddy.

“Look familiar?”

One picture was clearly the man they had captured and held prisoner. The other two were likely the men Caddy had seen at ClarMar farms.

“Well done. Very well done,” said Caddy while he patted the young contractor on the shoulder. The youngster showed a lot of promise for the future.

“Anybody else know about this?” asked Caddy.

“No sir”

“Ok. Keep it that way. I want to verify a few things before I present this to Mr. Werner. You’ve done a good job, I just want to make sure we have all our details straight first. No slight on your work. ”

“Yes sir”.

“You did great work son. This is excellent.”

“Thanks Caddy. I appreciate it.”

As Caddy prepared some gear for the nights mission he thought about the pictures and service records that sat on his desk. Werner was up to something. Caddy couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was odd. The man had been on edge for weeks and was now completely calm despite having been called on the carpet by the man who could sentence him to death with the snap of a finger.

Something was up. Caddy decided to hold onto the information about the men until he could figure out what was going on.

[The Stig]

“Feel good to be back amongst the living?” asked Barnes of the still swollen and exhausted Lowry.

Lowry smiled and attempted humor but couldn’t come up with anything to say other than, “Yea, I’m glad to be back”.

It was late in the evening before the men started stirring after their adventure at City Hall. Everybody, DeMetrie included, collapsed into a deep slumber when they got back from the raid. For the first time ever, DeMetrie didn’t force the men to stow their gear before turning in.

Lowry, Barnes and Reynolds sat in the makeshift “team room”. Barnes had been up most of the day and stowed a majority of the gear. Serving the two men breakfast his attitude was upbeat. He was just glad his newfound friends had returned safely.

“I’m sure my eggs aren’t as good as the prison food you are accustomed too” said the former minister with a smile.

“I’m sure the shower situations here is much nice too” quipped the Sergeant through swollen jaws.

After more horseplay and friendly banter Barnes left the two soldiers to themselves.

There was a long silence as both men reflected on their thoughts. It had been a sobering experience for both of them. They had been in combat before, but for some reason this had a different feel to it. It was as if somehow shooting terrorists made sense but fighting against fellow American’s didn’t.

Being soldiers both men knew there really wasn’t anything that needed to be said.

****

It was well into the night when Miller suddenly returned to The Farm. After sleeping in he went off on one of his many excursions through the countryside. The men all knew he was gathering intelligence from a number of places and knew better than to ask about the details. .

“Look alive” he said as he entered the team room. DeMetrie and all the other men were lounging around playing a friendly game of cards. They immediately turned their attention to the man who so far had always delivered the goods.

“Senator Donovan was in town today” came the startling announcement. “He flew in, meet with our friends at City Hall and then flew out again.”

“Papa bear wasn’t happy” chimed in Dink.

“Apparently word of our little party traveled fast. The man himself came to investigate. That means the defecation is going to hit the ventilation,” continued Miller. “No word on where the contractors are going or what they are doing yet. But you know a reprisal of some sort is coming. If they have any indication to believe ClarMar is involved they’ll hit there.”

Everybody in the room was experienced enough to know that would not be a good situation at all.

DeMetrie chimed in without hesitation. “There will be two men stationed near the main farmhouse in two hour stretches for the rest of the night. Another man will patrol the woods around here. The other two will rotate in and out as needed. Mr. Barnes we may need to add you to the mix too since Sergeant Lowry’s on limited duty”.

“Uh,” came the nervous reply, “I’m not sure I’m up to that. You guys are the soldiers.”

“Nonsense Rev, you are already a solider in the Lord’s army,” quipped Dink.

“Mr. Barnes you will do just fine,” said the Captain, ignoring Dink’s remarks.

“Gear up. Reynolds and Roberts will take first watch at the house. I’ll take perimeter duty here. Miller and Barnes are on deck. Lowry, you’ll be equipment master for now. Rotate the gear, keep the comms up. You know the drill.”

“Roger that Captain” responded Lowry.

Continuing on the Captain said, “Lowry, take charge of having the gear ready in the event we have to haul ass for good. Use Miller and Barnes to help. Everybody takes full gear needed for a heavy engagement. If you see contractors make the call if you need to engage. Take a full load of ammo gentleman. It might not come tonight, but if what Miller found out is true, it is coming.”

All of the men realized the situation could spiral out of control in the very near future.

****

The entire bridge deck trembled as the first tanks rumbled across the span over the Ohio River. As the M1A1 Abrams tank clattered across the deck at top speed a line of other tanks and armored vehicles stood staged and ready to make the same crossing. At that crossing point there were five other major bridges within a mile of each other, all of them were witness to the same scene.

Resistance was light. Most of the Federal troops had been pulled into the Eastern part of Kentucky en route to reinforce the troops in and around the Virginias and Maryland. President Alan remained resolute in this fascination with protecting Washington DC and Crutchfield used that obsession to his advantage.

The young commander who engineered the victory at the Battle of Franklin had moved heaven and earth to assemble and launch his attack plans. He was bold and had an uncanny ability to move troops and supplies in such a way to avoid gridlock and keep his forces moving. Despite being a traitor he was truly gifted in the ways of warfare.

Sensing the opportunity for an end run of epic proportions, Crutchfield continued to funnel troops and supplies to his talented young commander. He was able to rapidly increase the size of the attack force when the states of Michigan, Indiana and what was left of Ohio threw their lot in with Crutchfield. All three states had been wrecked by years of out of control social policies and spending, but despite this miserable failure the major urban centers favored the Liberal Crutchfield and drove the states policies. Those who didn’t agree fled the states in droves.

The young commander had cobbled together a sizable force of armor, mechanized troops, artillery and even aircraft. What he lacked, however, were the massive support structures needed to keep a force like that moving. For every one combat solder two or three support personnel were needed to provide the ammunition, food and fuel needed to keep the army flowing.

The commander and Crutchfield knew that they had to keep the momentum of the attack moving by adding new forces as rapidly as possible. So far they had added large numbers of active military, reserve units and even recently retired soldiers as they tore through the eastern Midwest. It was almost a paradox that if they stopped to regroup properly the entire attack would collapse. If they continued on, no matter how recklessly, the attack would succeed.

The President missed a golden opportunity to repel the attackers and stop the assault dead in its tracks. The ground opposite the Ohio side of the river rose rapidly by nearly two hundred feet from the river level. From these imposing heights they could have easily crushed the tanks, one by one as they attempted to cross. Further, since the young commander had riskily decided to cross the Ohio using the existing bridges near Cincinnati, his forces all had to funnel through the downtown areas at one point or another as they staged in preparation to roll across the bridge.

It would have been a prime opportunity to blow them all to kingdom come.

Instead, light forces were left in place. Several TOW antitank missiles impotently reached out in a futile attempt to destroy their targets and only succeeded in giving away their launching position. Attack aircraft promptly swooped in to eradicate the fire teams. Exploding shells from artillery threw plumes of smoke and dirt high into the air as they pounded the opposite bank.

Within five hours the majority of the assault force had crossed the river and established a secure perimeter that afforded the time for the rest of the force to cross.

The interior of Kentucky was laid bare before the young commander. He wanted to bypass Louisville and drive towards Nashville to avoid the rising mountains in the Eastern part of the state.

With any luck he would roll his forces into the Music City within the week.

[The Stig]

“Listen, you take lead. I’m just along for the ride,” said Caddy to the young section leader who was to command the farm raid in Lumberton.

Caddy was uncomfortable as the men expected to be on the raid, his men, had been replaced by some contractors from a different company. Caddy had not worked with them previously and did not care to work with men he didn’t know. But Werner gave the order and paid the bills.

“Copy that,” he responded as the men looked at a paper map spread over the hood of their SUV. “Just to review the plan, we’re going to dismount here, approximately one mile from the target. We’ll hump it the rest of the way to maintain surprise. TM1 and TM2 will take the main house. TM3 will go right, Caddy to the left. I’ll hang back and provide cover support.”

All of the men nodded their heads in agreement as he continued. “We don’t expect much resistance. The informant indicated this is an older couple and their adult son. He might be a problem. According to Werner we are to drop him on sight. We wait on the couple until we can search the house and the grounds. Once we get any information out of them they go too.”

Again all of the men nodded their heads.

“Comms are channel 5. Rally point if this goes tits up is the truck. If you hear delta-delta-delta break contact and return to the truck pronto. Go in hot.”

As the truck took them the last few miles to their starting off point Caddy was lost in his thoughts. He was a solider, plain and simple. He followed orders and carried out the will of others. He had no qualms about defending himself, but he was suddenly struck by the young section leads words. “According to Werner we are to drop him on sight”. No trial. No investigation. No crimes reported. Just an instant death sentence.

Caddy held no illusions about what has happening in the camps, but at least there was a hint of due process there. It was enough to ease his conscious. But going out as defacto death squads? This didn’t sit well with the man well acquainted with death.

The truck rattled to a stop and all of the men dismounted.

“Alright, we go in hot,” said the section lead.

He couldn’t help but question Werner’s demeanor after Donovan’s visit. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was definitely out of place. Noticing things that were out of place had kept him safe for a long, long time.

The experienced men quickly covered the last mile to the farmhouse. A long light hanging from a barn illuminated a small portion of the area around the house. Being that it was very early in the morning all the lights of the home were off.

Using hand signals the section leader urged the men forward and they all responded, on cue, as trained men do. As they slowly crept into their positions Caddy kept an eye on things from his vantage point on the left. He could see the two team members on the front porch, and the section leader who positioned himself about 15 yards from the front door behind an old cast iron bathtub conveniently sitting on its side.

All of the men quietly signaled their readiness and the section simply whispered “go” into his radio microphone.

Within a fraction of a second the deafening blast of a shotgun began the process of removing the door from it’s hinges. Within less than a second, three thunderous shots sent the door flying inward in to the home. The two men on the porch followed closely behind it.

Radioing that the second floor was secure, they awaited the man positioned to the right of the farmhouse to join them before proceeding. The section lead held Caddy in position about ten yards to the left of the house to prevent anyone from trying to leave through the back.

Before the third man could enter the home loud yelling from an adult male punctuated the still night air. His shouts of anger were quickly silenced by several loud rifle shots. Noticing a light on the second floor suddenly turning on, the section lead advised his men of the activity.

“Second floor lights on” was all it took to express the danger.

There was a long pause, nearly so long that Caddy started to wonder what was transpiring inside the home. The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes before a single shot, followed by multiple and nearly constant rifle shots. A woman’s voice pierced the old farmhouses walls with a scream of terror before it too was drowned out by rifle shots.

“Report” demanded the section leader.

“All clear. All three are down” came back the emotionless reply.

[The Stig]

All four men stood on the porch after searching the house and finding nothing but a couple of hunting rifles and shotguns. Despite the reports the people had been suspected of being part of a resistance movement there wasn’t anything to indicate their involvement in anything other than the FFA and local Rotary Club.

Pointing to TM1 and TM2, the section leader said, “You two torch the place. The rest of us are going to sweep the outside before we head back to the truck.”

As they worked their way around the grounds Caddy could see the other two men inside the house as they attended to their assigned task.

The section lead had meandered off to look at a small shed to the left of the farmhouse while Caddy and the other man looked inside the horse stalls and chicken coop.

“Hey Caddy” called out the fourth man. “Come look at this”.

Walking around the rear of the small structure to investigate the situation further Caddy responded to the man’s request. As he rounded the corner of the small animal shelter he was surprised when the man’s flashlight momentarily blinded him.

Caddy was experienced enough to not say anything and instead took in a quick, deep breath. He knew what was coming.

As his eyes readjusted to the dark night it was clear the man had his pistol aimed directly at Caddy’s chest. “Sorry Caddy. Luck of the draw,” was all he said.

The report of the pistol seemed all that much louder being several feet away and to the front of the pistol. Bits of hot, unburnt gunpowder pelted Caddy in the case, singing his skin. People have often said they could shoot instinctually and without referencing their sights at very close distances. Caddy’s life was saved because those people were wrong. It was possible to miss, even at close distances, when the gun isn’t aimed properly.

It had been a fluke. Caddy was positioned just slightly to the contractors left. The contractor’s gun had been off slightly to the right. The bullet passed harmlessly through the fold of Caddy’s jacket near his side and flew off into the night.

While the contractor was stunned by Caddy not falling down, Caddy wasted no time and sprung forward with all the force he could muster. Using his rifle to add force to his blow, he knocked the man backwards, and they both crashed to the ground. While the man’s pistol flew into the night, Caddy’s handgun was drawn with lightening speed. Two hundred and thirty grains of copper coated lead turned the contractors heart to liquid. What little of it remained twitched spasmodically as the electrical impulses were scrambled beyond repair.

As he quickly pushed himself up and sprung behind the limited protection of the animal stalls he realized his previous decision to walk behind the stalls paid off as the rifle rounds thumped into the heavy wooden timbers of the building. Had he been standing in front of the building when the contractor attacked him he would have been exposed and defenseless to the rifle rounds currently knocking large holes in the dried and aged timbers.

Forcing himself to breath he debated his options. There weren’t many available to him. There were woods twenty yards behind the small shed. The yard was wide open for nearly one hundred yards to either side of the building and going back towards the farmhouse and three heavily armed, and experienced men wasn’t appealing either.

He sensed one of the men approaching from the right. Figuring it was one of the men who were sent to burn down the farmhouse he realized his chances of covering the ground to the woods were gone. Time was running out.

The contractor’s eyes widened when the pen-flare’s distinctive POP noise and blast from the flare hit him at the same time. While doing little physical damage, it provided Caddy with just enough time to raise his rifle and shoot the contractor several times in the face. A mass of blood and skull misted into the air as the lifeless body collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Quickly crossing behind the building, he took up a position at the left hand corner. He covered the distance in three strides and cleanly dropped out from behind the edge of the building in such a way that nearly none of his body was exposed. The contractor, clearly taken by surprise, was standing in the middle of an open yard less than ten yards away. His body crumpled to the ground after four rounds cleanly impacted his upper torso area.

Caddy had used the angle of the building relative to the contractors approaching it, and the interior lines of movement to his advantage. His experience was trumping their zeal.

A round whizzed by his head, close enough that he could feel the heat of the bullet. Cursing himself for forgetting the section leader he was behind the building again before the second round was fired.

Again forcing himself to breath deeply and feed his brain rich, oxygenated blood, he had to weigh his options.

He wasn’t going to get lucky again. The two contractors approaching him had been stupid. The missed shot of the other man had been pure fortune. He didn’t want to go back to the well of Lady Luck too many times.

Mentally judging the angle to keep the small building between him and the section leader, he took another deep breath and dashed towards the relative safety of the woods, a tantalizing twenty yards away.

He had taken four big steps, probably the biggest steps he had ever taken, when another round angrily flew past his head, missing by a matter of inches. He was approaching all the speed the older man could muster when the section leader let loose a volley of well-aimed fire that crashed into the dirt all around Caddy as he ran. Like a scene out of a movie, fountains of dirt kicked into the air around him as he ducked and weaved to the best of his abilities.

His haven in the woods was a mere five yards from his grasp. Preparing to launch himself headfirst into the underbrush he heard the report of a second rifle. Again cursing himself, it dawned on him that the last contractor he shot had been wearing body armor. While he probably had nasty bruises, Caddy’s rifle rounds had not taken him out of the fight.

As he dove headlong into the underbrush he realized their protection would only last a few seconds.

His chances of seeing another sunrise were diminishing rapidly.

****

It had been a long night. Dink and Miller ended up pulling a rotation guarding the main house together. All of the men gladly pulled their weight without complaint despite being pushed to exhaustion. Between previous missions, the attack on City Hall and now this, the toll was starting to wear on the men.

It was a problem that Miller and DeMetrie wrestled with for a while. How do they reach out to other people to increase the size of the resistance without giving away who they were? All it would take was an invitation to the wrong person and their entire operation would come crashing down around them.

“Damn son, I am tired,” said Dink quietly into his radio.

Dink and Miller had taken up different positions. Dink was nearer the road by the main driveway. Should a load of contractors come storming in he would engage and slow them down long enough for Miller to join him and the rest of the team to take up positions around the house.

Miller was situated in the yard, well out of sight. Should contractors approach on foot he’d do the same although the task would be more difficult. Greg and Clarissa were taking turns getting rest in the event something happened. Reverend Barnes was supposed to be staying at the farmhouse to give them extra help, but was so busy with gear and supplies in the past few days that he never made it. At the very least, they had assembled what they’d need in the event they had to leave their farm in a hurry and pre-staged with DeMetrie’s men.

It wasn’t a perfect plan, but given their current resources, it was all they could muster.

“Join the club” was the only retort Miller could come up with.

It was a beautiful night. Despite being moonless, there were stars twinkling in the night sky and the air was calm. Miller could hear small animals moving around somewhere in the distance. Had they not been on guard expecting an attack it would actually be a peaceful time.

Reminding himself to stay alert he did some mental exercises to ensure he didn’t doze off. He allowed himself to miss his wife and child, in a safe but far-away place, for a few minutes.

Miller slapped himself back to reality and the mission at hand. There was work to be done.

[The Stig]

Werner laid on his couch, drifting in and out of sleep. The half empty bottle of Jack Daniels, still open, sat on the floor, a silent testament to his efforts to drown his guilt.

A tiny part of humanity hung onto the guilt of sentencing Caddy to death and using him as a scapegoat for the failures. Deep down he liked the man. But that smattering of humanity was drowned out by the screaming needs of self-preservation in the face of Senator Donovan.

He was waiting for the radio call from the section lead tasked with disposing of the smear on Werner’s conscious. With that radio call he’d know the situation was over and there was nothing that could be done.

A couple of manila folders, with information nobody would care about in a few days silently fell to the floor as Werner once again drifted into sleep.

****

Caddy forced himself to breath deeply and calm down as best he could. His situation was perilous at best. His dash into the woods gave him a few seconds of head start over the two contractors whose goal was to kill him, but it wasn’t much.

His luck continued to hold out as the young section leader overlooked the use of night vision equipment on the mission. The dark night provided opportunities to hide and use cover to his advantage, but the night was fading and that protection would soon end.

Only a few yards into the woods the ground started sloping downwards. Even with his fevered running he could tell he was starting to go downhill. He could hear the two contractors entering the woods as small branches cracked and clothes rustled against fabric. A human can move quickly through the woods. He can also move surprisingly quietly. What he cannot do, however, is both at the same time.

As such, the contractors were making as much noise as he was.

Angling away from the farm Caddy continued moving as quickly as he dared in the dark woods. Occasionally a small branch would smack his face, or thorn tear at his pant legs, but these were minor irritants compared to what the contractors had in store for him.

Just as he was contemplating stopping to gage where the men were, the ground suddenly gave way. Despite his best efforts, he involuntarily exclaimed “shit” loud enough for the contractors to hear. They altered their track to move in the general direction of the noise.

Within seconds Caddy had slid nearly fifty feet into a ravine that ended in a small creek. While painful, the slide helped him cover a great deal of distance in a short period of time. He had gained a few extra precious seconds.

The cold water splashed at his feet as he attempted to hug the bank of the creek and continue moving away from the contractors. Over and over he told himself, “just keep moving” as his thighs started burning and lungs began protesting against years of cigar smoking. Suddenly road marches in Parris Island seemed to be a hundred years in the past.

As quickly, but carefully, picked his way through the mass of stones along the creek-bed, and fallen trees he suddenly heard the loud voice of one of the contractors. It was impossible to judge the distance but it was clear he had found his way into the ravine and was pushing in Caddie’s direction.

****

As the young contractor approached the large fallen tree that spanned the entire creek bed he knew it was the perfect place for an ambush. The tree had fallen from about ten feet up the hillside and angled down as it crossed the water.

He’d already fallen once and he cursed the water that caused his uniform to chafe against his skin. He was wet, cold, tired and frankly scared. The pounding bruises on his chest from where Caddy’s bullets had crashed into his chest armor didn’t help matters.

Making a quick decision, he decided to duck under the tree trunk, where there was a small gap of four to five feet for him to pass. Bending over deeply at the waist he tried to duck under the branch as quickly as possible to minimize his exposure. It was a horrible mistake that would cost him his life.

Caddy was betting the man would choose expediency over wisdom and had perched himself on some tree branches that jutted out from the side of the trunk over top of the small opening. Had it been light the contractor would have seen the branches and chosen a different route. But in the dark, while moving, and being winded, the contractor didn’t realize the branches were being blocked from his view by the trunk.

The contractor had just started to raise back up when Caddy simply let go and allowed his full weight, dropping several feet to land on the man’s back. An electric shock shot through Caddy’s body as his jaw connected with the man’s helmet. Within a fraction of a second the contractor was laying face down in several inches of water, Caddy sprawled out on top of him.

Fighting through his bodies desire to go unconscious, Caddy drove his arm underneath the contractors neck and pulled back towards his body with all his remaining strength. Despite being wet from the creek water, and the contractor squirming, Caddy pulled harder and harder, even using his other hand to tighten the arm across his adversary’s trachea.

Within seconds the contractor stopped squirming. This time Caddy would ensure the man didn’t rejoin the fight later on. His fighting knife slid underneath the man’s exposed windpipe and in one smooth motion Caddy jerked his head to one side and cleanly slashed the man’s neck as he’d been trained to do all those years ago.

His celebration didn’t last long as he could hear the section leader moving through the woods somewhere up the hillside. The contractor had chosen wisely to use the height to his advantage.

Quickly he moved up the opposite hillside as fast as his aching legs would move. It didn’t take long before he could hear the other contractor, nearly across from him on the opposite bank. Caddy stopped dead in his tracks and tried to control his breathing. His lungs were screaming in agony and his panting seemed loud enough to be heard three counties over.

Both men knew the other was close but couldn’t pinpoint the location in the darkness. The chase quickly turned into a twisted form of siege warfare. Each man determined to outlast the other. Caddy’s problem was he didn’t have time. The sun would start peeking over the horizon soon taking away what little advantage he might have. The contractor could afford to wait, call in reinforcements and run Caddy down like a hound does a coon.

Playing off the young mans aggressiveness Caddy carefully fished one of his flashlights from a small pocket on his chest rig. This flashlight had a red filter that was held against the lens by a spring-loaded catch. Moving the catch so that it just barely held the filter in place he cautiously turned on the flashlight. The light was so muted that it was barely visible.

Using his wrist he tossed the flashlight in a high arc hoping it would reach the creek bed. Lady luck smiled on him yet again and the light cleared through several tree branches and landed sharply against a rock near the bottom of the hill. The force of the impact caused the catch to open and the filter to snap out of place. In doing so a brilliant beam of LED produced light pierced the darkness like a lighthouse in a harbor.

Instinctually, the young contractor fired several rounds towards the bottom of the creek bed. It was all Caddy needed. The bright rifle flashes pinpointed the contractors location just enough for Caddy to find the man trying to kill him.

The section leader didn’t know what hit him. Using his sound suppressed rifle the first muted crack of the rifle had barely crossed the creek bed when Caddie’s long burst of automatic fire slammed into the contractor. Caddy had learned long ago that short, well-aimed shots were better than Hollywood style bursts but didn’t want to leave anything to chance given the circumstances.

The young contractor moaned for several minutes before his life oozed out into the ground. Insects were already picking up the scent of death.

Retrieving his small flashlight even the world-weary Marine thought to himself, “damn! I can’t believe that worked.” With a wry smile Caddy collected his thoughts as he moved out. He wanted to put as much distance behind him before daylight. It wouldn’t pay to be in the area when Werner realized he wasn’t dead.

[The Stig]

As the sun peaked through the windows of the City Hall office Werner had called home for the past few months, Werner awoke from his slumber. He was instantly awake, though the alcohol haze lingered.

He quickly called down to the communication center from his desk phone. “Did the Lumberton team we sent out last night return?”

Finding out that it hadn’t Werner instantly expected trouble.

He covered the distance to his communication center, arranged in a sheriff deputy’s old office, in seconds.

“Try to make contact with the team. Caddy was on it,” he instructed.

After several fruitless minutes of trying to contact the team Werner knew there was a problem. Unless troublemakers wiped out the entire team, which was unlikely, Caddy was probably still alive.

Werner staggered back to his office. Worry crept over his face as the reality of the situation crashed down around him. As long as he was alive, Caddy would never stop trying to kill him.


****

The lead elements of Crutchfield’s forces would be on the outskirts of Louisville, Kentucky by the end of the day. His young commander was driving his forces hard and pushing them along the Interstate 71 corridor as fast as their tracks and wheels would allow. The bulk of his troops wouldn’t reach the city until well into the following day, but his lead units would see the downtown buildings before nightfall.

So far his plan was going according to schedule. Once it was determined that there would be no Federal resistance to his movements he had a free pass to Nashville with one exception: Fort Knox.

In addition to the world famous gold repository, which the Federal Government surely wouldn’t abandon, Fort Knox was also home to an infantry division, engineer battalions, a Marine corps detachment, various national guard units and an aviation transport brigade. But what really worried the commander, what had been gnawing at him since he pieced together the plan, was the armored warfare training school garrisoned at the base.

While most of the school had been transferred to Fort Benning in Georgia and thus under Senator Donovan’s control, there were still armored assets in the area. What he didn’t know, and didn’t have intelligence about, was how many assets there were.

If there were a few tanks they would constitute little more than an irritation. Should there be a significant number of armored vehicles in the area, in combination with whatever troops the President may have left stationed at the base, it could become a real problem.

The limited intelligence hinted that most of the troops had been sent eastward to protect Virginia and Washington DC. The commander was counting on speed to swiftly encircle and cut off whatever forces might be in the area. The forces coming behind his armored thrust would then deal with whatever trapped forces there might be while he drove on to Nashville. But he had to be careful. If he simply dashed past the 100,000 plus acre facility a counter-attack would pierce his extended line like a blowtorch through butter.

Nashville was the key to the entire plan. If he could capture the city it would trigger far more advanced support for Crutchfield. More importantly, it would allow them to trap most of the Federal forces in the Virginia’s and Carolinas. Crutchfield would have the luxury of having the young commander turn eastward and have his overall forces attack from several different directions at once.

If they could deal with Fort Knox quickly the door would be open to Nashville and a potential devastating blow to the Federal forces. From there only Crutchfield would decide if his next move was destruction or forging a whole new power structure in the country.

Of course, anybody who knew Crutchfield for any length of time knew the answer to the question.

****

Clarissa Barnes sat in her office in the late morning. She tried to distract herself from the anxiety of not knowing what blow was coming next by immersing herself in work. She still had a farm to run. The fledgling resistance depended on her farm. It provided income, food, supplies and a convenient base of operations.

Between invoices, thoughts of her dead husband, productivity reports, worry if an attack would hit them, and fear of the future her mind wildly alternated between moments of calm and sheer panic.

She wondered how men like Miller and Captain DeMetrie could handle the pressure and stresses they faced on a daily basis.

As she read over an invoice for a delivery of fertilizer she caught herself mentally calculating how much she could siphon off for the team to use as makeshift explosives. She couldn’t take too much as she needed the material for her farm and large repeat orders would raise suspicions. There was only so much one farm could use. Too little and it wasn’t worth the effort.

She smiled and wondered how she went from being a farm manager to thinking about fertilizer bombs.

After several hours of work she pushed back from her desk. She was tired and it was time to get her fathers lunch put together. Just as she went to stand up she was startled as the door to the office opened.

“Who’s there?” she called out, as she was not expecting any visitors.

“It’s us” called out Dink, careful not to use his name.

She nearly fainted as she rounded the corner of her office door and stopped dead in her tracks. Before her stood Dink Roberts and Reverend Barnes holding a disheveled, dirty and haggard looking older man between them. The man’s head hung low and it was clear he barely had enough energy to hold it higher.

“Ma’am” said Dink, “this weary traveler claims to know you. We caught him walking down the main driveway, plain as day. Said his name was….er…..Chevy or something.”

The short, squat man with the buzz cut hair style looked up at her.

“I think you meant Caddy” she corrected Dink.

[The Stig]

Miller, DeMetrie, Greg, Clarrisa and Dink stood around the table in the upstairs room of the Donner farmhouse. The room had become their defacto conference room.

“Beats me” said Dink, “He came stumbling down the road, like a one man parade. Made it real clear he wasn’t a threat. Rifle was disassembled in stuffed in his pack. Pistol in there too.”

“Where’s the son of a bitch now?” asked Greg.
Clarrisa spoke up quickly, “Reynolds and Barnes are keeping an eye on him in one of the shop buildings.”

Dink smiled and with a big twinkle in his eyes said, “We may have laced his drink with some horse tranquilizers. He’s having a nice nap.”

“But he’s adamant that he knows this farm is the epicenter of the rebellion and wants to join up?” asked Miller skeptically.

“That what the man said,” replied Dink.

DeMetrie, in his usual way, guided the conversation in a specific direction. “This is a big problem. If he’s a plant, and we show our hand, the contractors will tear us apart the second they realize how small we really are. If he’s the real deal and we bounce him he might go spill the beans anyway.”

Greg declared, “I don’t care what he says. He’s one of them.”

“You don’t know that Dad.”

“It’s a hell of a risk if you decide to take him in,” counseled Dink.

The conversation continued in various directions and iterations of “what if” until Miller finally spoke up. “This might be the break we were looking for”.

The statement caused all eyes to fall on Miller.

“Being one of the high ranking contractors in the area, he knows what other suspected resistance groups are out there. He could be the bridge to them. He’ll have intelligence on who’s working out there, how big they are, maybe even who’s in them. If we hear names we like we can make the contact. Saves us a lot of risk”

Miller’s words hung in the air as everyone else processed what he was saying.

“You think you can trust him?” countered Greg.

“Keep him sleeping for a few hours. I’ll verify that he went off the reservation. That’s a start. Then I’ll have a little chat with him.”

“Smells like a set up” was all Greg could say.

“Could be. But it’s a risk we have to take unless we plan on the group staying this size until the end of time” replied Miller.

“First things first,” decided the evenhanded DeMetrie. “Miller, you go work your voodoo magic as a start. We’ll keep him on ice until then.”

****

The attractive young lady guided her car into the old filling station on the edge of town. Parking around the side she quickly got out of the car and went to the payphone. One of the few remaining payphones in the county, it hung in a secluded area that allowed some degree of privacy for making calls.

Payphones had regained their popularity since the advent of cellphone jamming by Senator Donovan. It was not all that unusual to see people on them as they attempted to make the local calls that were still allowed.

She glanced at her watch and then dialed the number she had memorized long ago.

The phone was answered immediately.

“Did you lose any high ranking members lately?” came the disembodied voice.

“Yes”.

“Any idea why he left?”

“I heard the boss discussing an employee problem and that it was bad. Lots of closed office doors and hushed meetings,” said the young lady as she glanced around to make sure nobody else was around.

There was a long pause. Long enough that the lady asked, “hello?” into the phone to ensure the other person had not hung up.

“How did he treat his men?” came the man’s inquiry.

“Excuse me?”

“His men. How did he treat his employees? Nice, bad, jerk, good guy?”

Thinking for a second the young lady said, “He was nice. I liked him. He cared about them and always treated them right.”

“You need to get back to work” came the voice from the receiver. The electronic click signaled the end of the call.

Hanging up the phone she smiled and walked back to her car. They had worked out the signal for a meeting. He would call and ask if marriage licenses were issued on Tuesdays. If she could make her way to the payphone in the next thirty minutes her response would be, “yes, but only till five pm”. If there were no way to get to the phone safely she’d reply, “yes, and please remember to bring two forms of identification”.

There was always the chance she would get caught up in a meeting, or have someone standing next to her who’d realize what she doing, but so far the system worked.

It was all very James Bond and in a way it was exciting. For a young lady stuck in a small rural town it was a thrill to sneak around, use code and play amateur spy.

What Julie, the City Hall secretary, didn’t realize was that she was playing a very dangerous game.

[The Stig]

Slowly the world came back into focus. It took him a few minutes of squinting to realize the crazy patchwork of gray and red was only the tin roof and rusted support trusses of the ceiling above him.

Realizing that he was alive and very hungry the man slowly tried to sit up but nearly tipped the cot over in doing so. Regaining his balance Caddy looked around at his surroundings. He could have been in any number of mechanic garages around the world. Between the tools strewn over the workbenches, the air and hydraulic hoses snaking across the floor and the welding equipment it was clear that he was being housed in some sort of workshop.

Getting his sea legs back he soon realized why he was so hungry. Besides having not eaten in just over twenty-four hours, the steaming plate of pork chops, peas and potatoes sitting near his makeshift bed helped inflame his appetite.

Rubbing his aching legs Caddy looked around trying to get a sense of what was going on. It was only then he noticed the man leaning casually against one of the workbenches.

“Eat. I’m sure you are hungry,” said the man.

Eyeing the food suspiciously Caddy didn’t move.

“It’s fine. I’ll be glad to eat some if you wish” encouraged the man who didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

Figuring that if they wanted him dead, he would have never woken up, Caddy picked up the plate, placed it on some equipment and began eating.

“I’ll have some iced tea for you shortly,” said the man. He allowed Caddy to eat for a while before continuing. “I have to ask, why did you come here?”

Swallowing a piece of pork-chop before speaking, Caddy said, “Told your people earlier. I was here before. Saw military men. If there’s a resistance movement brewing, this is the center of it all.” True to form, Caddy laid his cards on the table without a lot of beating around the bush.

“A couple of ex-military boys making ends meet by working on a farm isn’t exactly proof is it?” countered Miller as he toyed with a hammer lying on the bench.

Looking Miller over to gage his sincerity Caddy replied, “Largest working farm in the area makes for a great base. Those hard working men you mentioned had fake ID’s. You had guards posted on the property when I showed up. The men were careful not to use any names around me. Hell, even this little chat stinks of people who know what they are doing.”

Smiling Miller said. “Lets say you’re right you are right. What are you looking for?”

Chasing a couple loose peas with his fork, Caddy responded, “I have a lot to offer your people. I know your opposition inside and out, can tell you what I know. That’s valuable to your group.”

“Go on” said Miller, continuing to lure Caddy further and further down the road.

“I know troop strengths, patrol patterns, communications frequencies, locations of bases, planed raids. All of it. Inside and out.”

“They’ll change all of those if they figure out you’ve flipped.”

“True enough” said Caddy as he downed some of the best mashed potatoes he’d ever eaten. “But the short term value is high. Gives you a chance to rapidly build strength. Down the road, when they change it all up, they’ll have to do so on the defensive.”

Smiling, and continuing his relaxed pose and demeanor, Miller pressed on. “Marine?”

Caddy nodded in affirmation.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you looking for?” asked Miller.

“Let’s call it payback. Listen, I can help move your little group ahead in the game by light-years. On top of all that, I’m guessing you aren’t all that big of an operation yet. I know what other groups might be out there. That ought to make growing your thing easier.”

Miller smiled as he got exactly what he wanted. “Sounds like a third-rate movie, but why should I trust you?”

“Because you’re going to watch me kill the owner of Aperture Consulting,” replied Caddy as if he was ordering fries at a restaurant drive-through window.

Miller looked deeply into Caddy’s eyes and examined the man who stood before him. He looked as deeply into his soul as Caddy would allow him. He had no doubt Caddy aimed to kill the man and wouldn’t stop until he did.

“Finish up your dinner” commanded Miller. Caddy watched him go to a side door, open it and have someone hand him a glass of tea and a small plate.

“Here. There’s the tea I promised. Looks like cherry pie was also on the menu. You want seconds?” asked Miller pointing at the empty dinner plate.

Shaking his head Caddy had to wonder where he stood. The man could kill him just as easy as anything. That would ensure Caddy wouldn’t become a problem. Maybe worse yet, they might send him packing. Caddy was rugged and resourceful, but the thought of living off the land didn’t excite him.

“Listen Caddy. Get some sleep. There’s a head over there. If you decide you want more food just knock on the door. Someone will answer it and get you what you need. We’ll have some new clothes for you in the morning and whatever gear you had with you will be returned.”

Surprising even himself, Caddy quipped, “So, did I get the job?”

Smiling Miller said, “we have a few more interviews. You’ll hear from HR in a week.”

****

As Julie finished up her work for the day she prepared to go home. It was a short drive back to her apartment where she’d likely spend the evening alone trying to read a book by candlelight.

She’d worked for City Hall for a long time, since she got out of high-school really. She started out as a clerk and ultimately ended up as the receptionist/secretary/office manager all in one. She’d seen mayors come and go over the years and, in the recent past a Sheriff and previous group of contractors disappear.

Julie was like a lot of pretty girls who grew up in small towns. After she graduated high school she really had three choices. She could find a man and start pumping out babies, which held little interest for her. She could leave town and make a life for herself somewhere with opportunity and excitement. Caring for her sick mother and father put an end to those dreams. So she took what was behind door number three: stay and carve out her own life.

Being a pretty young woman in a small town isn’t as easy as it might appear. All the fat, dumb and drunk rednecks tried to date her, while the middle-aged married men made crude passes at her. There wasn’t a stock of men one would consider marriage material floating around Shelton.

Her life changed when the Army troops came to town after the trouble in the North started. She thought the funny Sergeant who started giving her a lot of attention would be just another one in a long line of jerks interested in getting her in bed. But it soon became clear he was a hardworking, decent man who just wanted to do what was right.

It wasn’t hard to let little bits of information slip to Lowry at first. Then it became clear he was digging for more. Briefly she was afraid he was just using her in a different way.

When the Army unit moved out and she didn’t hear from him for a while she figured it was just a passing thing she dejectedly let it drop.

She’d just about written the whole thing off when Miller approached her at the lunch counter. All it took was one mention of Lowry’s name and she was hooked. She did everything Miller asked and reveled in the chance to help their cause.

Julie wasn’t all that concerned with being part of a resistance, or fighting injustice or anything noble. It was a chance at a little excitement in her life and to help a man for whom she developed feelings.

“Good night Mr. Werner. Did you need anything else?” she asked.

Werner looked up from his desk. “Did you get the staffing report done?”

“Yes sir, in your inbox” she replied.

“Very well. Good night.” He said as he resumed scanning whatever paperwork he was reading.

[The Stig]

The command group had once again assembled in the upstairs room in the Donner house. Empty food plates were scattered around the table as the men discussed what to do with Caddy. They all awaited Millers return from his interview and assessment of the situation.

“So what’s the verdict?” asked Dink after Miller returned.

Collecting his thoughts, Miller simply told them exactly how he felt. “I think he’s for real”.

As the group looked at him it expanded on his statements, “the source verifies that a high ranking contractor is out of the picture and it likely wasn’t voluntary. No wiff of set-up from what they could determine.”

“Doesn’t mean much, but that’s a good start,” offered DeMetrie.

Miller continued. “He laid all his cards on the table from the get go. Basically spelled out what he can do for us. Wasn’t heavy handed about it, was just matter of fact. Offered up the goods on connecting us with other budding resistance groups.”

“That’s all happy horseshit. How we do we know he’s not setting us up” asked Greg.

“He claims I’m going to watch him kill this Werner fella, the head of the contractors”.

Silence hung in the room while people considered Miller’s words.

Dink was the first to voice what everyone was thinking. “Miller, I know you’re a Yankee but you aren’t this dumb. How do you know he’s not setting you up?”

“You think they’d risk their second in command just to real in one guy? So far he’s got nothing on ClarMar other than a couple of guys were guarding the farm and Clarrisa makes kick-ass pork chops. Worst case, they haul me off. Best case, we nail the head of the contractors in this area and link up with other groups.”

Again the words hung in the air. Miller was usually good at making his case. Tonight was no exception.

“I’m not saying I’m sold on the guy. But considering the payoff it’s a risk worth taking.”

Turning to Captain DeMetrie, Dink said, “Captain, Miller cheats. Trust me I know. If anything goes wrong, the Yankee is just going to cheat his way out of it. Hell, it’s what he did the first time we shot together.”

****

Werner was worried. Donovan had already let it be known he’d be making another visit in a few days and he expected the situation on the ground to be radically different. Attacks, mostly minor, continued on the contractors all over the county. They were making it clear that Werner’s men did not have control of the situation.

And then there was Caddy.

It had been several days since Werner sent him to die and he was still nowhere to be found. It was as if Caddy simply vanished into thin air. Another team had already found the bodies of the contractors tasked with killing him. It was clear he had survived the attempt on his life and like a Roman Cesar seeing plotters throughout his Senate; Werner started seeing Caddy lurking behind every corner.

Werner had already been spending less and less time outside the confines of City Hall since the attack that rescued Lowry, but once Caddy disappeared he didn’t leave the compound unless absolutely necessary. Werner also used the additional twenty contractors on loan from Senator Donovan to bolster security in and around City Hall. The city Hall complex, including the High School soon became a well-guarded and fortified compound.

When he did leave the compound he traveled with no less than two full trucks full of contractors. Gone were the days where he and a couple men would dash into the field to resolve an issue. No longer would he be found in public. He now was surrounded by a dedicated detail at all times.

But what this did was sap the strength of the teams working in the county. Suddenly fifteen or more men were solely tasked with a protection detail when Werner did venture outside the walls.

What further sapped the effectiveness of Aperture Consulting was the loss of it’s highly regarded and talented second in command. Werner just didn’t garner the same response from the men that Caddy did. Werner wasn’t a bad leader but he just wasn’t Caddy.

“Julie,” he said into the intercom, “get all the section leaders together at once. Let me know when they are in the conference room.”

“Yes sir” came the dutiful reply.

He sat and stared blankly out the window. He had to make a big play and he had to do it before Senator Donovan returned or Caddy reappeared. Letting out a long sigh he knew he was in a tough spot. If his big operation failed he’d lose more face with his men. Giving them a paycheck only went so far in keeping his men loyal. Worse yet, he’d have to explain another failure to Miles Donovan. The Senator was not likely to accept another failure.

An hour slowly ticked by. Each tick of the clock sounded like cannon fire as the minute hand relentlessly clicked from one position to the next.

“Sir,” the intercom finally beeped. “They are all ready for you.”

“It’s now or never,” Werner said to nobody in particular as he left his office.

[The Stig]

Caddy had been on ice at the ClarMar Farms tool shop for most of the week. He and Miller continued their discussions and on occasions would go for walks around the farm. The more they talked, the more it became clear Caddy’s intention was to kill Werner. Being a part of a resistance movement would be secondary to that aim.

Always careful to keep Caddy from seeing anything of value around the farm, most of the walks included a trip to the farm office to visit Clarissa or a quick meal at the farmhouse with Greg.
Greg’s demeanor slowly started changing. While he still considered Caddy suspect at best, he at least engage in conversation with him.

Miller and Caddy were on a walk around one of the greenhouses as they discussed the plan moving forward.

“So you’ll help me kill Werner then?” asked Caddy.

Caddy was a very straightforward man. He had considered using his information as bargaining power with Miller but the more they talked, the more they established a mutual respect. Caddy wasn’t able to pinpoint Miller’s background, but he was clearly someone who had a level head and the skills to get the job done.

Miller saw a man in Caddy that could help them both widen the scope of their movement, and help manage the growth. Between the talents of DeMetrie, his men and Caddy they had the nucleolus of a team that could inflict great damage on the contractors. It would also allow Dink to return back to Wyoming and care for his daughter Maggie and Miller’s family.

Instead of holding the information like a poker chip, Caddy decided to go all in. He shared information as best he could. Whether it be about the contractors or the other fledgling resistance groups Caddy held nothing back. He figured that even if Miller killed him, he’d be able to strike at Werner from beyond the grave.

But it had become more and more clear that Miller had no intentions of killing him.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I figure Werner’s held up inside City Hall, afraid to poke his head out. So we’re going to have to draw him out somehow,” explained Caddy.

“I would agree,” came Miller’s reply.

“Right about now, I’m guessing his two worst fears are Senator Donovan and what would happen if I suddenly reappeared. If a report of me being alive suddenly comes in, he’ll have to respond to keep up appearances. That gets him out of City Hall,” said Caddy with an almost sinister calmness.

“Makes sense”

“If it’s too far away from Shelton he might not go. Or if he does it will be a large, organized affair. But there’s a park near City Hall. If word of me wandering around the park in a daze comes in, how can he not respond? And there’s a good chance the response will be a haphazard affair as they race to the scene. Better for us.” Caddy was sharing the plan as if it were a sales pitch to a major corporation to buy sugared breakfast cereal.

“What’s the park like?” asked Miller.

“It’s called Hardee Park. It’s a park shaped like a bowl, with a football field, playgrounds, and a big brick building in the middle. The park is tucked back in a depression and is surrounded on all sides by small hills. Perfect for an ambush,” said Caddy with a wry smile.

Showing no trace of response Miller simply nodded his head in affirmation.

Caddy looked his host in the eyes. “The call comes in, Werner responds, we hit him and off we go. What you do with me from there is up to you. Deal?”

“Let’s make this hit first. Then we’ll talk about your future in the company. There may be an opening in the accounting department,” said Miller dryly. “Lets get a map of this Hardee Park and get to work.”

****

“Have you lost your mind boy?” implored Dink. “I knew you weren’t right being a Yankee and all, but damn.”

DeMetrie chimed in too. “Miller, this is just as easily a setup as a hit. You two show up, he gets the drop on you and then you’re screwed. I don’t think we can pull off another Lowry-style rescue. Mr. Barnes and Ms. Donner were doing some reconnaissance and City Hall is a fort now.”

Greg couldn’t contain himself either, “Miller. You’re a good man. You’ve delivered every time you were asked to. But this is madness son.”

Miller calmly let everyone share their concerns and get all their worries out on the table.

Taking a long swig on his iced tea he patiently explained what he had in mind. “Let’s say he’s setting me up. What’s he gain? One guy who did nothing but feed, house and clothe him. What can he say about ClarMar? That our soybeans are plotting on the government? That Greg is a stone cold ninja? That Clarissa is an underground freedom fighter by night and farmer by day?”

All of the eyes in the room were now glued on him as he explained his rationale.

“He’s not seen DeMetrie, Lowry or Reynolds. Barnes has a rock-solid ID. Dink will be out of here and heading back to Wyoming before they could storm the farm. Folks, he has nothing on us.”

“And if he just hauls you off for spite, then what?” asked Clarissa.

“He’s not going to do that. If he thinks ClarMar is dirty but sends me to a camp, he loses the one guy that gets him what he wants. Now he’s back to square one and can’t send a plant again. Not easily anyway. Now he just has to raid the place. That’s a huge risk given your reputation in the community. Especially if he lays waste to the place and he’s wrong. That’d be a shitstorm.”

Continuing on, Miller said, “ Besides, he’s serious about killing Werner but he needs my help to do it. Maybe he wacks Werner then turns me in, but I doubt it. And if he does, Werner’s dead and we have the information we wanted anyway. The contractors will be in disarray and we’ll be able to expand the party”

There was quiet in the room as people mulled over the idea. Miller did raise a lot of valid points.

Eventually DeMetrie stepped forward. “It’s risky as hell, but you’re right. The payoff is too big to pass up.”

“Besides,” Miller said with a smile, “it’s not like I’m going in alone.”

[The Stig]

Sometimes, as the old saying goes, it truly is darkest before the dawn. After the young commander encircled a modest contingent of forces at Fort Knox he had driven the main thrust of his attack down the Interstate 71 corridor towards the Tennessee border, and the main prize, Nashville. By using the Interstate the armored forces were able to more quickly navigate the hilly terrain that would otherwise slow their passage.

The main attack forces had reached beyond the hilly cave region of Kentucky and were poised to stampede into Tennessee. The outskirts of the capital city lay only 42 miles ahead.

His troops had performed well and he was proud of them. They had smashed through the light resistance and casualties were minor. The further south they drove, the higher their morale went. The higher their morale went, the faster the attack advanced. Soon they had well outpaced their support units and reserve troops.

Sometimes it is good to be bold. Taking risks results in big payoffs. McClellan never secured the prize in his day because he refused to take a risk. The young commander reveled in the communiqué from Crutchfield himself congratulating them on their advance and apparent victory.

But being bold has a downside. You can overlook details; details that may cost you dearly, sometimes when you least expect it.

In his haste he had entirely overlooked the troops stationed and available at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, home to the 101st Screaming Eagles airborne division. It was located to the west of his attack but further south than Fort Knox. While not all of the troops were at the base all the time, they only bolstered the available forces to attack him.

Worse yet, the entire time he was worrying about the troops to the west, the ones at Fort Knox, he failed to consider the ones to his east.

The intentions of Crutchfield’s attack we clear as day and as soon as the President’s leaders realized them they acted. In a rare moment of decisiveness, President Alan’s approved a counter-attack. His Generals combined all the troops recently evacuated from Ohio, Kentucky and the Fort Knox area and massed them around Lexington, Kentucky, a good 60 miles to the east of Louisville.

The substantial force crashed into the young commanders support units in a three pronged attack spread over twenty miles. They simply decimated the support units who were caught in the open and unawares. Since the young commander was using the interstate system as a travel route his forces were exposed and often attacked from the much higher ground to the side of the roadways.

Over the course of twenty-four hours, the young commanders fortunes reversed and instead of rolling into Nashville a victor, he was fighting for his life to avoid complete annihilation.

It was a grueling retreat that would last nearly a week. His forces fought a running battle after they had been cut off and they drifted further west as they attempted to move back north to the safety of Ohio. Soon they were pressed as far west as Owensboro Kentucky. A fraction of the original troops made a crossing into Southern Indiana at Evansville and survivors exhaustedly trickled back into the Crutchfield held territory of Indiana.

The young commander survived, but his attack and his forces simply ceased to exist. Before it was all said and done, Crutchfield lost valuable men and equipment and the battle lines were as they were before the attack started. He gained nothing and lost more than he could afford to lose.

****

Night had fallen as Dink and Miller talked outside the compound that had become home to DeMetrie and his men. It wouldn’t take a keen observer to realize both men had much on their minds and things they needed to say, but couldn’t find the words.

“Dink, if this goes tits up, you clear out, and clear out fast. You gotta get back to Maggie and my girls. I know Webb’s taking good care of them, but you can’t afford to get hung up down here.”

“I hear you” was all Dink could say.

”You have the map to the boats and the river?” asked Miller like a nervous parent leaving their child home alone for the first time.

“Yes”

Miller stomped at the ground. “Barnes will help you haul the extra gear and fuel over there. Shouldn’t be too hard to load one of the motorbikes into the boat. Once you get far enough up-river, ditch the boat and go overland. Barnes is a good man.”

“You sure you want to give up one of your bikes? Those things are pretty damn handy,” asked Dink Roberts of his friend.

“What are you going to do, walk through Iowa and Nebraska? And there is one other little thing…” Miller’s voice trailed off.

“What’s that Yankee?”

Chuckling, Miller said, “We bought the bikes with your money.”

[The Stig]

It was well after midnight as Werner tossed and turned on his office couch. His sleeplessness fueled by alcohol and guilt. His mind alternated between anxiety over the impending Donovan visit, the lack of results his men had generated the past few day and the lingering threat that Caddy would suddenly reappear.

Despite combat experience and all his years at the sharp end of the spear, Werner was genuinely falling apart at the seams. It showed on his face, his sunken eyes testament to his lack of sleep. His hand would occasionally tremble slightly. Nobody remembered the last time they saw him eating a healthy meal.

He had just fallen back asleep when one of his men came in the office and jostled him awake.

“Mr. Werner. Wake up sir!” the young man said excitedly.

Werner clawed his way back into the conscious world as best he could.

“Sir. A call just came in. A man matching Caddy’s description was reported at Hardee Park.”

Werner looked at his employee blankly.

“Mr. Werner. Did you hear me? Caddy might be alive. The caller said the man looked dazed and was stammering around the building at the park.”

Snapping awake, Werner was gripped with the terrible realization that Caddy had, in fact, survived the attack and returned. This was bad for Werner on more levels than he cared to imagine. Worse yet, he had to play along that he was glad to see Caddy return but had no idea how he’d react once Werner showed up. It was bad.

“Send me whatever men are awake right this second and not on guard duty. Right now,” commanded Werner.

“That’s only three men sir”

“I don’t care, send them to me. Once you do that, put together a reaction force and head down to the park. Fast as you can. Be sure the guards stay at their posts here and have another team of men ready in the event this is some sort of distraction,” spat out Werner in rapid succession as he donned his boots.

The contractor was already turning to sprint down the hallway as he replied, “yes sir”.

Ensuring that there was a round seated in his pistol, Werner secured a small revolver and stuffed it in his front pants pocket. He had no idea how this would play out, but there was a good chance one of them would be dead in the next ten minutes.

Gripped with terror, Werner and the three contractors dashed to a parked SUV and tore off as fast as the driver could go.

****

The driver didn’t slow the truck as he approached the downward slopping entrance to the park. Instead he gunned the engine and drove over concrete and grass in an attempt to speed their response. He was one of Caddies men and wanted to see his boss return in once piece. Grass and dirt shot into the air as the truck tires dug ruts deep into the grass.

All the eyes in the truck scanned the park in an attempt to spot Caddy. They had covered nearly the entire parking lot before seeing Caddy slumped against the side of the brick building.

Suddenly having a sense of Déjà vu, Werner instructed the driver to continue on, overtop the sidewalk, and get the vehicle as close to Caddy as possible.

As the truck slid to a halt a few yards short of Caddy all four men hopped out in unison. The driver barely shifted the truck into park let alone kill the engine. As Werner rounded the front of the truck he instructed two of the men to keep watch.

“Keep an eye out for trouble. Don’t stray from the truck. This could still be a trap,” he commanded.

Caddy sat with his back against the brick building. He was near the back corner of the building which placed Werner further towards the back of the porch. The driver knelt to Caddy’s side facing the entrance to the park. Wearing his filthy gear and disheveled clothing, Caddy looked up with a blank expression as Werner addressed him.

“Caddy!” Werner called out as he kneeled in-front of his former second-in-command. “Caddy are you alright?”

Looking upwards at his former boss Caddy flashed a broad smile and merely pointed upwards.

Werner didn’t quite grasp it at first so the contractor assisting Werner grabbed his arm and pointed to the top of the roof before slowly raising his hands.

Werner finally glanced upwards and blanched white. He was staring down the barrel of John Miller’s suppressed AR15 rifle.

The roof of the small building, like many in the south, was pitched down gently towards all four sides of the building. Miller was lying on his back, on the roof segment facing the rear of the building. With his feet lodged against a horizontally mounted metal ice breaker located near the edge of the roof, he had a surprisingly firm perch. He simply rolled to his side and had a near perfect view of the area below with the exception of the contractor to his right.

That didn’t matter as Caddy had already produced a pistol and held the man at gunpoint.

Between being at a higher plane visually, and being partially hidden behind the ridge between the back and side segments of the roof, Werner’s men couldn’t see him until it was too late.

“Which ones Caddy?” asked Miller.

Werner, afraid to move a muscle didn’t understand the question.

“Rear of the truck” was the answer from below.

Almost before the statement was finished Miller’s rifle barked out a dull, remorseless thud and the contractor standing at the rear of the truck crumpled to the ground. Even being rolled on his side, shooting left handed and being perched on the roof his shot was perfectly placed.

Miller coolly said to the remaining men, “I’d suggest the rest of you stand very still while Mr. Caddy gets to his feet”.

****

The reaction force was just around the corner, barreling towards Hardee Park. The driver pushed the truck as hard as it would go and the men in back held on tightly as they bounced through the narrow streets leading to the park entrance.

Suddenly their radios came to life. “This is Alpha 1, do you copy?” The voice was undeniably that of Werner’s.

“Roger that Alpha 1”

“Look for our truck at the small building in the center of the park. One man down near rear of the truck. Caddy is in the men’s restroom. Rest of team is pursuing troublemakers to the rear of the park. Go to Caddy right away. Make sure he’s ok. Rest of team go towards rear of park and link up with us,” came Werner’s digitized voice.

“Copy that Alpha 1,” dutifully replied the contractor.

The men in the back of the truck hung on more tightly as the truck began descending the hill at the entrance to the park.

[The Stig]

The truck came screaming to a stop at the edge of the driveway and some distance from the one that had delivered Werner into Caddy’s hands. One contractor nearly fell from the back of the pickup bed in the commotion.

The lead man calmly issued directions in a rapid fire pace. There were seven of them in total.

Pointing to the men closest to him he said, “You four follow me. Spread out and start making your way towards the back of the park. Double time.” As he spun and began running with the other men he called back to the two remaining men and directed them to go help Caddy.

Turning his attention back to linking up with Werner, he and the four other contractors sprinted ahead while spreading out to avoid getting too bunched up. The park was basically a large bowl shaped area with hills far higher than the level of the football fields and playgrounds.

Towards the rear of the park, the hills not only rose in height, they began converging to form the back of the bowl. It wasn’t long before the five men were nearing the end of the level ground.

Pausing for a second, the group of men looked around bewildered. Perhaps Werner had continued up the side of the hill and out of the park. Surely he would have radioed further instructions to warn them of this.

“Alpha 1, come in,” said the leader into his radio as the men attempted to catch their breath.

“Alpha 1, come in,” he repeated.

Looking confused the leader turned to one of the men to instruct him to call. Maybe his radio suddenly died. Electronic things sometimes had a mind of their own and quit working for no discernable reason.

“Give it a….”

Before he could finish the sentence a hail of rifle fire opened up. Within the first seconds three of the five men were crumpled to the ground with mortal wounds. The remaining two began frantically running back towards the park building, which offered the only real protection from the hail of bullets crashing in around them. Terror gripped the men as rifle rounds whizzed by them.

The crack of suppressed rifle fire echoed off the hills from strange directions and only added to the chaos.

The team leader was the last to die. Hopelessly unable to find the attackers he tried in vain to seek some sort of protection from the death crashing in around him.

****

Just before their fellow contractors died in an ambush a hundred and fifty yards away, the two remaining men were just about to reach Caddy. More from coincidence than any real planning, at nearly the exact moment the rifle fire began mowing down their friends, one of the contractors pulled open the door to the men’s room.

Had they been born with a superhero’s x-ray vision they would have never yanked the door open.

Blessed only with the vision of mortals, they were unable to see the two long strings that dissected the open area of the bathroom. One end of each string was tied innocently to the door handle.

They also were unable to see the terrified man trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and firmly tied to water pipe across the bathroom. In addition to the rope, copious quantities of duct-tape prevented the man from moving arms, legs, his head or mouth. Essentially he was the duct-tape mummy.

The last thing their human vision failed to detect was that the two strings hanging across the bathroom terminated at the round firing pins of two hand grenades. Hand grenades that just so happened to be duct-taped to the body of the doomed man. The grenades were angled towards the door and whoever installed them was sure to straighten the ends of the cotter pins that held the fuse spoon in place to ensure that little force was needed to dislodge them.

In their zeal to rescue Caddy, the two contractors sealed the fate of Richard Werner. The explosions ripped his body to shreds and painted the inside of the bathroom in a final, bloody testament of his doom.

****

Thirty minutes later, Miller and Caddy pulled their motorbike over into the woods to catch their breath before returning to ClarMar Farms. They had wanted to get as far away as possible before any more forces arrived and the situation became more than they could handle.

“Not too shabby eh?” said Miller with a smile.

Caddy returned the smile. “Better than I hoped.”

Miller, breathing a little heavily asked, “and you were satisfied with Werner’s demise?”

Looking down at the two empty grenade pouches on his web gear, all Caddy could say was, “Semper Fi”.

Before Miller could say anything else, Caddy continued, “I may be getting older, and am just a dumb leatherneck, but I heard a lot more rifle fire than just what our pea shooters could put out.”

“Yea,” said Miller. “Let’s talk about that back at the farm”.

With that they fired up their motorbike and began the long journey back to ClarMar Farms.

****

The contractor who had been kneeling next to Caddy when Miller caught them off guard, the driver, slowly awoke from his coma. His head was pounding and he felt as if a freight train rolled over top of him.

Groggily, he collected himself and checked to see if his extremities worked. Verifying that he was still alive, he slowly pulled himself upright. It didn’t take long to figure out he was in some woods just to the edge of Hardee Park.

As he raised up, he noticed a piece of paper folded and placed in his hand.

It read, “Always liked you. You are a good man. See you around. C”

The contractor that figured out that DeMetrie and his men were deserters and hiding out at ClarMar farms shook his head and re-read the note several times.

Staggering to his feet he shuffled back to the scene of the carnage at Hardee Park.

[The Stig]

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.

“Get you something to eat sweetie?” asked the waitress, a weather worn woman who had spent more years waiting tables than she cared to admit.

Smiling up at her Miller replied, “Just coffee please. Black.”

“Sure thing.” The waitress twirled off and within seconds returned. “Let me know if you need something else.”

“I’m meeting a friend. We may order something after he gets here.”

The minutes crept by as Miller sipped his coffee and allowed himself to fall into the natural rhythm of the comings and goings of the café. Soon he had a good read on the regulars, those passing through and the staff. Everything seemed in place. Even the couple with the young child, clearly just passing through, dined while adrift in their own world.

Miller had gotten there earlier than needed to get a read on the situation and prepare himself for what promised to be a big meeting.

As the door creaked to an open, and the middle-aged man walked though the door, it was clear this is with whom Miller would meet. He was just over six foot tall, over 200lbs and had the appearance of a one-time football linebacker who had allowed time and too many cheeseburgers to effect his physique.

The man soon realized Miller was with whom he’d be meeting. Casually he made his way to Millers booth. He handled it well. He didn’t stand and gawk as he looked over the situation, nor did he make a flashy show of identifying Miller.

“You Sizer?” the man asked.

Miller nodded his assent. While squeezing the Glock 27 in the kydex holster wedged under his left thigh to confirm its presence, Miller motioned for the man to sit with his right.

On cue the waitress arrived and just as quickly returned with an ice tea.

Miller and the man silently sized each other up as the stranger sugared his tea.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” stated the man.

Before replying Miller scanned the diner to ensure everything was still in place. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he returned his attention to the middle-aged man across from him.

“Yes sir, I believe we do”

Using Caddy’s information Miller was making his first contact with a different group of people working to resist the contractors and ultimately the tyranny of Miles Donovan. The future of the resistance would be forged by the outcome of the meeting.

****

Stowing the last bit of gear onboard one of the boats formally belonging to the Floyd brothers, Dink scanned the deck and controls. He didn’t know a lot about boating but he knew how to read a map and had chosen the smallest of the three crafts.

Barnes helped load in the last two backpacks, mostly filled with food and medical supplies.

“You going to be able to do this?” asked the former Reverend.

“Hell, how hard can it be Rev?” said Dink with a broad smile. “If that fat guy and Gilligan can do it, why can’t a former deputy with a surplus of charm and dashing good looks?”

Chuckling Barnes started removing the mooring lines. “From what Miller said, the river is pretty unguarded right now. You ought to make the rendezvous point with the ClarMar Farms truck in a couple of days.”

‘If you weren’t a reverend, I’d have a few choice words about that truck” declared Dink as he prepared to fire up the engine of the boat that would take him part of the way back to Wyoming, Maggie, Miller’s family and his friend Webb. “At least I don’t have to make the border crossing cramped up in that compartment under the bed in the cab. I’ll never eat a pretzel again.”

While the river was thus far unfettered from Dononvan’s grasp, crossing out of the Southern Zone was getting more and more difficult for the few freight trucks allowed to make the journey. Inspections had become more rigorous and trucks were being confiscated on a nearly routine basis. Thus, the plan was for Dink to captain one of the acquired boats part way up the river, and rendezvous with the farm’s semi-truck to take him the rest of the way home. Once they were out of the Southern Zone it would be smooth sailing.

As the engine roared to life Dink smiled up to Barnes who watched the boat start to drift out into the small inlet area. “Piece of cake” was all he said.

“Good luck Dink”

“Reverend, you seem like a good man. I’m gonna give you some advice”

Barnes had never known Dink to be so serious. He wasn’t sure he’d seen Dink be serious the entire time he’d been around. As he wrinkled his forehead in curiosity he replied, “Of course”.

“Be careful with Miller. He cheats. Don’t ever go shooting with him”

With that Dink smiled and let loose with a hardy laugh. He increased the boat’s throttle and began idling out of the inlet area and towards the big body of water.

He was ready to go home.

[The Stig]

A mood of relief swept over the compound the men called home. Following the timely demise of Werner and the loss of Caddy, the contractors in the county fell into disarray. Some of the units continued to patrol the City Hall complex in Shelton, but for now the patrols and raids had ceased.

The air of celebration fueled Lowry and Reynolds as they cleaned rifles and stowed gear. Lowry’s face, still swollen from the beating while he was being held at City Hall stood testament to his close brush with fate. Nonetheless, the usual banter and good-natured taunting common amongst Military men echoed through the buildings as the men completed their chores.

Just outside the main building Caddy and Captain DeMetrie walked together through the woods. Working their way down the pathway towards the winding creek behind the compound, the two men shared their common experiences while both men sized up the other.

DeMetrie was still very wary about taking Caddy into their group. The discussion with Miller was the first time they strongly disagreed as they evaluated the wisdom of allowing him access. The Captain had begrudgingly acquiesced after hearing how Caddy saved the life of two of his men in the final showdown with Werner by using animal tranquilizers from ClarMar and hauling them out of harms way. In a way only a warrior could appreciate, Caddy had also scored points in DeMetrie’s eyes by coldly dispatching the contractors from other firms that had arrived on scene. It was clear he was loyal to his men and deadly to his enemies.

As the two men skipped rocks at the creek like adolescents playing hooky from school they slowly found a common ground from which to form a partnership.

DeMetrie prayed he and Miller were making the right decision. If they were wrong, Caddy could bring death upon them all.


****

“Holy Christ!” screamed Donovan when news of the debacle in Shelton reached his ears. His normal channels of information were delayed somewhat as the details of the final showdown and the disappearance of Caddy were hashed out. When it finally reached him his anger was immediate.

Tossing down the manila folder in disgust the Senator railed, “That’s two different contracting firms that have gone to shit down there. That place is slowly becoming a royal pain in my ass”

Collecting himself he turned to the group of aides who had been meeting with him as the bombshell news was dropped. Speaking directly to the impish man who was his main assistant Donovan said, “Enough mucking around. Get me the commandant of the State Troopers on the phone.”

Realizing that his military forces would be tied up protecting his borders and the performance of his contracting firms was inconsistent, Donovan had merged the State Highway Patrols of all the states in his Southern District. While there were some deserters, mostly honorable men and women who couldn’t stomach being a part of his mad grab at power, there were plenty of remaining troopers to form the nucleus of a combination Secret Police and elite fighting force. They were the Waffen SS to the contracting firms Wehrmacht. They gave him yet another pool of resources to wield in his quest for control.

The group who had abducted Reverend Barnes before firebombing his church was from the ranks of these men.

“Line one Senator,” said the impish man.

Not wasting a breath on pleasantries, Donovan simply delivered his wishes to the man at the other end of the line. “Listen Bill, there’s a problem down in Shelton. Put together a contingent of men and send them down there. There’s a couple contracting firms in the area. Go through them and toss the ones who aren’t serious. Be ready for a fight. This is important and could get ugly if we don’t take care of it.”

Listening for a few seconds Donovan continued, “Good. Let me know when you send them over there. I’ll work on getting you some full-blown military support. Can’t make promises, but I want these folks tracked down and eliminated.”

Senator hung up the phone with just as much warmth and kindness as how it answered it. He simply hung up before the other man could respond.

Speaking out loud and to nobody in particular Miles Donovan said, “Those piss-ants want a fight? Well, they’re about to get one.”

****

PROLOGE:

Greg and Clarissa Donner sat on the front porch of their home as they took a mid-day break. While the business of ClarMar farms hummed around them they enjoyed the beauty of the day. Clouds drifted high above while the trees lazily moved in time with the gentle breeze. It was one of those moments that could have just as easily been a television commercial

Nothing was said as father and daughter took in the splendor of the moment. Sipping his drink, Greg leaned back in his chair and soaked in the momentary tranquility.

Lost in their bliss, neither of them realized they were not alone as they enjoyed their moment.

From behind his high-power spotting scope a pair of eyes followed their activities with great interest.

Wrapping up several hours of observation the man carefully and deliberately backed out of his hide and began the several hundred-yard belly crawl that would return him to a place where he could more practically move.

Standing up he dusted off his pants and oversized shirt and began walking away from the farm at a steady pace. He was walking fast enough to cover ground quickly, but still maintained a vigilant scan for any signs of trouble.

After nearly an hour he returned to a small thicket of trees beside one of the ubiquitous country roads that dissected the county. He sat in the front seat for several minutes as he collected his thoughts. Finally satisfied he hadn’t overlooked anything; he reached down and turned the ignition to his small jeep.

Seeing a folder piece of paper on the seat next to him he couldn’t help but read it again. While he had memorized the words weeks ago they still rang through his mind with a mixture of appreciation and confusion,

“Always liked you. You are a good man. See you around. C”