“Thanks Smitty,” said Miller as he negotiated the oversized pizza box through the doors.

“Damn,” he muttered as he nearly dropped the entire thing into the drifting snow.

Getting into his large four-by-four pickup Miller sat the pizza on the seat next to him as he settled in and turned over the engine of the big truck. For snowy days like this he was glad to have the big truck. He was even happier that Webb and his brother had modified the engine to produce even more horsepower and drive torque.

He negotiated several streets heading back towards the ranch before remembering that his other task was to retrieve the evenings supply of beer.

“I thought beer and pizza was Dink's department,” he said aloud as he wheeled the big truck back around.

The large SUV that was several hundred yards behind him doing the same caught his attention. Experience is something that doesn't leave a man, especially when that experience is honed by the hard reality of life. It may fade over time, but it never fully leaves a man once he's won it.

After nearly sliding though a stop sign, he pulled into the small gas station and convenience store. He'd pay twice as much for the beer, but it beat standing in line at the grocery store. Rationalizing that he was imagining things in the snowy wasteland of Wyoming, he trudged into the small cinder-block building as the snow continued to rain down unabated.

“Hey Miller,” said the store-owner with a smile and wave.

Nodding back with a smile, Miller said, “Evening Fred.”

“I see Dink has you doing his dirty work.”

Searching the endless see of bottles in the cooler Miller responded, “He does seem skilled at that no?”

As he brought his purchases to the counter, and handed the money to Fred, he couldn't resist and asked, “Fred, you didn't notice a big SUV drive by real slow and then head down the side street did you?”

Counting back the change, Fred looked up. “Yea. Thought it was weird to see a perfectly clean, black truck in these parts. Well, besides the snow and all.” Most of them are covered in mud and junk. ”

“Thanks Fred”

“You boys behave yourself tonight,” was Fred's response as the bell over the door jingled.

****


Tom Saxon was an interesting man. Originally enrolled in university on a football scholarship he quickly became bored of the sport and drifted away from the academic world. Enlisting in the army, he spent his four years rapidly rising through the ranks and demonstrated a natural capacity for soldiering. Despite the Army best efforts, he didn't reenlist and chose to give collage a second try.

The second attempt was less successful than the first. The proliferation of self-important ideologues, and frivolous self-indulgence, along the distinct disdain for anything that projected strength sickened him. He walked away from the university after thrashing a particularly obnoxious film student that fancied himself an artist in the mold of a certain overweight, pompous film maker.

He soon found himself back in the Army, welcomed with open arms by those who didn't want him to leave the first time.

Whispering into his microphone he said, “Second squad, go”.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two Privates, both black, moving from cover to the second objective of their mission: an over-watch position with an expansive view of a large shallow valley. They were good soldiers and had proven themselves in combat many times over.

He was struck by how one of them reminded him of Cuba Gooding Jr, the popular American film-star.

Glancing back over his shoulder he checked to see that his partner was ready to move. Making eye contact, Saxon gave the hand signal that indicated it was time to move to their next position also. Moving in concert, the two men, Saxon and the older one, moved to a position approximately fifty yards to the left of the two privates.

Saxon had to chuckle. The older man had been granted special dispensation to be attached to their group as an “adviser”. It turned out that being friends with the Captain had held weight with someone much higher up the food chain of command.

He was a good soldier. He couldn't carry the weight of equipment the younger men could, or move quite as fast, but he'd clearly been soldiering his entire life. His experience and natural talent outweighed his physical limitations.

Again whispering into the microphone taped to his cheek, “over-watch” was his basic command.

Their mission today was relatively simple. They were keeping watch on a particular road and counting how many enemy vehicles moved down it. Saxon would have preferred to attack the trucks, but it was wiser to get an idea of enemy strength in the area first before charging in blindly.

As they settled in and prepared to spend the day observing, Saxon had to chuckle at his situation. Only he and Dickerson, the other black private, were actual Army. The Captain and two of his men were National Guard troops that had gone AWOL but were mysteriously reinstated in full after resurfacing in Nashville a year and a half ago. Caddy, the older man, had been with them during that time period also.

Their small group had been sent to Southwestern Ohio to harass and interdict Crutchfield's forces in the area. When the large group of upper-Midwestern states succeeded from the Union to join his rebellion, he quickly moved those troops eastward to bolster his strength in New York, Pennsylvania and New Jersey. President Alan responded in kind and moved the bulk of his conventional forces to counter the threat.

For the past year conventional battles had unfolded in the east. Crutchfield had lost two armies trying to invade Kentucky and wasn't about to lose a third while the President refused to weaken his position in the Virginia’s and Maryland. The result was that Ohio and Kentucky faded into a backwater theater of the war.

As such Crutchfield tended to use a mix of a small garrison of regular troops bolstered by Peacekeepers from Eastern Europe to maintain control in the area. The President, equally reluctant to commit any real forces to the area was only too happy to let irregular troops carry the load. He left just enough regular forces in Kentucky to prevent an incursion, but beyond that, any real fighting was carried out by oddly constructed units of fighting forces.

So far the strategy was working. While the main forces bludgeoned each other maneuvering for advantage in the East, Saxon and his band of misfits, engaged in less mainstream fighting in the West.