Fall Out

[The Stig]

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

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


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

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

Gathering them all in he spoke in hushed tones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The situation was deteriorating rapidly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Stig]

Barnes was in real trouble and knew it. The two Troopers were leading him away from his office by the docks and directly towards the darkly tinted sedan that had been their home for the past few weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright” he announced. “Look alive”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or dance around naked?” suggested Lowry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Stig]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No shit Sherlock” came the terse reply.

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

“This is bad,” offered up the passenger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Stig]

As Miller drove the truck back to ClarMar farms Barnes sat in silence. He simply wasn’t cut out for near death experiences and the sort of action in which Miller seemed to revel. He rather liked running the boat line and living a quiet life.

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

“Beats me Tim. Any ideas?”

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

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

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


****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The secretary on the other end dutifully responded immediately.

“Yes sir?”

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


****

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Stig]

Military operations tend to bounce between two possible outcomes: utter chaos and complete disaster. It is rare when a plan both survives the initial contact and goes off without a hitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were essentially on their own now.

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Stig]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

“Yes sir” they all replied in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

All three men shook their heads in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A grunt of acknowledgment was all Miller gave in reply.

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

[The Stig]

The heat was overwhelming and it still wasn’t the hottest part of the day.

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

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

That opportunity was upon them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The entire action had taken less than two minutes.

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

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

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

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

[The Stig]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

Simply nodding his head DeMetrie fell silent.

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

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

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

“We lost another team”.

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

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

“A message obviously” said Miller.

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

“What are your plans?”

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

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

[The Stig]

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Stig]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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