Fall Out

[The Stig]

“Clarissa,” Miller yelled over the din of the fight, “Go to the backdoor and make sure they aren’t coming up behind us.”

Not hearing him at first he had to yell it a second time.

Glancing out at her father, who was slowly firing back from his position under the truck, she hesitated. She didn’t want to leave her father.

“I’ll get Greg back” Miller assured her. “Go, there’s a team coming around back. You have to keep them from getting close enough to thrown things in the house.”

Finally realizing Miller was right, Clarissa quickly sprang to feet and grabbed the small bag she had next to her.

Since all of the bags were in the truck, the three only had the magazines on their personal gear. Thanks to Hubbard’s warning they had enough time to don that equipment but that gear was designed to be light to allow rapid movement for prolonged periods of time. To achieve that goal each harness only held four magazines of ammunition.

She took the small bag that held a couple more, now precious, magazines with her and took up a similar perch behind the back door. Miller had wisely turned off all the lights inside the house to at least make it a little harder to see them.

Miller took over the front-door position and accessed what they had to work with. The answer was simple. Nothing. Greg was pinned down. They were being pressed from two sides. Ammunition and time was running out.

Quickly firing a few shots though the haze and smoke at an inky shape in the darkness Miller realized the effect of the smoke was already wearing off. The Troopers were again pressing forward.
He was just about to hit the panic button when to his relief rifle fire erupted from the buildings to the left of the driveway turnaround U. DeMetrie had arrived and begun engaging into the flank of the Troopers approaching the house from the front.

Sensing the opportunity Miller yelled out to Greg, “Greg, now! Run up here”

Greg nodded and rose to his feet as quickly as his old body would allow. Grabbing the side of the truck for support he slowly rose from laying flat on the ground to a hunched over pose that still kept him behind the truck as much as possible. Humans have the amazing ability to conform to oddest shapes when being shot at.

Watching out of the corner of his eye Miller prepared to fire rapidly to provide Greg at least a modicum of cover from the Troopers. Between the fading smoke, his fire and DeMetrie he stood a chance of covering the distance.

Greg glanced up at Miller before preparing to run to the house. Despite all the years and health problems, combat seemed familiar to Greg. In some ways the adrenaline made him feel young again. Mustering up all the energy his body could provide Greg lurched forward from the truck and pumped his legs as fast as his frail body would allow. Simultaneously, Miller began firing rapidly in the direction of as many of the rifle flashes he could see.

Sometimes in combat the difference between life and death is a mater of mere inches and often luck. Two men can stand side-by-side and undergo different outcomes. One goes home to his family while he other has a flag and the gratitude of a grateful nation.

Luck and inches conspired against Greg as he attempted to cover the distance from the front of the truck to the stairs. Two steps into his dash, a rifle round tore through his thigh sending the old man crashing to the ground. Miller didn’t notice it at first, but when Greg didn’t come thundering past him after a second or two he glanced to check on his progress.

That’s when he saw the old Marine dragging himself back behind the truck. Miller immediately reached down and threw the last smoke grenade as far as he could. Using the few seconds before the smoke began billowing out of the canister to fire off the remaining rounds in his rifle he then sprinted the two strides to cover the front porch and nearly dove down the stairs. Covering the distance in two more strides he reached down to pull the old man completely behind the truck body.

Things had just gone from bad to worse.

[The Stig]

Clarissa had never been in a gunfight. Her husband had never shared stories of combat. The slow motion effect of the stress and tunnel vision that occurs were new sensations to her body. It seemed that time had slowed to a crawl and that she could almost see the bullets zinging through the air towards her. Because they had anticipated overwhelming the farmhouse’s occupants through surprise they had only sent five men to the rear of the house. To Clarissa it seemed to be an entire army.

But she was a strong willed woman who had fought every inch of the way to build her business into a local powerhouse. She forced herself to breath deeply and feed her brain oxygen rich fuel. Thinking back to all the training classes and instruction she had received over the years she focused on the front sight as best she could and tried to press the trigger instead of jerking it to fire the rifle.

One of her rounds had connected with a Trooper and bore a hole in his chest that transected his ribcage. The man was nearly dead before he hit the ground. The other four chose to remain behind the scant concealment available in the field behind the home instead of moving closer.

****

“I’m sorry Miller” was all Greg could say as he looked down at the chunk of flesh missing from his thigh. Miller efficiently wrapped the wound with an Israeli bandage as quickly as he could given the awkward position he was in.

Without looking up Miller replied, “we’re getting the hell out of here”.

As he finished wrapping the man’s leg he glanced up at the older man. The expression on his face had changed.

Before he could say anything Miller continued speaking, “come on Greg. Get yourself ready to move. I’ll carry you.”

Greg’s eyes took on a more distant, almost misty look. “Son, look at the house” was all he said.

It took Miller several seconds, and a few pointing gestures from Greg, to get the point and glance backwards. Flames were emanating from the second story of the house. It was hard to pinpoint the cause, but the old farmhouse wasn’t built to withstand the onslaught of rifle rounds. The wood siding of the house sagged under the weight of repeated impacts. In several areas the old lath beneath the siding was exposed. The house wasn’t going to tolerate much more abuse.

Miller prepared to lift Greg and carry him to safety fireman style. It was risky and there was a good chance both of them could be hit. Night or no night, Miller would be a much larger target with the old man slung over his shoulder, and would certainly be moving much slower. All in all, the situation was getting desperate. They had to move out, and do it now before the troopers could adjust to DeMetrie’s assault and before the house became too engulfed in flames to provide any route to escape.

And they had to get to Clarissa.

****

Lehman was furious. In the fog of war sometimes men and equipment don’t perform as well as they should. This was one of those times.

His communications team was desperately trying to contact the assault team to get them to stop. The situation was spiraling out of control, but there was still a slim hope Lehman could salvage things if the could stop the assault right away.

“I want them on the radio, and I want them now. Call them off!” Lehman said venomously.

The lead man stammered, “Sir, just give us another minute. We had to reset some of the equipment.”

Lehman paced furiously. He grasped that he likely didn’t have another minute.

****


“Son, it’s the only way”.

Miller knew the old man was right. It didn’t mean he liked it any better, but Greg was right.

“You’ll never carry me that far, and I’m a liability now. Even if you get me to the house, we’ll never make it out the backside.” Greg looked earnestly into Miller’s eyes as a rifle round zinged by as if to accentuate the point.

Miller, not being easily persuaded was having none of Greg’s heroics. “Listen old man, you’re not going to pull the hero card on me. Get ready to move.”

There was a sudden barrage of shots from the Troopers as they began to realize they had to push forward, or towards DeMetrie. Sitting still wasn’t getting them any closer to their objectives. Miller and Greg both immediately realized what was happening.

Miller was about to say something when a tremendous explosion shook the earth around several of the Troopers. DeMetrie had used one of his hoarded grenades to counter the sudden push by the Troopers.

As Miller bent over to hoist Greg onto his shoulders, Greg gently reached up and brushed off Miller’s hand. “Listen Miller. You’ll never make it with me and I need you to take care of Clarissa now. I’ll do what I can to keep their heads down. You just get back inside that house, get my daughter and get the hell out of here.”

Pausing for a second to consider the ramifications he knew Greg was right. It pained him to admit it, but he was right. To escape they were going to have to cover a lot of ground, very quickly, and having a injured senior citizen wasn’t going to help.

Looking directly into Miller’s eyes the old man continued, “Look, I’m not going to get sappy here. I’ve lived my life. Now go. The cause needs you far more than it needs me. Go.”

Miller knew he was right.

Nodding his head in reluctant acceptance, he pulled the remaining magazine from his vest and handed it to Greg. “Here. Use this and what you have to keep their heads down. Stack them next to you so you can reload quickly,” he said as he prepared to make the dash back to the house.

“Move me into a better position” he commanded Miller as he scooped up his remaining magazines.

After helping the man get into a prone position, between the front and back truck tires Miller looked down and started to say something to the man who had become his friend in the cause.

“Don’t say anything Miller. Just go. Get my daughter to safety and go. Please”. Miller looked into the older man’s eyes and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

Sometimes, there just aren’t words.

[The Stig]

While the drama unfolded at the front of the house, Clarissa was fighting a battle of her own. Smoke from the fire had begun billowing downstairs and was starting to obscure her. She tried to keep the troopers from advancing any closer as best she could through the coughing and sputtering.

While she changed out to her last magazine she heard and felt a tremendous explosion near the front of the house. Fearing for her father she started to worry but fought to push the fear out of her mind. She had to stay focused on the task at hand. A task that was becoming much harder. The sudden rash of rifle fire emanating from the front of the house helped jar her back to the reality before her.

As she raised her rifle to let loose several more rounds she suddenly became aware of Miller behind her. He was breathing heavily, but under control.

“Come on. We have to move!” was all he said. As if the house was trying to voice it’s agreement a large portion of the living room ceiling collapsed as the raging fire continued consuming the house at an ever-faster pace.

Not fully comprehending what he was saying she simply grunted a “yes” and prepared to move out.

“You got any full mags?” he asked. “Good. Be ready to use it. We have one smoke grenade left. I’m going to pop it. When I give the word, run out the back door, and turn hard right. Once you clear the door I’ll fire off a few shots to keep them honest. Then I’ll come out behind you. Run to the compound as hard and fast as you can. Got it?”

“What about Dad?” she yelled over the growing roar of the fire. The ancient farmhouse groaned and popped as it began unraveling.

“Just be ready to go when I say. There’s no time for discussion”. Miller tried to look as unyielding as possible. He knew how Clarissa could be and this wasn’t the time for a debate. He’d dealt with hard charging, alpha males all around the world, but this was one woman who could put up a fight when she didn’t want to do something.

He was surprised when she looked down for a few seconds, grunted, and then looked back up to say, “I’m ready”.

****

The Troopers had killed two of DeMetrie’s men and the volume of fire the remaining men could produce wasn’t enough to hold them back. Sensing this, the Troopers were slowly pushing forward to press home the attack. The farmhouse, nearly fully engulfed in flames seemed a fitting description of Miller and DeMetrie’s situation.

DeMetrie had seen Miller dash back into the house and could only surmise he and whoever was left were going to escape out the back. He could see someone firing from underneath the truck but wasn’t sure who that person was.

The situation was becoming untenable. He was running low on ammo and had to have something left in the event it became a running gun battle all the way to point Romeo. If he could disengage from the Troopers he could use the night and confusion of the situation to make a dash to safety and begin the journey to link up with Miller and Caddy’s team.

As he was making the mental plans he glanced over to see his last man suddenly throw his hands up towards his throat and then collapse to the ground. It was if fate was telling him now was the time to leave.

He glanced back at the truck in time to see the man rattle off another burst of four or five rounds.

DeMetrie was an extraordinarily brave man but he was also a realist. At this point, it was nearly every man for himself.

He slowly backed out of his firing position and using the cover of the building began backing away as quickly as possible. The rattle of nearly constant fire from underneath the truck helped provide him the time needed to get away.

Using the cover of some equipment he was soon seventy-five yards away from the scene of the firefight. He wasn’t safe yet, but as the sounds of rifle fire intensified, he knew he’d stand a good chance of living to fight another day.

[cwconnertx]

Another great installment!

[bacpacker]

What a story. Thanks Stig!

[The Stig]

“GO!” yelled Miller as he shoved Clarissa out the door. In doing so, he stepped out directly behind her. While she cut hard to the right to run down the length of the house, he sid- stepped to the left, dropped to one knee and rattled off five or six shots. He had lost track of how many rounds he had left but the sudden click, audible over the din of the battle, made it clear.

Deciding he should join the dash to safety, he dug his heals into the sandy ground and pushed himself to the side and begin the sprint. As he began pumping his legs and gulping in as much air has his lungs he had the strange thought of wondering if his daughter Ava was having fun on her Wyoming adventure with mommy, the dog and their new friend Patsy.

Fear sometimes causes people to think odd things.

As time slowed to a crawl, Miller could hear rifle rounds smacking into ground around him. With the house now a blazing inferno he was fairly easy to see despite the smoke and dark night.

If he stood any chance of covering the ground he would need divine intervention.

****

“Sir, we raised them!” exclaimed the Contractor who worked in Lehman’s communication center. “Channel 5 sir”.

As he snatched the microphone from the young man’s hand Lehman yelled into it, “Bravo team, break contact! Repeat, break contact. Immediate!”

There was a slight pause before the disembodied voice crackled back over the radio. “Say again Bravo lead. Breaking up. Sounds of rifle fire was clearly heard in the background. Lehman cringed at the noise.

“Say again Bravo team, break contact. Immediate.”

The pause in response baffled Lehman.

“Bravo lead, you are garbled. I say again you……….”

The transmission had gone dead again.

****

As Miller ran he didn’t even try to zig or zag. He simply wanted to cover as much ground as possible, as quickly as his body would allow.

He basically had to sprint about seventy five yards, through fire, to get to the nearest hint of safety, a small ditch barely two foot deep. The ditch ran parallel to the main road and would provide them cover to get some of the farm buildings between them and all the Troopers.

But he had to get there first.

Miller glanced up to see Clarissa nearly to the safe harbor of the ditch. She’d likely make it but he faced about a ten percent chance of making the same dash. Maybe less since the contractors would guess someone would attempt the same route.

As he lifted his right leg he felt a round impact the ground where his foot had been less than a second before. Dirt and sand kicked up into the air and he involuntarily jumped a little higher on his next stride. The ditch looked further away than ever.

It looked even further since the cloud of smoke from his last grenade was blowing back towards where he had been. He was just about beyond the scant cover it was providing.

His leg muscles screamed in agony as he pumped them harder than ever before. As his lungs began burning from the combination of exertion and smoke inhalation, he felt another round zing past his head. He tucked it down as far as possible and kept pushing.

It looked like time was running out for John Miller.

****

DeMetrie kept moving and finally reached the distant tree-line. Whoever was under the truck had blasted away long enough to keep the Troopers at bay and allow his escape.

Just as he reached the tree-line the gunfire emanating from the front of the house ceased. There had been a loud crescendo of fire but that stopped and was replaced by the sounds of rifle fire coming from the rear of the home. Less frequent, and with lesser intensity than the front, but shots none the less.

Having no idea if Miller, or anyone else had survived, DeMetrie had no choice but head to Point Romeo and hope for the best. At the very least he would rendezvous with Caddy and his team and they could piece together a plan from there.

He glanced back over his shoulder to see the night sky illuminated by the funeral pyre of the ClarMar Farms house. Flames shot into the night air and even at night DeMetrie could make out the thick black smoke. Death hung in the air.

He was no more than five yards into the woods when the sound of rifle fire suddenly intensified again.

****

They moved silently through the night. Their pace was deliberate yet not rushed. Caddy and his team had to cover a lot of ground to reach Point Romeo. Even after they arrived there was no guarantee of the reception they’d receive. So to reduce the chances of being detected along the way, and avoid being exhausted when they got there, they took a steady and deliberate pace.

The men didn’t have to say anything to each other. All three grasped the dire situation their friends were in.

They pushed on knowing that, if a miracle had happened, and everybody made it out, they’d likely need the extra firepower Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds could provide.

****


Miller had just about given up hope for making it to the oasis of the ditch. He wasn’t the sort of man to throw in the towel, to surrender. He kept moving as fast as his body would allow.

Just as it seemed there would be no way to penetrate the hornets nest of bullets piercing the wall of bullets suddenly parted like a curtain opens on stage. No longer did they whiz past or thump into the ground around him. It was as if someone flipped a switch and turned off the rifle fire.

He reached the safety of the ditch and dove into it headfirst like a wide receiver piercing the end zone to secure the championship game. He crumpled to into a heap as the forward momentum of his body carried his legs nearly over his head. But no matter how ungraceful or undignified his entry to the ditch, he was grateful for one thing.

The damn ditch.

He looked up to see Clarissa crawling in his direction.

Without hesitation he said, “I’m fine….go crawl back the other way as fast as you can. We’re not out of this yet”. He used is one free arm to wave her off.

She did as she was told and scampered along like a baby zooming across the floor in search of a lost pacifier.

****

What DeMetrie heard in the distance, and Miller never realized was that a new player had entered the fight. Between the adrenaline, physical exertion, tunnel vision and the shear volume of the battle, Miller would have never been able to distinguish the sounds of a different gun. He was too busy willing himself to run faster.

In warfare there are occasions where one man can alter the course of a battle.

Much like Greg’s sacrifice slowed the Trooper’s advance long enough to allow Miller to escape, someone else joining the fight was just enough to tip the balance of power in the right direction.

Just when hope had seemingly vanished, and the Troopers from the front of the house prepared the join the battle in the rear, someone opened fire on the Troopers shooting at Miller. Slow, deliberate and skillful shots made clear to the Troopers they had a problem and it was one to be dealt with now. While only one round actually hit a Trooper, the gunfire served its purpose well: to distract the Troopers just long enough to afford Miller the chance to reach the ditch.

And distract them it did. Assuming there was a larger force to their rear, the Troopers attacking the back of the farmhouse quickly shifted to face this new threat. This natural reaction to the new situation allowed Miller to run unmolested.

Just as the Troopers from the front of the house linked up with those in the rear, the gunman decided he had pushed his luck far enough. He carefully snake crawled to his rear far enough to stand and run through the woods. Within virtually seconds he disappeared into the night.

Glen Hubbard smiled to himself and prayed he had made the right choice.

[The Stig]

As Lehman paced in the communications center he realized events had spiraled outside of his control. His men had continued to try to raise the assault team on the radio but were rewarded with only static and Lehman’s mounting frustration.

While the minutes ticked by he finally admitted defeat.

Turning to one of his assistants he said, “Alright, get a car and we’ll just head out there ourselves.”

As Lehman and his man walked out of the communication center he turned back and issued a final command, “Keep trying to raise them. If you get to them, patch me in immediately.”

Without looking up the communications men nodded while they feverously tried to force their equipment to comply to their wishes.

****

Their legs and lungs burning in protest, Miller and Clarissa finally reached a small shed located just over the ClarMar property in the distant rear of the neighboring farm. The farm owner had long since abandoned his property so the old unused hunting shed was a perfect cache for supplies.

While they struggled to catch their breath, Miller smoothly opened the door to the small structure.

“We don’t have much time. Just give me a second” was his only instruction before he started rummaging around the small enclosure. While his source didn’t know about the compound that had served as he and DeMetries headquarters, he didn’t want to risk going back to it. Instead of moving west to the main compound they went northerly through the woods to reach this small decrepit shed.

Clarissa didn’t know what to think. Her father was left behind in the hailstorm of bullets that had nearly cost her and Miller their lives. The farm was sure to be in ruins and their futures were now uncertain. Somehow she had just graduated from respected businesswoman to fugitive and she didn’t know what the next hour would hold, let alone the coming weeks and months.

Miller turning back from the shed entrance stirred her from her thoughts.

“Here take these” was his only instruction as he handed her a small backpack and several more magazines of ammunition for her rifle. He busied himself with placing full magazines back into the various pouches on his chest rig.

“What the hell is going on Miller?” was all she could think to ask.

While he dug a map out of the backpack he studied it by flashlight and replied, “The Troopers tortured one of our sources. She broke and gave up ClarMar” in a mater-of-fact tone.

As he continued to memorize the map she pressed him further, “Listen Miller, you know I’m not one for hysteria but this is insane.”

Finally glancing up Miller looked her dead in the eye. “We’ve got two choices here. Give in; go back to the farm and surrender. The Senator wins. Game over. The other option is to accept that our plans are wrecked, deal with it and press on. Do you have a preference?”

After a few seconds she finally responded. “I’m sure as hell not surrendering. What do you want me to do?”

“You’ve got to hold onto these backpacks while I drive.”

“Drive?”

Without responding Miller simply walked to the backside of the small shed. Almost by feel he reached down into the dark shadow of a woodpile and pulled the small wall of logs over. As the individual logs tumbled away it revealed an off-road dirt bike.

“I assume you already knew this was here?” Clarissa asked.

Glancing back over his shoulder he simply nodded to confirm her question. Miller had personally built the small wooden frame that protected the bike. The frame supported the falsework of logs on the front and top of the bike. The shed and small stone wall created the sides. A thick canvas tarp covered the framework and kept the logs from caving inward. To a quick glance it looked like an aging stack of firewood.

Only Miller and DeMetrie were aware of its existence. On more than one occasion in his past having a small means of transportation stashed away had saved the day.

As he wrestled it out from underneath it’s hide he worked quickly to get it turned around and pointed in the right direction. As he rummaged around the back of the hideout spot he came up with two helmets from the dark recesses of the hide.

“Here, you’ll need this. We have a lot of ground to cover before daylight.”

As she jockeyed the helmet over her head, and adjusted her long brown hair, she asked, “Where are we heading?”

“We’ve got to make a phone call before we meet up with DeMetrie.”

She was left to ponder his obtuse comment while he motioned her aboard the small bike.

After she climbed into the back she wrestled to balance her rifle and the backpacks while Miller kicked the starter and coaxed the small engine to life. Soon they were zooming down a nearly indecipherable pathway in the darkened woods. She held onto the bags and Miller as best she could.

She was hanging on for dear life.

****

As the SUV pulled into ClarMar farms, Lehman knew the worst had happened. Fire’s still licked the collapsed and charred remains of an old farmhouse.

Stepping from the truck he surveyed the scene. The glowing embers of the ClarMar Farms house illuminated the obvious scene of an intense firefight. Shell casings of several calibers littered the ground and the smell of burning wood intermixed with the pall of burn gunpowder that permeated the air. Injured troopers tended to their wounds while several dead bodies were visible in the moonlight.

The leader of the assault team had been conferring with junior members of his team when he noticed Lehman walking in his direction. Despite his exhaustion he approached Lehman, crisply saluted and gave his report.

“Looks like four dead Sir. Three insurgents and an old man by the truck. We’ve taken casualties too. No signs of Ms. Donner or any other insurgents. The farmhouse is wrecked, obviously, but we’ve got men combing the office and these other outbuildings looking for any evidence that will lead us to more insurgents. I’d suggest bringing in the investigations men Sir.”

Lehman merely nodded as he surveyed the scene where his career came to a screeching halt.

“They were clearly part of the troublemakers sir,” continued the experienced Trooper. “They fought like men with combat experience. They used smoke and explosive ordinance and they were more than capable in battle. These weren’t just redneck farmers.”

Coughing on smoke that caught at the back of his throat Leman nodded and walked back to the SUV.

The Senator would be on scene in the morning. Lehman would have his letter of resignation ready and hope that whatever camp he was sent too wasn’t too miserable.

[bacpacker]

S fixin to HTF for Lehman. I feel so bad for him (not).
Another good installment Stig. Thanks

[The Stig]

The forces gathered around the riverbank across from Cincinnati continued their street-by-street, house-by-house struggle as the bloody battle raged on. The President’s men, who were fighting desperately, to both survive and keep Crutchfield’s forces from moving south, clung precariously to a section of town measured in blocks rather than miles. Crutchfield was simply able to pour more men and material into the fight than the President was able or willing to send. The tide had turned.

Crutchfield’s commanders finally sensed it was time to begin their journey eighty miles south to relieve the forces holding onto Lexington. Soon armored vehicles of many types, humvee’s and even some open topped trucks were heading south down the interstate 71 corridor as an advanced guard to link up with their comrades. The main body of their forces would head out in short order.

The men whose blood was spilt died for a worthy cause, however, as for every hour that ticked by their forces gathered strength far to the south.

The President chose to allow the forces to move unmolested to the south. With the exception of occasional air attacks and the stray group of civilians fighting back Crutchfield’s forces moved with speed and purpose. It was all part of a plan, one that was moving ahead without flaw thus far.

It wouldn’t be long before Lexington would be on the horizon.

****

The major airport serving Lexington is to the Southwest of the city. The northern end of the airport is slightly higher in elevation than the surrounding land. Thousands of years ago glaciers carved the land in such a way that the southern end of the airfield tailed off sharply from the airport level to form a large, wooded valley.

For thousands of years fighting men have used camouflage and their understanding of the environment to disguise their movements. Experienced men can often times move to within ten yards of their prey before detection is even possible. Even then it’s often sound that gives away their presence rather than visual detection.

Sergeant Tom Saxon loved his job. He had been a military man his entire life and become very adept as his profession. Saxon had joined the army at a young age and seen combat in various parts of the Middle-Eastern conflicts that raged for so many years. It never crossed his mind that he’d be going to war inside his own country.

He had returned to the states when the President recalled the cream of America’s fighting forces from the middleastern hellhole in which they had been fightin. After serving in the battle that repulsed Crutchfield’s original foray into Kentucky, he and his unit was moved to the western part of Virginia to rest and refit. This respite didn’t last long as they were soon mobilized and transported back to central Kentucky.

His platoon was assigned the task of harassing Crutchfield’s men around the parameter of the city. In addition to testing their defenses, they served the larger purpose of continuing to distract Crutchfield’s commanders from the strengthening forces threatening them from the South.

The men moved silently towards the airport through the protection of the trees and geography. Their goal that day was a small raid that would unnerve the defenders around the airport. Instead of a full assault aimed at recapturing it they would lob a few rockets, fire a few mags of ammo and then scoot back to safety.

It promised to be another interesting day in the military career of Sergeant Saxon.


****

“Dammit,” exclaimed Jason Klepper as he stubbed his toe on the corner post of the bed while making a late night bathroom run. As he crawled back under the still warm covers he attempted to drift back off to sleep. Glancing at the clock it was 4:38am

His struggling cleaning company had kept him burning the candle at both ends to survive. The original plan to do commercial cleaning had given way to cleaning residences and even bidding on government work to keep the doors open. The turmoil the country faced put a serious crimp on luxuries like cleaning services. He was making it, if only barely.

He considered leaving the Southern District when the difficulties blossomed, and even had an offer to relocate north from a good friend. After discussions however, he felt he had a role to play in the South. His decision was reinforced by the grandmother that was only a few hours away. While he didn’t see her all that often, he simply didn’t want to leave her behind.

Just as the warm embrace of slumber began to overtake him he heard a slight knock at the back door. In his haze he attempted to ignore it but the knocking became louder and more persistent. More importantly it had a familiar pattern to it.

“No….not now” was all he could think as he stumbled through the dark towards the door.

****

“Miller, why do you have to show up now?”

Smiling broadly Miller replied, “Thanks for the warm welcome friend”.

Shutting the door quickly behind them the three people moved to his basement radio room.

“It is 4:30 you know” was his dry reply. Getting a good look at Miller in the light of the basement Klepper asked, “Jesus, what happened to you two? And who is this?”

Motioning Klepper to the radio equipment Miller ignored part of the question. “Can you still get a message out the way we discussed?”

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes the cleaning man cum radio operator answered, “Sure. I can get the message out. No guarantees on how far it will go.”
“Alright” said Miller, who clearly wasn’t in the mood for casual chitchat. Continuing on he said, “Can my friend use your restroom to freshen up?”

“Of course”.

As Klepper returned to the basement Miller had written out a short message on a pad of paper. Handing it to his friend Miller offered, “You know Jason, the offer to get you out of here always stands. I appreciate all the help you’ve given us, but if you ever feel you need to scoot, we can make that happen.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks……” Klepper’s brow furrowed as he read the note. “Really, this is what you want to send?”

“Yes, every word of it. To the destination indicated. I need you to wait until 10pm tomorrow night, and then send this out.”

As Clarissa reentered the room Miller finally introduced his companion. “Klepper, this is Clarissa Donner. She’s been helping us too.”

The two shook hands as Miller continued. “She’s going to stay with you. I’ve got something to take care of but I should be back right as you send the second message.”

Klepper looked up with a confused look on his face. “Second message?”

“Yes, send this one right now.” Miller handed him a different piece of paper.

The radioman’s brow again wrinkled as he read the message. “You are up to some crazy stuff man. Like I said, I can get the message out. No guarantees anybody gets it.”

Miller casually patted his friend on the shoulder as he replied, “I have complete confidence you can get the job done. Just make sure you amp up the juice on your equipment. This one has to get out a ways.”

Sighing because he knew Miller’s favors were never a simple affair, Klepper merely asked, “how far?”

A broad smile flashed across his face as Miller simply said, “oh…Wyoming is all.”

With that Miller outlined his plan with Clarissa while Klepper attended to the radios.

****

[The Stig]

As the sun broke over the horizon the carnage at ClarMar farms was laid bare to all. The smoldering ruins of the farmhouse left a still visible haze hanging over the scene of the previous nights firefight. Several bodies, including that of Greg Donner’s were stacked like wood against the farm office building, loosely covered with a white sheet in the universal sign of death.

As Lehamn carefully maneuvered across the carpet of brass casings he surveyed the pockmarked bullet impacts against the side of the buildings adjacent to the ClarMar Farm’s house and turned up dirt from explosions. The occupants of the house had put up a stiff resistance. He agreed with the assault team leader, these were pros. For a handful of inexperienced yokels to fend off a team of twenty-seven combat trained men was incomprehensible.

“Sir, we’ve torn the farm office apart and found nothing,” reported one of Lehman’s men. Certainly not the sort of news Lehman wanted to hear.

“Keep looking” he replied gruffly.

As the minutes ticked by Lehman was filled with a growing sense of dread. There was no indication anybody at ClarMar was involved in any insurgent activities, which is what he needed if he stood any change of bargaining for his life with the irate Senator.

As he contemplated whether he’d be forced into a labor camp or simply disappear into the swamps, his heart sunk. He had glanced up the long driveway to see a procession of two large SUV’s. This could only be the Senator.

****

Miller carefully crept through the underbrush as he approached the entrance of the small cave that had once housed him and several friends overnight. It was small enough that detection from anywhere outside of five yards would be difficult and being underground prevented any detection by thermal scanning aircraft. Indeed Point Romeo was perfect as a rally point on just such an occasion.

Not knowing what to expect he prepared for the worse. He knew Julie Dawson didn’t know about the sanctuary, therefore she would not have revealed it during her interrogation. However, others knew about it and from what Lehman’s lead investigations man revealed, that was cause for worry.

Stepping into the entrance to the cave he quickly moved to one side to avoid being silhouetted against the daylight peeking though the heavy pine woods. Giving himself a few seconds for his eyes to adjust he took the opportunity to listen for any audible clues as to whether he was alone.

As the seconds turned into minutes Miller was surprised to suddenly hear laughter from the darkness. He was relieved to recognize the voice.

“Dammit Miller” came the deep voice of Mike DeMetrie, “what the fuck are we doing with our lives?” The Captain stepped from the shadows to reassure Miller that he was, in fact, alone.

“Some days I wonder Mike” Miller replied. “Some days I wonder.”

As they moved to the back of the small cave the two friends swapped notes in reserved but slightly exited tones. The adrenaline of the previous evening was clear around the edges.

“That was too damn close for comfort Miller. Worse yet, we’ve lost the compound. Won’t take long for Lehman’s boys to find it now. Hell, we scooted so quick I didn’t have time to trash the place.” DeMetrie and Miller both recognized their oversight of not preparing for such a turn of events.

Miller replied, “This is bad, I admit. But Caddy’s team will be here soon. Once they do, head to the boats. Hit one of the supply caches on the way, but keep moving. Get out of the county and make your way north. You can probably reconnect with Regular Army units in Tennessee and get yourself back into the fight.”

DeMetrie, a man never prone to histrionics, processed the words he was hearing. Deep inside he knew Miller was right. Their plans had been compromised and their main base of support destroyed. In essence they were no better off than the day DeMetrie left the Army. All of the supplies they had so diligently stockpiled were gone. Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds would bring back some items, but after nearly a week in the field they too would be running low on needed items. Without regard to their military acumen, there was going to be little they could do to effect real change in Senator’s area.

Worse yet, the Senator likely wouldn’t stop until they were found. They’d be too busy trying to avoid detection to set up any real operations.

DeMetrie was smart enough to recognize the game was over for now.

“Miller, this is not what I envisioned. Not at all.” He was not a man used to losing.

After several minutes of silence Miller finally replied. “Do you believe in hail-Mary plays?”

Sometimes Miller’s cryptic questions were annoying. This was one of those times.

The Captain replied, “What do you have up your sleeve?”

When Miller got done outlining his plan DeMetrie could scarcely believe he was serious. After having worked with him the past half a year, however, he had grown to trust Miller’s instincts.

“Alright, Caddy and the boys should be here soon. I think you are insane, but let’s get to work figuring this out.”