Commentary - Sadly, we have forgotten . . .

 

I sat at my desk the day after the attack, I tried to set aside the anger . . . the rage . . . and to make sense of – not the WHY of the attack . . . but the HOW of how it could have been allowed to happen.  What choices had we, as a nation, made that made us so vulnerable, so ignorant of our enemies plans, so weak that such an attack could have even been dared?

Today I sit at the same desk and look back on the past 12 years . . . . only to find we have, indeed, forgotten - again . . . . not the lost souls, not the “shoeless man” on his life’s final plunge, not the dead chaplain carried by those he served, not the passengers that responded to “let’s roll” . . . . not the service men and women who have stood guard and reaped our revenge on the individuals responsible while burying thousands of their own.  We have not forgotten them nor their widows and children . . .

We have forgotten that weakness invited attack . . . . and we have again embraced weakness.

We have forgotten that the price of security is eternal vigilance.

We have forgotten that  to be the “weak horse” is to become food for the beast.

We have forgotten that those that understand only strength, will see us a worthy of attack as we surrender our strength.

We have forgotten history as, once again, we embrace the idea of a 9/10 world.

Here are my thoughts from 9/12/2001 . . . .

9/12/2001    11:30 AM

It is still hard to even begin to understand yesterday. And, as the dust begins to settle, there is talk about what we should do in response to this despicable act. I guess I would like to offer my two cents on that. By way of disclaimer, I should say I also write this while being incredibly angry. Obviously, anger with the people who conducted this attack, but also angry at us, as a nation, for allowing ourselves to become so weak.

For years and years, our government – populated by both Republicans and Democrats – has justified their way to spending less and less and less on those institutions that keep us free. Hardest hit has been the military and intelligence communities. Our soldiers live in poverty. Their housing, in many areas, is substandard. And, while Bush has promised “help is on the way”, their pay remains pathetic.

The intelligence community has seen their resources drained, their ability to gather human intelligence (read spies) severely limited and their resources compromised through Americans willing to sell their souls for 30 pieces of silver.

Our reduced spending (or spending on poorly run projects) has resulted in a military no longer able to fight a dual front war. Of course, this is OK since “no one” would ever think of attacking the US. This has resulted in a military no longer capable of mounting a campaign the size of the Gulf War. And, keep in mind, at that time it required HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of Guard and Reserve troops to pull that off because our military had been reduced to such a point of weakness the US military could not do it on their own without these backup troops. Today, even with these Guard and Reserve troops, we are NOT capable of mounting such a campaign.

This reduction in funding and personnel has resulted in the mass migration of mid level officers from service to country to service to corporation. Our defense, as a nation, depends on Captains and Majors throughout our armed services just as corporations actually run on the efforts of middle management. We are losing these folks in droves!

Our congress spends billions and billions on favored projects that help the people back home while ignoring this hemorrhage and the disgusting state of military life.

I am an unblushing hawk. I suppose that is obvious from the thoughts I have shared in the past as well as what I am saying while on my current soapbox. But, now, after thousands and thousands of deaths, maybe I will be heard at a deeper level.

As a hawk, I have a love of country that extends to my willingness to give my own life in defense of it. I do not mean that to be dramatic, it is a choice I consciously made years and years ago. It means that I believe we exist as the world’s largest democracy and as the world’s most open and free society because we have been willing (in times past anyway) to remain strong and to defend our interests at home and abroad. It means that US soldiers have a code of conduct that far exceeds that of many nations that governs what the exercise of military strength allows. (And, contrary to many talking heads I heard last night, it does not permit the carpet bombing of a country, even after what happened to us yesterday. Little Islamic children have moms and dads too!).

As a hawk, I still stand in awe of today’s soldiers that are willing to give their lives to defend our way of life.

The reason yesterday happened is that we, as a country, have agreed to the systematic and deliberate destruction of our nation’s ability to protect ourselves. Send troops to Afghanistan and hunt the bastard down: we can’t, our troops are stretched to the limit. Go to our spies and find out where “he” is: we can’t, our human intelligence capability has been shredded. Increase inspections of passenger’s bags: Geezz, the wait to get on planes is long enough!! My point is, WE, the NATION are responsible for allowing this to happen.

A final consideration. This is just the beginning. This proves to our enemies that we are weak and vulnerable. That we can be gotten to. It has carried us into a reality that much of the rest of the world has already had to accept. We are simply the news member of the “club” that has endured terrorism on their home soil. Terrorism’s purpose is to simply make you afraid. Let me ask this, will you ever get on a plane, go to the 60^th floor of any building or look at the skyline of New York and not have a hair or two stand up on the back of your neck?? This attack was incredibly successful and cheap (at least to date) in human capital – around a dozen dedicated terrorists. There is more to come. We need to accept this and act accordingly.

Now, what should our response be? First, it must begin at home. We must realize that peace and freedom comes at a price. Fund the military (NOT the pork projects, the soldiers). Make the military a viable career for our young people. Take pride in the military so our children see a career of defending our country as viable and wonderful a choice as being a doctor. Insist that our Congress make a commitment that once again our military power will be sufficient enough to give anyone pause before they undertake such an action again. Insist that our Congress rebuild our intelligence community. The fact that such a complex operation could be mounted and carried out without our even having a glimpse that it was coming speaks volumes about our ability to gather information. That must change. And, finally, fund the missile shield. I continue to hear over and over that this method of attack is simply not practical and we need not defend against it. I simply disagree. There is any number of ways a “rogue” country could get a short range missile within launch range given time and money. This attack should make a fairly solid argument that those kinds of enemies do exist and are willing to take the time and spend the money to carry off just such an attack.

I am taking a lot of words to say that this was a lesson of the worst kind. I pray we have learned from it.

No fun today, simply prayers. May all the families who lost loved ones find family and friends to share their burdens today, to love and hold them while they deal with their horrible loss.

Perhaps the next time our memory will be longer . . .

Stay safe today everyone.

Bill

19 – Larger Plans . . .

 

“Damn, that woman sure knows how to start a day . . .” Sid MacDonald looked at the notes he’d taken over the past 20 minutes or so. Where a “normal” person would have been tempted to let the leading edge of terror creep into their souls . . . Sid simply saw data. Numbers, distances, supplies, time . . . It led to the same place – fear and terror that would have to be faced and conquered. He simply “saw” it differently.

“Getting too old for this shit – too damn old!! Sid said, to no one in particular.

“Pardon me sir??” His assistant turned

“Nothing Phil – just talking to myself. Could you go scare up some coffee? Then we have some work to do.” Sid was already making notes that would guide the next few hours.

“Yes sir, back in a bit.” And Phil headed towards the HQ Mess to find a fresh pot and a couple of cups – he needed a bit of a morning pick-up too.

Sid MacDonald had just turned 66 . . . there were mornings he felt like 86. He’d run across E back during the Africa campaign where he filled the very same slot he did on this very morning – intel for her Marine unit. It was an odd pairing back then – an Air Force “Light” Colonel and a Marine rifle company. Yet – the military had been stretched so very tight, talented people were simply matched – need vs. talent. And Sid had a true knack for making the daily waterfall of intel into something that was “actionable”. He had picked what turned out to be E’s first “hit”. Something he had not found out until nearly three decades later. He hadn’t started out that way, his first love was being a fighter “jock”.

He began his military career as a F22 Raptor pilot. He was assigned to one of the last active squadrons back in the late 30s. It’s had been a storied aircraft but he loved how it flew. It could turn on a dime, was nearly invisible and could “take shit” to virtually any other aircraft in the air at the time – and come away the winner every time. It was not without its problems. What bit Sid in the ass was the O2 system – a problem for the entire lifetime of the aircraft. Countless millions of dollars and a handful of engineering companies had tried to cure the source of “Raptor Lung” – a debilitating lung infection/irritant/carcinogen – it had never been identified. But, the reality was that for pilots who “made a living” flying the Raptor – they had a better than even chance of having their lungs well and truly fucked over. Sid had gotten off easy. He still hacked up a “fir ball” every now and then – but it did little to slow him down. He had planted a handful of friends who were not so lucky.

Once he showed early on-set of “Raptor Lung” – the squadron commander decided that there was an open slot in intel – and Sid had found his true calling. His stop over with the Marines had simply been one of many in his lifetime.

After his retirement he returned to the part of his country he loved – the very middle of North Dakota. While some shunned it barrenness – he relished in it. As the swarms grew and the raiders took hold – it became a sanctuary for many and evolved into the headquarters for the Midwest Defense Region. And, once again, he answered the call – and filled his ever familiar slot of Chief Intelligence Officer.

“Here ya go sir!” Phil returned with a couple of mugs and a large insulated coffee carafe. It was enough to get them both going.

“Thanks Phil. See if the “old man” is in.” Sid smiled – hell he had over 20 years on the “old man”. “Yes sir, give me a sec.” Phil walked to his desk and picked up the phone . . . “Is he in? . . . . IO MacDonald needs to talk to him . . . . It’s about Moses. Understand, 20 minutes, I’ll pass it on, thank you.”

“20 minutes sir – he’s not in, but Moses is one of his “come get my ass” topics, it’ll be 20 minutes.” Moses was a quickly growing threat and had been “on the chart” for the past 6 months. St. Louis had gone to shit decades ago but had caused little trouble. As dependence on river traffic grew due to fuel shortages and a decaying infrastructure – St. Louis took on an increased importance – but remained, for all intents and purposes, lawless. A handful of years ago a presence known only as “Moses” had appeared. Using brutal strength, the demand for unquestioning loyalty and a strange “religious” appeal – he had grown steadily stronger. As things stood today, he “owned” a significant amount of real-estate with his influence extending from around 50 miles north of Hannibal to about 50 miles south of St. Louis. Sid’s sources confirmed his hunger to control more and his intent to rule from the river to 63 and from 70 to as far north as he could establish control.

It appeared that he was making his move.

“Headed out Phil, you know where to find me.”

The walk across the Quad was a warm one. It had been a hot, dry summer through the Midwest and that had a tendency to stir up trouble, not that Moses needed much “stirring”. He had been on this campus decades ago – in quieter times. What had once been knows as Williston State College had been transformed into the central nerve center for the MRD. The location was its primary reason for being chosen to hold the MRD’s command. Located on the shores of the western most edge of Lake Sakakawea – it was easily secured, located near an abundant source of power from the Garrison Dam and was in a region that had enormous resources of both crude oil and natural gas. Nearly a generation earlier the discovery of the Baaken Oil Field had set the US on the road to oil independence. Refineries had naturally followed. In the world of 2093 – North Dakota was the single richest region on the face of the earth (at least that was still inhabitable). With the splintering of America, the Midwest Region had consolidated during the mid to late 70s and resource rich North Dakota provided a natural place to centralize the force that had developed to protect the area that had come to be known as the Midwest Defense Region. While there had been roaming raiding parties throughout the Midwest – most had long-since been handled by MDR. Moses was an entirely different threat altogether. And, if the intel he had gotten from E was anywhere near accurate – Moses had decided to “make his play”. The MDR force would have to act – the sooner, the better.

General Max “stonewall” Jackson sat behind his desk draining his 3^rd cup of the morning. He’d been in the shower when his chief-of-staff came in saying that Sid needed to talk with him ASAP. Morning chores completed, he put on his BDUs and headed to the office and the fresh pot of coffee that he knew would be waiting.

In his early 40s, “Max” was one of the new generation of military that had shifted their primary loyalties from the national level to the regional level. Their thinking was natural – if their home town, home state – and their neighbors went to shit . . . there was no “nation”. The majority of his combat experience had come in the defense of the MDR – not some remote continent at the behest of a government that had long since lost sight of its primary purpose, the defense of its citizenry. The final raids of the early 70’s had been desperate. In North Dakota – the gem of the center was the Garrison Dam and the hundreds of megawatts of power it generated. As it turned out, it was a jewel a bit too far out of reach. Max mounted a final defense that had become known as Max’s “stonewall” and provided that last straw that broke the back of the raiders. It was almost cliché that he would be called “Stonewall” Jackson – or “Stoney”. But, honestly – he considered it a great honor considering the strength shown by his namesake. He would have more than enough time in the coming months to, once again, prove his leadership.

“Morning Sir, got a few?” Sid came into his office, a portfolio under his left arm and a large mug in his right.

“Morning Sid – what kind of shit are you laying on my desk this early in the morning?”

Max watch Sid for any clues as to what was headed his way – Sid was all business. “Not good, not good at all.” He thought.

Sid settled in, set his coffee aside and briefed Max. He passed on all the intel E had gathered from the raider scouts and his own from his resources closer to St. Louis. He added his suggestions of spinning up local defense forces on the northeast border of Missouri with Iowa and then reviewed what he knew of their local resources. He spoke non-stop – knowing that Max would interrupt if he wanted additional details. Between pages of brief and draining his mug, the entire process took about 20 minutes with Max taking notes along the way.

“That’s it sir, the whole nine yards.” Sid sat silent and let Max digest his brief.

Finally . . . “It’s not unexpected – we knew Moses was consolidating and looking north. Any idea why now? What’s pushing him?”

Sid gathered his thoughts for a moment . . . “This is just my speculation sir, but it makes sense. He’s been building his forces over the past year or so – and he’s put on a real surge the past six months or so. As dry as it’s been – I suspect food is a large part of his reason. Mouths require food – and army requires more food. And if the troops get restless – they may switch loyalties. While Moses is as ruthless as it gets – he still needs his army focused on distance goals, not local. He survived the past year’s power struggle and simply slaughtered his opponents, many in public and some of the more aggressive ones in man-on-man single combat. He is a mean mother sir – as tough as they get.”

“If my sources are right, he intends to control everything north of 70 and east of 63 and then north. This would be a sizable “fiefdom” and one with the capability of feeding an army far beyond the size of his current one. He’ll also be able to exert significant control over travel from east to west and along the Mississippi. Hell, he’s already a factor in river traffic. As for extending north, if he can control that whole corridor – he’d be one of the most powerful men in the US. I suspect he sees that as a worthy goal.”

Sid nodded towards Max’s coffee pot – “I could use a refill sir, like one too?” Sid rose, Max slid his empty mug in Sid’s direction and Sid topped them both off and once again took his seat.

“Sid, when can we question these raiders from IA37? I’d like a chance to wring them out ourselves.” Max didn’t mind intel gathered by others – he just liked to confirm things himself.

“Sorry sir – perhaps the best way to say this is that none of the raiders survived their attack on IA37. E was lucky to get what she got.” Sid was under no illusion as to what had transpired – E had been brutally honest with him.

“Are you trying to say her interrogation techniques were fatal?” Max knew the raw hate people of the MDR had for raiders and swarms – honestly he expected nothing else. Still, it would have been nice for confirmation by their interrogation team . . . even if the final result had been the same.

“Yes sir. She lost a grandson to these assholes a couple years back. Skinned him alive. If any of Moses’s raiders make it to her region of responsibility – they’ll die . . . period. Their tats declare “No Mercy” . . . and she takes them at their word.” Sid wondered how Max would take this revelation.

“You know this woman – worked with her in Africa if I remember your stories. Tell me about her. Is she as tough as I hear? She has quite a reputation to live up to.” Max suspected he would hear quite a bit more about - and out of - this woman over the next few months.

“Yes sir, she’s tough as nails – hell, she “chose” her husband in a fox hole during the very first swarms of ‘51, fighting back-to-back, weapons empty with nothing but hatchets and kabars. They walked out alive and have spent the rest of their lives together ever since. Story has it she split one’s skull clean in half. She means what she says when says she’ll kill every raider that comes after her “family” . . . and her family is everyone in her entire county. She’s quite a woman sir, quite a woman.” A smile formed as he remembered her and looked back at Max.

“Isn’t she connected with Defense Technologies is some way? Hell, most our carbines are their M4 model. The fact that they’re manufactured right next door give us a real leg-up in firepower.” It was a fact that Max appreciated more than he could express – while many similar defense forces had sprung up across the country – now many were as well armed as they were, and DT was a major player in that equation.

“Yes sir, you could say that . . . her family owns DT . . . lock, stock and barrel. They’ve owned it since ’50, just before the first swarms sprung up after D.C. It’s been in the family ever since. It’s her “ace in the hole” when it comes to defending her home.”

Max just sat and shook his head . . . “She owns it, holy shit.” He thought.

“Alright then Sid . . . she’s a woman I’d like to meet some day. So, you’re the plan’s guy – I can’t imagine you haven’t wrung this out four ways from Sunday, what do you have for me.” Max had worked with Sid for too many years to not know how his mind worked . . . and he was usually spot on. He leaned back to listen to Sid’s “sales pitch”.

“Alright sir, here are my preliminary thoughts . . .” and with that Sid launched into a 45 minute brief of his plan. Wrapping up he said . . .”I need to update final strength numbers – both active and reserve, tweak fuel store levels – ammunition-and supply info, but I’m nearly there. Sir, we need to do this – Moses is an existential threat to the Midwest. He – and his forces – need to be removed from the board, plain and simple. It will confirm that bad actors will not be tolerated, it will reassure the folks who live here that we will defend them and it will attract those who are looking for safe haven to come here – and God knows we could use the help. Now is as good a time as any to take this asshole on!” Sid knew he was right . . . he hoped Max was on the same page.

“Understood . . . thank you for your usual thorough job. Command brief right after lunch – let’s say 13:30. Notify all command elements – and I do mean everybody – that I expect them to drop what they are doing and be there. We are going to take Moses on . . . this will be his first . . . and last . . . . campaign.”

And with that . . . it was “on”.

Training – If It Ain’t Workin’ . . . Do Something Different

 

A couple days ago I stopped by the range and saw a couple new shooters on the pistol range. As president, I usually poke my nose in and say hello, see how it’s going and just check things out in general. We are a “members only” range but – we do make some exceptions. In this case they were a couple of I.C.E. agents – one an instructor and one going to instructor school at Ft. Benning in a few weeks that was putting in range time before leaving. He was having problems with the qualification course of fire portion that required 10 rounds, 25 yards, slow fire with his SIG service weapon. The issue was that while he had a “qualifying group” they were all low-right. Since he’s a left handed shooter, it would indicate he was jerking the trigger rather than a smooth press all the way through the trigger press.

Honestly, not my place to poke my nose in. I welcomed them and said my good byes, figuring he’d work it out with his instructor.

Yesterday I was back at the range and saw the same officer getting a bit more trigger time in. I said my hellos and just watched him a bit. 5 mags later, and not a single qualifying score – I let the instructor in me out to play a bit. When you share thoughts with other shooters, especially a professional I.C.E. Tac-Team member – well, it depends on how you offer advice and how open the shooter is. In this case he was open to my suggestions and, while I have been assured multiple times that I am an asshole – I can control it most times. So here were my thoughts and my advice:

Ditch the distance: Honestly, this guy is a true shooter – experienced, “been there – done that” experience. He seemed to be working through two issues – the distance, it’s easy to be intimidated by 25 yards, especially if your career is riding on you shooting better than the average critter. And, his service weapon is a .40 cal – there is a natural inclination to choke it to death and to “flinch” when you have time to actually think about it during a slow-fire course of fire.

Ditch the target: silhouette targets are fine for a full qualification run, but that wasn’t his issue, he needed to get back on target – period.

I asked him if he was open to something different and he genuinely was – so I had him pick up a couple 10 round mags and we walked to within 10ft of the target. Someone had left a sheet of target “pasties” laying around to I put up 3 black dots, about an inch in diameter. Then I asked him to shoot out the first dot.

The first engagement mirrored his 25 yard performance with a tight group low/right of the dot. I had him use less finger, a “firm grip” rather than choking it and to see every shot as the only shot – again slow fire. On the next dot he had around 70% in or touching the dot. Third dot – all but one round touched the dot.

He loaded six mags and drew four more dots using a marker from his gun bag. Four mags later he was hitting over 80% from 10 ft on a one inch dot.

He put up a new silhouette and went back to 25 yards to have another go at it. And, he dialed right in.

Moral . . .? If you are on the range, working on a specific skill set and it ain’t workin’ . . . . change it up and work on a smaller piece of the skillset – in this shooter’s case, trigger control. Then, when you have that dialed in – go back to what you were originally doing.

The other part of instructing another shooter is that you should always be ready to perform the task you are expecting the shooter to do. In this case – shoot a qual target from 25 yards. Honestly, I didn’t hall out my range bag and “show him how to do it” – what would have been a bit of “asshatery” IMHO. But, I did feel obligated to do some distance work to show myself I could. I had a bit of time this morning so I hit the range with my trusty .22/45 range gun. I managed to find a small (333 round) brick of .22 at a local store last week, so I had some ammo to use. Things are still terribly scarce for 9mm in this area.

The results can be seen here:

Dot 1: 7 yards, 10 rounds, 2-round engagements from concealment. Remember – THE FIRST ROUND COUNTS. You may only get one and sadly my first round was high left. Still, 90% within the circle – that meets my 80% criteria.

Dot 2: 7 yards, 10 rounds, 1-round engagements from concealment. Working on your draw from concealment should simply be part of all range work. The first dot had 5 draws, Dot 2 required 10. 100% - I’ll take it!

Square 3: 10 yards, 10 rounds, 2-round engagements from concealment. A shooter needs to work through change. Obviously I slipped badly on this one with only a 70% - gave me something to work on with the next square.

Square 4: 10 yards, 10 rounds, 1-round engagements from concealment. I pulled myself together and came back to 90%.

Lower silhouette Square: 50 feet, 10 rounds, 1-round engagements from concealment. Distance can “accent” everything – stance, grip, trigger press, sight alignment, sight picture. There is less tolerance for inaccuracy. Still, 50ft – I hit 90%. I’m happy with that.

Upper silhouette Square: 25 Yards, 10 rounds, 1-round engagements from concealment. Obviously, from an “inside the box” POV, things went off the rails here. 50% in the box – not very good. Then three rounds low left just outside of the box, one low-center just above the lower box and a final round high-right above the box. Heavy sigh. Oh a more optimistic note – all hits were combat effect and they actually would have passed the 25-yard requirement for the I.C.E. Instructor qualification course of fire. So, I’ll take that . . . . but I really wanted all 10 rounds “in” from 25 yards! Something to work on next trip. That said – if your primary issue is defensive shooting, while it’s nice to get all the rounds “in the box”, it is much more important to be able to draw and get your first multiple combat effective hits on your threat. If you wait until you have a sight alignment, sight picture . . . . you’ll go home in a Ziploc.

To close the trip out I found a loaded mag and an extra .45 ACP round in the bottom of the gun bag. And, I had my carry 1911 in the gun bag as well . . . . why not.

Final 8 rounds, 7 yards, slow fire from the low ready – headshots only. Three in the triangle, rest still within the “head”.

So, some final thoughts. If you aren’t getting your rounds to go where you want them – IT IS ALWAYS THE BASICS (well, unless it’s a weapon failure). At the lowest common denominator of shooting accurately, you can always go back to shooting out a single dot from 10 feet – and then build back from there.

Never ask someone else to do a drill you are unwilling to do. Your proficiency may be “off” that day, but don’t be afraid to do it first – to break the ice for the folks you are instructing and to insure them you’re not just blowing smoke at them.

Go shooting. I teach these skills from a defensive shooting POV – range time may well save your life. Make time!

Training–Dot Torture With A SIRT Pistol

 

I ran a Dot Torture drill on my office “SIRT Range” today.  I thought I would tape it to give me a chance to explain the drill, walk you through it and also demonstrate the SIRT pistol as well.

Nothing tricky here, just trigger time and working on marksmanship.  As I’ve said in the past, I think this is part of the balance any defensive shooter needs to work on.  Yes, rapid draws are important.  Yes, a quick first-round hit is important.  Yes, movement while shooting is important.  But . . . . along with that . . . . if the opportunity presents itself or the need appears when you must make a distance shot and all you have is your handgun, you need to be able to make that shot.  Dot Torture is one drill you can integrate into your range time and dry fire time to prepare yourself to make a critical shot at distance.

Dot Torture Drill With A SIRT Pistol

Maintenance – Batteries

 

I read a post from Stephen this morning about losing springs and retainers while working on his Para. A search with his Surefire found the spring and that got me to thinking about my Surefire 6P and when the last time was that I had replaced the batteries . . . I couldn’t remember. Not a good sign. So, I spun my chair around, pulled open the top right desk drawer and slipped in two new 123As into the flashlight. And that got me to thinking about the maintenance of our defensive tools other than the weapons we carry. Honestly, it’s obvious I don’t pay enough attention. Some thoughts . . .

Carry Weapons: I carry either a Glock 17 or a Springfield 1911 “Loaded” as my daily carry weapon. I shoot each frequently – at least every other week. And, I will tear them down and clean them after a range trip – so I am confident I am “paying attention” to them.

Carry Holster: I carry in a Blackhawk IWB leather holster. You would think maintenance wouldn’t come into play here but I have noticed that the screw that attaches the belt loop to the holster comes loose a couple times a month. Much of this has to due to the dozens of draws per day – so I’m probably more aware. But, that said – I rely on the holster being in the same place at the same angle each and every time I draw. So I take the time to tighten the screw as needed.

Knives: I’ve done a post in the past on the care and feeding of knives, but just a quick reminder. They like to be clean and sharp – keep them that way.

Flashlights: Probably one of the easiest items in a person EDC kit, or purse, or car, or backpack to overlook. Unfortunately, if I reach for my flashlight I typically “need” it to work. A set of 123As in a Surefire 6P Defender provides up to 2 hours of continual light. Given that I typically use it a couple times a week for something – I consume my “2 hours” in bits and pieces. Tonight, should I have actually needed to use my 6P for a prolonged length of time, especially should a defensive situation have come up – it would have “run out of gas”. If you can’t remember the last time you replaced your batteries – do it . . . now!

Holographic Sights: I use an Eotech 517 on my AR. I like it because it uses standard AA batteries and I always have a pack in my gun bag. They are, however, one of those things people mighty easily forget. If you are going into a situation where your sight MUST work, pack along a couple sets of spares . . . and a good set of flip-up sights as well, just in case!

GPS: Again, another easy thing to forget until you’re 4 days into a 7 day trek or paddle. ALWAYS put new batteries in when leaving, and ALWAYS carry spares – they’ll save your butt some day!

Watches: I wear a Casio Pathfinder 2000T as my daily watch. Yep, I’m a geek – no doubt. But the easy access to a compass and barometer has saved my butt a couple of times when a fast moving storm was moving in or I simply needed a quick verification of my current heading. I also like this model because its batteries are charged by solar cells around the face of the watch. It insures that when I head out for a trek or paddle, I need not worry if I have fresh batteries or not. If your watch needs a battery – use the “smoke detector reminder” of the fall time change and replace the batteries in your watch at the same time as you replace the batteries in your home’s smoke detectors. (You do that . . . . right?)

It’s the little things that can bite you in the ass and send your day to hell in a heartbeat. While it’s easy to remember maintenance on the “big things” – handguns, rifles, shotguns – “little” things can easily be forgotten – flashlights, sights, watches, GPSs, knives.

Take a few moments, write down an inventory and then, tonight when the day is done – do a little maintenance.

18 – First Clash . . .

 

Bill put his headset down and walked to the cot in the corner of the command center. E finally laid down around 3AM to grab a power nap . . . that was two hours ago. Bill tappet her foot . . . then tapped it again just a bit harder.

“Tapping my foot . . really? What are you afraid of boy?” E opened an eye, looked a Bill and smiled just a bit.

“Long memory mom, long memory.” Bill remembered his lesson from decades ago. E had been in a deep sleep on their couch. It was bed time and Bill had wanted to be tucked in – and he wanted mom, and ONLY mom to do it. He just went to her and shook her shoulder - hard. Next thing he knew he was in some kind of headlock and his dad was yelling at his mom to wake up. Too young to understand then – the swarms of the late 60’s and the raids of the early 70’s, the last big raid of ’75 that took the life of his grandparents – well, let’s just say people woke him up by slapping his foot as well.

E chuckled “Still pissed about a little headlock boy??” She stretched, rolled her legs off the edge of the cot and sat up. Her hands naturally checked her sidearm, mags and backup knife. “News?”

“Rick’s teams found the last raider probe – they were holed up in the loft of the barn on McGregor’s old homestead. Got full confirmation across the board on what’s headed our way. They also found their comm gear – a low-power HF unit, long wire antenna and solar cell/battery power unit. On a good day they could hit St. Louis but I suspect it was to primarily provide a comm link to the next wave. No one dead or wounded. A good night E.”

“Well, good news / bad news. Glad they’re “off the board”, but when they miss their check-ins we’ll be blown. They’ll know we’re on to them. Still, had to be done. Find me some coffee, then I want a full update from the Quad commanders.” Bill headed off to dig E up a cup of coffee and E stood and stretched some more. “Damn – more frickin’ kinks than I know what to do with!” she thought.

“Mornin’ Jo, you get any sleep last night?” Johanna seemed to be in the exact same place she’d left her . . . how many hours ago? “What time is it anyway?”

“Just a bit past 0500 E. I’ve cat-napped throughout the night, I’m doing fine. Let me know when you want the Quad commanders, I’ll link them up for you.” Jo had the advantage of youth and all the reserves that come with that age. She was just a year younger than Willie but a very “together” 15 year old sat at the comm console.

“Let me get my first cup in me, then we’ll start the day. We’re going to move some responsibilities to each quad commander. When the shit hits the fan, there will be no time to relay commands, best to get that move made now so each Quad is used to it. And make sure you switch to generator 2 sometime this morning, we’re already pushing 24 hours on number one. Make sure the PMs are run in one, then check 3. We’ll rotate them 12 on, 24 off. This whole pile of shit headed our way is going to take some time, no need in punishing the generators if we don’t need to.” The last thing E wanted was to be powerless just as three companies hit their bridges, best treat their generators right.

“Roger that, will add it to my list.” Jo said as she pulled a small notebook from her cargo pocket and made a few notes.

“Get me Chet please, let’s see how he’s doing this morning.” E turned to see Bill returning with a steaming mug of coffee and a thermos in his other hand.

“Thought you might need a refill or three.” Bill said, smiling and handing over her first cup of the day.

“I knew I raised you right boy, thanks. I’m going to catch up with Chet, then I want to check in with the MDR – update them and get a response plan in the works. Today’s 228 Julian.” E sat with her coffee going over the major points she wanted to confirm with the Quad commanders and Bill moved off to the HF gear and began the process of syncing the crypto gear.

“You have Chet on-line yet Jo?” E sipped and watch Jo for a sign that Chet was tied in.

“Yes Ma’am – on your headset.

E grabbed her headset . . .”Morning Chet, any luck with your visitors?” She was praying things had been “handled”.

“Morning E – two down, one seems to be making a fight of it. We should have them contained within the hour. We found one party with a portable HF station, that’s the only comm gear we found, figure that’s how they were relaying our movements to our next set of visitors. No casualties so far. You find the rest of your raider probes?” Chet was hoping E had been as successful as they had been.

“Roger that Chet, we got them and with no casualties – well other than Hank’s bruised ego, he took a couple to his front plate. He’s going to be a bit tender for a few days, otherwise we’re good. Found the same comm gear you did. Unfortunately, after they miss a check-in or two, especially with both raiding parties dark – we’re blown. No idea how that will affect things, we’ll just have to wait and see.” And with that E and Chet were pretty much on the same page.

“Here’s my plan Chet, see what you think. I’m moving half the response teams from Q1 and Q4 down to Q2 and Q3. I’m going to activate the reserves – full kit. I am putting double teams in each OP – one on-line, one in the rack or just “down”. I’m going to go over OPLAN 75 this morning with my Quad commanders – and do our best to prepare an appropriate welcome. If we can hammer the shit out of this first round, maybe they’ll be encouraged to reconsider this venture. That said, I’m going to implement ’75 fully – all choke points, all mined areas, arm all bridge explosives . . . the whole boat Chet. If they manage to bring two full regiments against us, we are in for the fight of our lives – both of us. Thoughts?” E suspected Chet would have come to the same conclusions, but she wanted to hear it from his lips.

“Right there with ya E, pretty much matching you line by line. I would look for full rollout within 48 hours. Let me work through my morning briefings – I’ll call you back. Work for you?” Chet was glad they were both in agreement – better to come to full alert and not need all that manpower than to try and crank things up when they were asshole deep in raiders.

“Roger that Chet – give me call when you’re ready . . . E out”

“Will do E – Chet out.” As each turned to the task of defending their communities.

“Gonna hit the head Jo, we’ll bring the Quad commanders up next.” E headed off to stretch her legs a bit, get a quick breath of fresh morning air and to complete her morning “duties”. In the “background” of her thoughts, she ran through OPLAN 75. It wasn’t anything she needed to refresh herself on – she and Brad had written it. After they had buried their dead, after they had grieved for her mom and dad – Brad and E found themselves in command of the county defenses. And both naturally stepped in to take Richard and Catherine’s place. Brad took over as Sherriff and E made use of her tactical skills to refine the defense of their home and – on a much broader scale – their county. The fruit of E’s efforts was OPLAN 75 – a detailed Operations Plan for the defense of their county and its communities and their families, roughly 30,000 souls.

“Alright Jo, let’s get this day started.” E grabbed her headset, rolled the county map out and listened in as Jo called roll and brought everyone online.

“Morning – can everyone hear me?” E waited for the roll.

“Quad 1 – Doug – 5x5 E”

“Quad 2 – Rick – 5x5 E”

“Quad 3 – Sheila – 5x5 E”

“Quad 4 – Tony – 5x5 E”

“Thank you. I’m going to roll through a summary. Nothing has changed since first contact. The three raider scouting parties assigned to us are all dead. We confirmed our intel with each team – they match across the board. Chet next door has dealt with two of his three and is mopping up number three as we speak. His intel to date confirms ours. That means there is a single raider company – although they have taken about 50% casualties – unaccounted for. We found two sets of HF gear, limited range, one for our raider scouts and one for Chet’s. Once they miss a couple of check-ins, we’re blown. I suspect that may well trigger the remaining company’s move. As best we can tell – they are simply a decoy, meant to keep us busy. We have no – I repeat NO – confirmation of the two Battalions headed our way and Chet’s. Still, those questioned seemed sincere in their numbers so we can’t afford to hope they were takin’ a toke or two here and there. They’re comin’ – three hundred “Sons of Missouri” and they are fully intent of owning our southern border and all access to us. The exact same threat is facing Chet. That’s 600 total raiders headed our way in a very short while. Is everyone clear on what I just laid out?” E sat back for a second flexed her back and neck and grabbed her coffee to clear her throat.

“Quad 1, Roger that – Quad 2, Roger that – Quad 3, Roger that – Quad 4, Roger that” Her commanders rolled through their acknowledgements and E got back to business.

“Roger that – here’s what we’re going to do. First, we’re going to move half the response teams from Quads 1 and 4 south. I want all OPs doubled up – everyone in full “battle rattle”. Make sure they have half on the line and half down 24/7 until further notice. Clear?” E took another drink as she listened through the roll. Each commander had full freedom to raise objections, interject their concerns and ideas. While she sounded like a tyrant – she was a commander . . . . if someone had a concern or an idea, they would speak up.

“Roger that – next we’re going to call up the reserves. Have them kit for an all-out engagement with initial rations for a week. We’ll follow with resupply of food and ammo if needed. Full tac gear, I don’t want to hear a fuckin’ thing about the heat – I’m hot too. Let them know Brad took two to the chest last night and today Ted would be holding services if it weren’t for his plates. No excuses. I know a lot of your reserves and teams are young and we haven’t faced anything like this since ’75. Remind them their failure to step up will mean the lives of their families. Clear?” E stretched again waiting for her roll to come back.

“Roger that – open up your OPLAN 75. Turn to Appendix A – Alpha. These ladies and gentlemen are your check lists. Each is specific to your Quad – the short version is . . . . you have 48 hours to complete these. They are in order of priority – Response Team Rollout, Reserve Rollout, Medical Rollout, Arm Choke Point IEDs . . . . there’s a shitload to do – I don’t care. We may be pushed to engage earlier but I pray we have 48 hours. If not, the response teams in the OPs will have to dig in until help arrives. Clear?” God E hated OPLAN 75. “More fuckin’ demons hiding it that book than I can count.” E thought as she listened to the Quad roll.

“Roger that – I am releasing command to you for your individual Quad. Don’t wait for me to tell you what the hell to do – Doug, Sheila, Tony – you old farts were here for ’75, you know what a shit storm looks like, feels like, smells like. This is going to be worse – much worse. Keep your heads in the game, make sure your team commanders understand – there are only two options in this . . . life or death. There is no middle ground. Remember my three rules – MAKE SURE HE’S DEAD . . . MAKE SURE HE’S DEAD . . . MAKE SURE HE’S DEAD! Rick – you’re up for this or Bull never would have put you in his chair. You get no slack from me – period. You clear Rick?”

“Yes Ma’am, Quad 2 will pull our weight E – you have my word.” “Breathe, breathe” Rick thought as the weight of his command just felt like it doubled.

“Everyone else clear?” E knew the answer – they were good people, they could be warriors when called – and they were sure the hell being called. Again, she listened to the roll.

“Alright folks, we’re done. Next update 1200 hours. Tony, stick around for a few. Any other business . . . . . . . hearing none, E out.” With that each Quad Commander took a deep breath and weighed what was coming. Then they got to work – no one was going to fuck with them – no one!

“What do ya think Tony?” E remembered her very first conversation with Tony back in the Spring of ’50, filling him in on Gramp’s plans for an army and asking him to come to Iowa and join up. “Shit – over 40 years ago, getting too old for this crap!” E thought.

“I like it E – sounds like a good place to start. I’m feelin’ a bit “thin” up here, but I’ll push on getting the reserves up and rolling. We probably don’t need to double up on the OPs up here but as soon as we don’t we’ll get our ass handed to us. We’ll double up and then adjust as the attacks begin. Gotta tell ya E, this scares the shit outta me. These are some pretty determined people . . . it isn’t gonna be pretty!” Not that Tony hadn’t handled this kind of shit before – hell he and E and survived ‘51, the swarm and raider attacks of the late ‘60s and ‘70s . . . . he had just hoped they were finally past this shit.

“Understood – but it’s coming. Tony, if you see any holes, see anything that needs to be different – just smack the shit outta me and let me know. I depend on you ya know – and that tactical head of yours.” E and Tony had worked their way out of more scrapes than she cared to remember – demons safely tucked away . . . at least for now.

“No problem E, no problem. Anything else – got a shitload to do before 1200.” Tony was already going through the check list – prioritizing, estimating, amping up for the coming days,weeks, months . . .

“Negative – get to it! And Tony, thanks. Talk to you at 1200 – E out.”

“Quad 4 Commander out”

They both got down to business – and there was a crap load to get done!

“Bill, you have MDR Command up?” “One step at a time” E thought.

“Yes Ma’am, you ready?” E nodded to Bill

“MDR Command, MDR Command, MDR Command – this is India 37, India 37, India 37 . . . Over”

“India 37, MDR Command – have you 5X5”

E spoke into her head set “MDR Command – India 37 commander. I have priority traffic for the command staff, over.”

“Roger India 37 – understand priority traffic – wait one.” E unscrewed the top of her thermos and filled her second cup of the morning.

“India 37 – Raptor 49, that you Demon 62?” Sid was pretty sure E was still running the show at India 37 so he thought he’d tweak her just a bit.

“Raptor 49 – Demon 62, that you Sid, thought you’d be in some old folks home by now!” E shook her head – she’d though Sid had packed it in years ago. Still, he was the best intel officer she’d ever known – whether finding her first rag-head target or gauging swarm and raider strength, he was simply the best.

“Morning E, hell – what would I do sittin’ in a rockin’ chair on the front porch. And MDR command still seems to think I can do the job – so here I am. Heard you had trouble heading your way, figured we’d hear from you this morning. Got any specifics?” Sid just sat and listened – filling his notebook with attack vectors, troop strength, response strength, time estimates . . . . 15 minutes later E wrapped it up.

“That’s the thumbnail Sid, things are about to get interesting around here. You have any updates for me?” E wondered if MDR had anything new to try and fill in some of the gaps.

“Been workin’ our assets down south of you – seems the “Sons” have been consolidating their holdings over the past 6 months. They had been moving steadily, but there appears to be a real surge in progress. They own everything from 50 miles north of Hannibal to 50 miles south of St. Louis and around 75 miles inland from the Mississippi. There’s been an ongoing battle for leadership for over a year – the survivor is a fellow who simply calls himself “Moses”. As near as we can tell, he’s “staked a claim” to everything north of 70 and east of 63. And he intends to push that as far north as he can. That will give him control of a significant portion of the Mississippi. He’ll control food supplies, fuel, movement east and west. He’s a serious fucker and a stone-cold killer. If you are in his sights – you have a real problem E. We’re spinning up MO1,2,3,9,10 and 11 to see if we can stop them before they even leave the state. But, they’re about as thin and you folks are. They’ll hurt ‘em – but I don’t think they’ll stop ‘em. We’re also going to bring in assets from Minnesota, Kansas and Nebraska. Travel times are a bitch though – if they hit within the next 3 weeks, you’ll be pretty much on your own.” Sid had been running the numbers overnight – the Iowa and northern Missouri folks were going to take some real casualties.

“Understood Sid. I want this to be the last time we deal with this fucker – you understand Sid? I expect MDR to bring in enough resources to kill these assholes off once and for all! They won’t get past us – but I expect them to beat us up plenty. Once they’re stretched that far their supply lines are going to be a bitch to maintain. We cut ‘em and we kill’em. That’s my plan Sid – with you or without you – I intend to kill every single one of them that I can get my hands on.” E already felt rage building . . . . she took a couple deep breaths. Rage wasn’t going to help anything right now she reminded her self.

“Command agrees E – they are a true threat to the entire Midwest Region. We’ve got a planning team spinning up, we’re sending assets to the region to scout them out and we’re putting out a call-up for response teams and reserves. This will be their last fight E – but you’re going to have to take the first wave, there’s simply not enough time to engage them in any serious manner before they reach you.”

“Understood Sid – we’ll hold up our end, just get your ass in gear! Anything else?”

“Million of things to do!” E thought . . . million things to do!

“Clear on our end E. Will keep you updated. Raptor 49 Out!”

“Demon 62 Out!” E finished up cup two and poured her final cup of the morning. E opened up OPLAN 75 – Quad 1 and refreshed her memory on Doug’s rollout. She hated sitting in the command center – she felt more useful in full kit and on Sam riding into a fight rather than being in the rear watching her Quad commanders carrying the load. “Piss on it, it is what it is” though E – as she continued her “homework”, sure that every commander, response team and reservist was spinning up – ready to meet these assholes!

Part of what makes a warrior effective is their ability to sense a threat well in advance, to get inside the head of their opponent and simply be a step ahead of them. Hank had a real talent of being in the right place at the right time. He was reasonably certain the remainder of the probe company would come up 84 – the bridge and area protected by OP 18. The fact that the raider scouts went cowboy pretty much saved their ass. It made sense that a probe would come up the center of the county – especially since their purpose was to “make noise”. Betting on his hunch – morning found Hank and his two response teams south of the river and following its southern shore east looking for the raider company. Rick’s team was doing exactly the same thing – but traveling from the east to the west. Both would meet at 84. And both were confident they would find the raider company and end their probe before they ever crossed the river.

Martinsville straddled the river with 84 – and the bridge – bisecting the community. North of the river provided a home for the grain elevator, rail stop for grain cars and other light manufacturing. South of the river, and the bridge, was the community proper holding around 3,000 folks total. With E’s spin up – snipers would already be in place on top of the elevators, charges would likely be live to blow the bridge should the need arise and a substantial portion of the reserves would be gearing up and heading to their fighting positions. While ’75 was 18 years in the past – the lessons learned were hard ones and these folks would not go quietly. And, since no contact had been reported, Hank was certain the raider company was still south of the town.

To the south, farms filled the countryside. However, there was a substantial stand of timber about three miles below the bridge. That was Hank’s destination. It would allow the raiders to rest, water their animals in its small pond and make final preparations to take the bridge – and the town. “That’s where they’ll be.” Hank thought – confident in his decision.

By noon Hank could see the western boundary of the timber. They’d used the concealment provided by the normal tree lines that followed the shores of rivers and streams allowing them to be pretty much invisible all the way to the northeast corner of the timber. In the fields just north of the timber Hank saw a couple of hobbled horses – not smart on the raiders part – but fortunate for Hank, his hunch was confirmed. They dismounted and held a quick brief.

“Alright – here’s the plan. Two man teams, spread out north to south. Once everyone’s in position, we’ll head east – find ‘em and kill ‘em. Questions? “ Hank had worked with these men for nearly 15 years – there were none better. And there were no questions, just men checking gear, weapons, magazines and getting their head in the game.

“Rick’s team can’t be too far out. With any luck we will push them out of cover an into Rick’s crew. If not . . . well, more for us. We move out in 5.”

Each gathered their thoughts, saw to their animals, paired up and headed out. Five minutes they headed east. The timber was fairly small – a couple miles east/west and about three miles north/south. Since the hobbled horses were just north of the timber – it was a good bet the raiders were within the northern half mile . . . Hank was dead right.

Given the buildup the battle was anticlimactic. Rather than a company at full strength – they found 35 raiders that had been put through the wringer. The entire firefight lasted a mere 15 minutes – with a late assist from Rick’s team. That said – they had lost little of their “fight” – with virtually each raider dying with an edged weapon in their hand after their firearms had run dry. It had been a slaughter – and that was just fine with Hank.

“No Mercy” . . . .their calling card became their obituary.

Hank and Rick’s team salvaged animals, weapons, their comm gear and anything else of value. Then, they planted 35 raiders in Iowa soil.

There’d be more . . . many, many more.

17 – Cleanup

 

August – 2093, 227 Julian

“Quad 2 command – OP 19, you there Rick?” Hank’s mind was working overtime. They had raiders in and around the 21 bridge as well as the 150 bridge. And the remaining 50 or so raiders from the initial probe somewhere to their south . . . . with 300 more in the wings . . . . just to seize the bridges . . . . “Breathe damn it – breathe!!” He worked to calm himself . . . the future would come, his immediate worry were the raider probe to his west. He needed to make sure Rick was rolling on the probe on 150.

“OP 19 – Quad 2 command – Roger that Hank, I’m here.” Rich Symington was doing the same – trying to control his focus. He had no problems taking orders – and few giving them to his response team. “The big chair” had a different feel that he was still trying to get used to.

“You been monitoring the traffic between 19 and command?” Hank was sure Rick had been, but this was no time for assumptions.

“Roger that, I have two response teams headed for Monroe – nice and quiet like. Both have a set of NVG – figure it will be nearly dark before they can get down to business. We’ll find them Hank, we’ll find them.” Roger could see the preparations being made both in his command center and out the windows that looked towards main highway south.

“OK Rick – good idea on the NGV, I’ll draw a pair myself. With any luck they’ll have a nice big cook fire tonight, make our work a hell of a lot easier!’ We’ll be headed out within the hour. I’m also going to send a team south across 84 – the leftovers of their primary probe have to be down there somewhere – sooner we find them, the better. Good hunting! OP 19 out!” Hank was more than ready to get moving.

“OP 19 – Quad 2 command, roger that. Out”

With Quad 2 rolling, it was time to bring his own quad up . . .

“Quad 3 control, OP 19” . . . you online Sheila?” Sheila Johnson was the commander for Quad 3. Hank knew she’d be there, there was a lot of work to and she’d be nowhere else.

“OP 19 – Control, Roger that Hank. Good work with our visitors . . . shitty intel by the way. “ Sheila had no idea but would as soon as E held her commanders brief.

“Yes Ma’ma – could have been better. I need Team Two to join me at the airport in Avon. Were I a raider and I needed to keep an eye on things – I’d set up an observation hide in the wooded area just north of the river. There are a couple small ponds for horses, plenty of cover . . . it’s as good a place to start as any. Have them bring a pair of NVG as well, might help sort out things.” Hank had run the region around in his head. The river was over 200 feet wide and there was one good sized pond and a couple smaller ones. They had obviously not gone cowboy as the raider team that hit OP18 had. He needed a place to start and that was it in his mind.

“Roger that, they’re geared up for 5 days, they’ll head that way is a few. Should be there in an hour or so. I suspect they’ll “tip-toe” just a bit, no need to alarm our “guests”. Sheila had been calling up her response teams since the alarm first went up. Her piece of the pie was a six-square mile chunk in the southwest corner of the county. Her Quad 3 Command Center was roughly in the center making the max travel distance under 4 miles in any direction. She could have boots on the ground within an hour – regardless of the point of attack. This layout was repeated in the remaining three Quads. It made defense of the county “nimble” – easily swung in one direction or another. Teams remained within their Quad unless a substantial threat was seen. Then, response teams moved throughout the county in the direction of the oncoming threat.

“Quad 3 Command – OP19, thanks Sheils. Be advised that E will probably be bringing in some response teams from the north. You should be hearing from her soon. We also need to double team the OP – now! E wants two full teams – one up, one in the rack. Prepare them for a up to a 30 day stay. You don’t have the whole picture yet Sheila – please, get them rolling ASAP!” Hank didn’t want to give her the whole story, it was more important to get moving towards Avon but if she could get things moving a bit quicker, it would be to everyone’s advantage.

“What the hell aren’t you telling me Hank! Something I need to know?” Sheila hated to be in the dark and Hank was NOT helping.

“Just too much intel to give you Sheila – but a true shit storm is headed our way. Sooner you can get teams rolling, the better. E should come up on net within the hour. Right now my – our – problem is another raider recon team scoping out 21. There’s also one around 151 – Rick’s teams are on that one. My intent is to have them captured and dead by morning.”

“OK Hank, I read you – the team should be underway soon. I’ll have them flesh out their supplies a bit first. Anything else?” Sheila heard the urgency in Hank’s voice – he was ready to get rolling.

“Well . . . on a personal note . . . I hear congrats are in order. Hear you have a daughter-in-law in the works!” Time was short, but a few minutes to tweak Sheila I bit was worth the delay.

Sheila let a snort roll out and caught her breath . . . “It would appear so. I assume Brad filled you in? Dumbass was lucky the raider couldn’t shoot for shit and that Willie and Doug were there to save his young ass! I talked with him at Doc’s awhile back, seems that the bleeding is down to just a little seepage now and then. A couple of weeks should have him pretty much back on line. He told me about Willie’s “claim” on him . . . pretty funny to listen to his voice. Typical male, no idea what’s good for him. I like her, honestly could not be happier.” Fred being shot was a real shock – but not as much as Willie’s “claim”. She expected it down the road, but she had no real problem with it. She surprised herself when she stopped and noticed she was actually happy with it actually!

“Well congrats Ma’am – can “grandma” be very far away.” He ended with a chuckle . . . “OP 19 out.”

“You better be out fella!! Grandma . . . no frickin’ way, I am much too young! Quad three command out.” And both got on with more deadly work – Hank to find the raiders and Sheila to double her defenses and to get things rolling for the reserves. If E had her undies in a knot – talking about a “shit storm” – real trouble was headed her way. No need to wait . . . she dug out the county OPLAN and started reviewing her check list.

Hank approached Avon quietly and slowly from the northeast. No need to make themselves conspicuous – a “nothing here – move along” kind of approach that was designed to keep them out of the raider’s crosshairs. The airport was southwest of Avon with a couple good sized hangers along the east side of the runways. There were a couple of aircraft – old aircraft – that got flown once a year if they were lucky. Otherwise, nothing but empty space was left from a more affluent time.

As Hank and his team road into the open door of the north hanger bay, he noticed that Andy was already there. He and Andy went back to Africa – along with E and Tony and Brad. They had been in tight scrapes over the past 40 years, and Hank suspect more were on their way.

“What the fuck’s goin’ on Hank. Sheila said we have a raider party around here, said you took one out at OP19 . . . care to fill me in?” Andy stood relaxed but stared right at hank.

Hank had heard that tone from Andy many times in the past – and he liked it. He was one of the most intense and focused warriors – and he was a true warrior in every sense of the word – he knew. He was glad they were taking these assholes on together.

Everyone gathered around to listen to the brief rom Hank. A couple walked towards the doors to stand sentry – but they could hear most of the brief. Hank was quick, took them through the three raider probes and the follow-on company that was taking the role of decoy. Past that, it could wait.

“Questions?” Hank looked around at the two response teams.

“What makes you think there down by the ponds? They could be anywhere.” One of Andy’s team asked Hank.

“Just a guess, but with the job of monitoring the bridge, that dictates that they be nearby. The river is over 200 ft. wide, and I’d want to be north of the river, not south. And, there is cover and ponds available within the woods there as well. It’s as good a spot as any to start. Any other questions?”

There were none. Everyone did a final gear check – mags were removed and checked, sidearms were press-checked, plates reseated, pouches checked to make sure they were secure . . . along with each team member’s own personal ritual. Men at arms had developed individual “systems” since man first picked up a club. Today, these were a bit more involved but served the same purpose – to settle nerves, get their head in the game and to prepare for battle.

“OK, I want three 5-man teams. I want one to take the east edge of the wood lot, one the west – along 21, I’ll go with the third, down the middle. There’s a service road that connects the three ponds north to south. If you make contact, capture if possible – kill if necessary. Any final question?”

With that, they secured their mounts and headed south in three ragged lines of march. Travel time, briefings and final preparations took them to the very cusp of sunset. There was cover along 21 that they used to hide in the shadows to shield their approach. Just north of the wooded area they split into their three patrols. August in the Midwest can roll a couple different ways – hotter than hell, early fall or the typical rich smell of summer turning to fall. Late rains insured that this was the nature of things this year. In a normal year Hank and Andy would be out marking deer trails and getting ready for a bow hunt next month. They had walked these woods together hundreds of times – they knew the feel, knew the sounds and knew the smells . . . . and things didn’t smell right. Could it be that easy?

Hank touched Andy’s shoulder . . . “You smell that? Smells like horses to me . . .” Almost on cue a smallish and rather ratty looking horse came walking up from the pond on the very northern edge of the woods. Looking down Hank could see that it was hobbled allowing the animal to graze yet insuring they wouldn’t travel very far. Moving toward the edge of the pond the remaining four horses could be seen in the shadows – either drinking or working their way through some of the grassier patches along the edge of the pond. The smells changed just a bit – bacon . . . really, could they be that stupid? The team moved around the eastern edge and towards the southeastern corner of the pond – the apparent source of supper cooking.

BLAMMMMM BLAMMMMM . . . . and a sledge hammer smashed into Hank’s chest. All of a sudden he notices he was on his back and trying to suck air into his lungs. The rest of the team scattered, hitting the ground and pulling in behind any handy cover – trees, stumps, a rock outcrop – anything they could find.

“You OK old man?” Andy was next to Hank running a hand over his chest looking for blood or any other sigh of real damage.

“Who the fuck you callin’ old asshole. And if you want to cop a feel, ask me out on a real date! Damn that hurts, gonna be more than a little tender for a bit I suspect.” It’d been a hell of a long time since Hank had taken a couple in the chest – he was just glad it was from a handgun. If it had been from a rifle he’d be suckin’ down a couple cold ones with old friend from Africa by now. He’d live with the pain.

“Got a plan?” Andy was pleased his friend was still the asshole he’d known for the past 40 years – he’d hate to lose him.

“Let’s make this easy – let’s just stay behind cover, lob a couple rounds down range and wait for the cavalry to save our ass. We should be able to hold their attention, don’t ya think?” Why make this hard Hank thought.

“Roger that, I’ll let the team know.” And with that Andy belly crawled to the rest of the team and each began to send a round down range every once in a while when they could identify a muzzle flash.

Within about five minutes they noticed a couple rounds coming from the northeast, about 200 yards to their right and from the northwest, across the pond. Within 15 minutes, all return fire had stopped . . . Hank waited another 5.

“LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS, FACE DOWN ON THE GROUND, HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD, LEGS CROSSED.  THIS IS NOT A REQUEST – DO IT OR DIE NOW!”  Nothing was heard so Hank and a team member moved in, well covered by the rest of the team. Hank saw the first facedown and rolled out from behind a tree. He knelt, moved their weapon away and felt for a pulse – they were gone. Two more were behind a downed tree – one had taken a round just above their ear and was visiting with old friends in hell. The second had a severely wounded leg and a round through an arm. He was disarmed and a team member assigned to guard him. The forth was found at the base of a tree, probably from a sniper hide. There wasn’t a scratch on him but his neck was at an odd angle and a touch of the back of his neck confirmed a broken neck. One left “Where the hell is he?” Hank wondered. CRRAAAKKKKKKKK! A rifle shot rang from across the pond and a second sniper fell virtually at Hank’s feet. He rolled onto his back and took a couple ragged breaths . . . looked at Hank . . . . “Fuck you asshole – you’re all gonna die soon!” A couple deep coughs and he simply turned his head and went off to hell.

Hank and Andy returned to the survivor – he was in a bad way. “Gather their weapons, strip their gear and ammo, gather their horses and take all of it to the hanger. I want a couple of you to plant these assholes, put them along the east edge, they can at least be fertilizer for spring planting. Andy and I are going to chat with this last fellow.”

They dragged the survivor deeper into the woods, shared with him the events at OP19 and asked him for confirmation of what they had heard. After a little “convincing” he opened the floodgates and confirmed things down the line – trouble was headed their way. Once Hank was satisfied he sent the raider to join the rest – food for next year’s crops.

Andy sat nearby – he’d observed the “questioning” . . . . “Different times.” He thought.

Hank walked over, took a seat and took a deep breath. His chest still hurt like hell – but it was improving little by little. “We need to find what’s left of the company that’s out there. It sounds like they’re beat to shit, but they must be true fanatics for the “Sons”. They need to be dealt with soon before they can do real damage.” He was already running scenarios through his head – 50 Sons of Missouri in full “rampage mode” – not a good thought, not good at all.

“Agreed, let’s send a couple guys back with the horses and gear, we can spend the night in the hangar, formalize some plans, check in and head out first thing in the morning. OK with you?” Andy fully agreed with Hank, they needed to find these guys, and find them soon. But, to go plunging through the woodlot and along the river in the middle of the night – they could do better than that.

“Roger that, right there with you. Let’s head back to the hanger.” With that, they dragged the dead raider to the edge of the woodlot and added him to the rest of the bodies to be buried. While members of the team finished this, the rest gathered weapons and gear, horses and headed back to Avon and the hanger.

“Could not have gone much easier than that.” Hank thought – and he was right. Everyone deserved to have things go easy once in a while. He’d just have to wait to see if their next encounter ended as easily as this one had.