Personal – 41 years . . .

 

I first saw her in Biology class in the spring ’65. She simply struck a cord in my soul . . . I brought her flowers. Actually – wild flowers for a Biology project . . . just to share, you understand.

That summer she showed up at the little mom & pop grocery store that I worked at to buy an orange “push-up”. . . . all summer long. Fall saw our first formal date . . . January our first kiss on her 16^th birthday. The remaining two years of high school simply disappeared . . . . June ’68. Just before the 6 month anniversary of Tet. Much to her shock and sadness I enlisted. Honestly, it made no difference – everyone was getting “the letter”. Ten months later I was bound for Taiwan . . . wondering if she’d wait, if I’d see her again.

Christmas ’70 I gave her and my mom their Christmas present – my request for a direct transfer to Viet Nam had been accepted . . . I wouldn’t be home in April, it would be another year . . . . and still she waited.

May 70 the song “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon and Garfunkel came out – she sent me the lyrics, hand written on blue paper with white dots – her explanation of her love. The letter still sits in the drawer next to my side of the bed. And she waited . . .

April 21^st-ish . . . I’m sitting on a commercial aircraft rolling out on the runway at DaNang . . . I’d made my DEROS date . . . Shortly after liftoff the pilot came online saying we were beyond B-40 range . . . . then rifle range . . . . finally SAM range . . . . we were “safe”. What an odd feeling, the relief of that word . . .

4 hours after I left we landed at McChord AFB (International Dateline) for the trip to SeaTac and a 747 headed for Chicago and finally Flint, Michigan. I was in the very rear seat of a 7XX somethin’ when we came to a halt. The stewardess asked where I was coming from, I said I was home from Vietnam. She asked the other folks to let me off the plane first with a nice round of applause from the folks on my way out . . . . across the tarmac . . . and into the arms of the love of my life . . . .

She went to work (yep, she had to work that night!) while I went to find some new clothes – I literally had only the clothes on my back, a set of 1505s. Evening found me at her home, waiting for her to get home. We took a short drive, to say hello, to see if the connection was still there, so she could see if a psyco sat next to her – or if I was still “her” Bill. We ended up at the church parking lot . . . and I had to know.

“Will you marry me??” No hesitation, no delay – a simple “Yes” crossed her lips.

The following day – again at her home – we prepared to go out for dinner, she and I, to celebrate life, love and our formal beginning. This was my lovely wife-to-be, April 1971:

A year later – August 19^th, 1972, we stood before family and God and pledged our lives together. It’s been 41 years since that date. Some smooth as glass, some simply ripped us to shreds . . . still, under all of it, and through all of it . . . . our love and life together has survived and thrived.

So, to my lovely and loving wife . . . I can never possibly express what you mean to me, the joy I felt being wrapped in your arms after two years apart, and the comfort I find that being wrapped in your arms feels exactly the same today!

Happy Anniversary kid . . . I love you with all of my heart!

 

Training – The “Who” and “What” of training . . . .

 

I had a couple “interesting” discussion on a couple of Facebook groups this week. One revolved around the premise that you should avoid “overweight” (read fat) instructors. The second put forth the premise that anything that detracted from learning a draw/engagement reduced your ability to defend yourself. They were both interesting threads to follow and, after a number of days of chewing on them, prompted this post on training – the “who” of who should you take training from (again, MY opinion – feel free to ignore it) and the “what” should you train for?

I’m a stickler for the “meaning” of words – and I believe the word “training” is misused frequently. If you go to a course and learn a new way to draw from your concealed holster, or a new way to acquire a target, or methods to move and shoot . . . . you are NOT “training” – you are “Learning”. You are acquiring a new skill. The process of incorporating it into your skill set – and keeping a fine edge on the skill through practice on the range . . . THAT is training. I know, I know – nitpicking. So be it. So, let’s talk a bit about trainers.

The “Who” – who should you seek training from?

Just because it was the heart of the initial thread – let’s chat a bit about the physical fitness of instructors and how it affects their ability to teach. Full disclosure – I’m probably 30-40 pounds heavier than I should be. Add to that 63 years old, typical complaints of knees, back and not being able to see a clear picture of my front sight – there are going to be skills and techniques I am not going to be able to demonstrate at full speed. That said, I have yet to find a skill or technique that I wanted to teach that I cannot. I find this has been true of most instructors that I would categorize as “chubby”. This is where it becomes important between TEACHING so a student can LEARN rather than TRAINING. I am much more concerned that a student LEARNS the skill I want to teach them so they can add it to their long-term TRAINING.

All that said – were I to compare my ability to teach skills that I teach today with my ability to teach those same skills when I was, say in my late 20s – there’s no comparison. Experience, rounds down range, time spent teaching any number of different types of skills, my raw vocabulary . . . . I am a much better instructor today than 30+ years ago.

Bottom line – the old phrase “don’t judge a book by its cover” comes to mind – don’t let a physical attribute like weight keep you from a talented instructor.

OK, got that off my chest – let’s cover a few other things.

The “What” – what do you want to learn?

Some folks want to learn “High Speed – Low Drag” techniques. Picture breech teems, SWAT teams – high risk operators that are learning skills that allow them to take down extremely dangerous individuals with minimum risk. You will want to go to a very specific category of instructors.

Perhaps you want to learn how to integrate your sidearm and your carbine into a more lethal combination – again, you will want to consider the instructor that you are going to insure that they can teach you what you want to learn.

Drawing from concealment and engaging a target all while moving – again, you will want to find a specific instructor that teaches the specific method that you want to learn.

A course will typically have three primary parts to a course description:

Syllabus – What precisely is going to be taught? If it says something like “This course will teach you to shoot straight” – you may want to seek additional information or simply pass on it all together.

Instructor resume and references – Virtually any instructor worth their salt will provide a resume of their experience, training and what they teach as well as provide a list of references (or course reviews/videos) to allow you to better decide if this instructor is someone you want to spend time and money with.

Equipment List – A comprehensive equipment list is simply a must. If you travel either a short or very long distance to take a course from an instructor, they should at least tell you everything you need to bring to get the most out of the course.

Lastly – Personal Responsibility

Honestly, I’ve never take a course and then said to myself – “Damn, I just got screwed outta a bunch of money!” But, I’ve never taken a course that I haven’t fully researched – what’s in the course, who’s teaching it and what kind of reviews do they get from former students, what kind of equipment should I take (Side Note: “one in none, two is one” – always take two guns!) and finally, is the course a good value? I am responsible for whom I take training from, that my gear is in good working order and that I use my training resources wisely. No one else is responsible for me and my decisions.

So, next time you are about to jump into a new course – take some time to do your research. I would encourage you not to pay a whole lot of attention to the physical characteristics of the instructor, but rather spend your time finding out if he/she can truly teach and that if what they are teaching is worth your time and money.

12 - Setting the table . . .

 

April 2050

“Richard, go grab a bottle of “The Creek’s” bourbon, this is going to take a while.” Gramps nudged Brad out of his chair. “If you need to hit the head, go do it – Cathy, grab some glasses then come on back and we’ll tell these kids why we intend to build an army!”

Chairs slid across the floor, “duties were done”, Richard found the bourbon, glasses appeared . . . . as Gramps sat and organized this thoughts. He decided to break it into a couple parts. First, he needed to “set the table” as it were. You couldn’t just tell folks you were going to build an army and hope they didn’t haul you off to the funny farm. He’d explain how the country he had loved for nearly 80 years had turned into such a shit hole. They just didn’t teach history – at least “the truth” of his country’s history – anymore. The time for correction was long-since past. History had effectively been rewritten and the truth had long since been set aside in favor of political correctness. He knew what was coming . . . . bits and pieces were appearing daily around the country. From his frustration with growing power outages and brownouts to news stories of “wildlings” destroying large swaths of some of the country’s largest cities. His dad had called it “fraying of the fabric of society”. Looking at today’s situation, it felt like the fabric would be shredded . . . not frayed.

Taking a deep breath he looked at his family . . . . they were his purpose for existing. He would do everything within his power to insure their safety and their future. Everyone was waiting for Gramps . . . they knew he’d speak when he was ready. Richard and Cathy had both heard this before – as had Gram . . . over and over and over. Even Allison shook her head and smiled a bit, having heard parts of Gramps fears and concerns over the past few months. She was just finishing her engineering degree at U of I so her nose had been in books for the past four years – she’d paid little attention to the world around her. Now, with graduation looming in a few months – the real world seemed much more “real”!

Brad and E were still trying to wrap their minds around “I intend to build an army!” What the hell was her dad and Gramps up to? An army?? Really??? The small hairs at the base of E’s neck were sticking straight out . . . and she hadn’t felt that since her field time in Africa. “Not good!!” E thought. . . “Not good at all!!”

Gramps swirled his bourbon around in his glass – cooling in on the ice cube in its bottom. “Screw the critics” he’d say – “I like my bourbon chilled!” It also helped him think, helped him focus his thoughts.

“Richard, let me kick this off here. Let me “set the table” Gramps looked at E and Brad - “Kids, it’ll save you a call to the funny farm!” A little smirk crossed Gramp’s lips. “It’ll put some things in perspective and clear up the shit they teach as “history” today. The advantage you have hearing this from me is that I’ve lived most of it – at least the past 80 years or so. My dad was born almost exactly 100 years ago – April 1950 – before our government put into place the majority of the programs that allowed “the slide” to grow and accelerate. And his grandparents and parents were tempered in the depression of the 1930. That event, that single event set the wheels in motion for “the slide” as folks are starting to call it. And I’m here to tell ya those wheels are about to come off it a truly big way!”

He stared at the light brown liquid surrounding the couple ice cubes at the bottom of his glass – gathering his thoughts.

“The Depression was a combination of a bunch of things – shitty financial policy, shitty weather and a government policy of “work for everyone” that took capital from the private sector that could have been used to grow the economy. Instead it was used to “put people to work.” The reality was that the President at the time – Roosevelt, or FDR as he is typically called – extended the depression by years. As a side note - it was also one of the key components that allowed the world to slip back into a global war – World War II. Yet another slaughter of humanity pitting those that would enslave people against those who were determined to insure that people remained free of tyranny – as least as free as they were willing to be.

Anyway, getting a bit off track. As the depression began to subside, despite the actions of our government, our government decided that this should “never happen again”. In order to insure this, a high-sounding program called “Social Security” was formed. The idea was that people would pay a portion of their wages into a “secure” account – and then when they reached “advanced age” – 65, this would act as a bit of a cushion, so Americans would never again feel poverty. Of course, they were using data from 1935 when the vast majority of citizens never saw 65 so the money accumulated. There were 16 workers for every person collecting social security. The party in power at the time was the Democrat party and they relished in the praise they received for “saving the working man.” The die was cast . . . the government would save you, would protect you, would take care of you. Looking back on it, this desire accelerated with blinding speed. By ’63 the Democrats started their “war on poverty” and named their efforts the “Great Society”. If you didn’t have a job – the government would send you a check for a few months until you found a job. By the 20-teens, this had been extended to YEARS. Couldn’t afford food? In ’64 the Food Stamp Act came into existence. The government will simply give you “stamps” that you could spend like money for food. This to expanded by the 20-teens to plastic cards that the government could electronically transfer money too. Even if you were able bodied, and in some cases were actually employed, you could receive this “free money”.

With wages and food covered, ’65 saw the introduction of “Medicare and Medicaid” – programs at the federal level and state level to provide “free healthcare” to those who “couldn’t afford it”. By 1965 the die was cast for the collapse of the entire social safety net. By 2013 half of the workers didn’t pay any federal income taxes. A quarter were local, state or federal government employees – all paid by the remaining tax payers. The remaining quarter of the workforce paid for everything . . . and their “nut” for the next 30 years for all of these unfunded mandates was roughly $5 MILLION dollars per person. Think of that - $5 MILLION dollars . . . an impossible task and the first nail in our financial coffin.

By the early 2000s, Medicare expanded even more, increasing this burden. In 2010 something called the “Affordable Care Act” moved our country from a free market healthcare system to a socialist system. It would take another 20 years but by 2030 the only source of healthcare in the US was the government. Hospitals, doctor’s practices, care facilities had all been nationalized “for the good of the people”. Costs skyrocketed, care plummeted – hell, look around today? You can’t pay a kid to go to med school, we’re damn lucky to have Ted and Sandy in our little community!

Another part of our financial problems were – and still are - the Unions that came into being in the 1930s. My grandfather was actually in one of the earliest wildcat strikes. While there were valid reasons for their existence early on, by the early 2000s they had forged so many ridiculous contracts with manufacturers, individual cities and states that their pensions and their healthcare costs were simply unsustainable. In the first decade of 2000s two of the largest auto firms, GM and Chryslers, declared bankruptcy. Had the law been followed – contracts would have been renegotiated, pension plans reworked – and the companies would have been reorganized. The politics of the time put a quick halt to that and the actual result was that the investors were set aside and tax dollars were used to “save” the company. Within 20 years the tax dollars and the companies were gone – and investors became much more leery of investing in anything.

Private companies weren’t the only thing affected – public worker unions brought the same problems to the negotiating table that had been felt in the private sectors. By 2013 the world’s capital of the auto industry – Detroit – was bankrupt. It was like a damn had burst. They were quickly followed by the Illinois state pension fund in 2016, California pensions in 2019, the state of New York’s pension plan in 2021. And the ball was just beginning to roll.

January 2022 saw California become the first state to declare bankruptcy followed by New York the next year with Illinois right behind them. By the beginning of summer, 2023 America was teetering on the edge of a complete financial collapse. I watched the speeches on the floor of the House and Senate . . . hands waved, fists pounded – by God, ‘SOMETHING NEEDS TO BE DONE!!” was the resounding cry. And so it was . . .

There had been a growing pot of money that remained out of the reach of the government – trillions upon trillions of dollars . . . all contained in devices with names like “Individual Retirement Accounts – IRAs” and “401K” investment accounts. It was just too much to resist. After all, only the rich had such things – and they simply didn’t need all that money. Long story short, in late summer 2023 – the government simply took the money. Individuals that had saved throughout their entire lives saw their accounts emptied with a promise of an annual return of 3% of whatever their account balance was at the time of the “theft” for the remainder of their lives. And people began to notice they no longer lived in a country they even knew . . . the “wheels” started to get wobbly.

Governments being who they are, performed as expected. The money was used to bail out as many states and pensions plans as it could – within 10 years, in fact just a few years after you two were born – the money, and the bonds that was used to back them up were gone and in default. Our creditors – worldwide - lost confidence in us – and they trust us even less today! Anyway, when their bonds would come due – they asked for gold in payment. Our government told them to go pound sand – and simply inflated the dollar to cover the bonds. Funny money rather than gold. Few were amused. The result? Interest rates that you see today – 35% or higher. No one can afford a loan – if folks don’t have cash then they don’t buy the things that fuel an economy – homes, businesses, cars – of course, with the price of gas no one can afford a car anyway. And, new companies aren’t started, established companies have to exist strictly on cash flow so their ability to grow is severely restricted – and many times, when the cash flow falters, they simply close their doors.

Simply put, we are dead in the water – and getting “deader” by the day! Of course, the world hasn’t stood still – the Mideast has come completely unglued. Hell, you two have seen that up close and personal. The C.O.P. rules the habitable parts, east of Egypt and west of Iran. The Mideast that I knew growing up is simply a glowing ember of what used to be. Europe remains under threat of attack by the C.O.P. Since the 9/11/2029 attacks, the clashes between a very, very aggressive Muslim immigrant population and an increasingly cowed indigenous populous have continued. The EU is beginning to realize that “Islam” means “submit”, and not “hey, let’s just get along”.

There have been significant political changes here as well. The People’s Libertarian Party has been growing significantly since it was formed in ’35. Still, the newly renamed Democrat Socialist Party is continuing its nearly 100 year old refrain of “the rich have so much more than they need” and it’s even more effective today than it was 50 years ago. What used to be called the Republican Party is simply a shadow of what it was in the past. In their effort to go-along to get-along, they have been consumed by the DSP to such an extent, you’d be hard pressed to point out any major differences between the two parties.

Jobs are nonexistent – with unemployment exceeding 50% in most major cities . . . the “pot is beginning to simmer”. I want you to begin to pay attention to the intel you can gain on the news – I see it every day. What I call “wildling attacks” – people attacking people just because they’re pissed. Murder rates have soared in the major metropolitan areas – hell, you couldn’t pay me to go to Chicago or Minneapolis or St. Louis. These attacks are beginning to “congeal” – for lack of a better word. One frustrated group meets another - that meets another - that meets another – they’re angry, frustrated and that quickly turns to rage. Where these groups were a couple handfuls of people 10 years ago, today they’re in the hundreds or thousands. That’s what happened in D.C. this past September.

E and Brad looked at each other. Even in Africa, in the middle of operation Ramrod, they’d heard of the “D.C. Swarm”. It was estimated that 25 to 30 thousand angry, pissed off and enraged people “swarmed” out of SE D.C, across the river’s bridges and simply engaged in an orgy of violence and destruction. The snowball effect stunned and overwhelmed D.C. police and emergency response staff. After a full two days of rampaging – the 2^nd Marine Regiment, part of the 2^nd Marine Division headquartered at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina was brought into the city to stop the violence. The fighting lasted another three days. When the “swarm” was finally expelled – 25% of the metropolitan area of D.C. lay smoldering, nearly 2,000 were dead and thousands more were wounded. And while Capitol Hill was spared major damage – scars of the battles, both physical and emotional will take decades to heal . . . if they ever do.

Sadly, the emotions and economic conditions that lead to the “swarm” last fall in D.C. are growing across the country. My business contacts in virtually every major city – New York City, Chicago, LA, Boston, D.C. (still), Atlanta, Trenton, Minneapolis, St. Louis – everywhere I have presence anyway, are scared as hell. Unemployment is high, costs are climbing, they’re all experiencing the same shit we are – electricity and services dropping out for hours at a time, public services are being withdrawn – from medical services to police and firefighters. People are pissed. They feel hopeless. And the politicos are pointing the finger everywhere but at themselves. The level of anger that is growing simply has to find release – and soon. I pray we make it through the summer . . . . but I’m not betting on it. And when it “blows” – the countryside will explode! I fear that D.C. will look like a walk in the park. Never mind the state of our finances as a country – we will be looking at the second coming of a civil war. But it won’t be the north against the south – it’ll be the 60% that are fully dependent on the government for their daily survival . . . against everyone else.

His glass empty, he looked into its depths one last time. He slowly looked at his family – and wondered how many would survive. “Tell ya what kids – I lost my “cherry” in a shithole called Fallujah. It was our second crack at the fuckin’ place. The operation had a cute little name - Operation Al-Fajr, it meant “the dawn”. Beginning to end it lasted nearly a month – cost us over 50 Marines. Picked up a bit of metal myself.” He just paused a bit – lost in memory, smells, sounds. “Damn, not a road I ever wanted to walk down again!” he thought. Looking at E and Brad . . .

“You two know what I mean. Not an experience I ever wanted to repeat.” Eyes boring in on E and Brad – “That’s what’s headed our way, in every major city. A “shit storm” so far beyond expectation that it’s going to take years to resolve. And I sure the hell intend to be ready . . . . we ARE going to build an army. Right here, in our county to start with and pray this passes. It won’t, but a little prayer never hurts. By this time next year I want the equivalent of 32 fire teams – two for each for 16 areas of operation. If my memory serves, that shakes out to be about 128 Marines? My math OK?” Gramps had bit of a smirk on his face while he watched his granddaughter and Brad.

“Yes sir, you’re math’s just fine.” Brad said, watching the old man. “How the hell do you intend to find this army of yours?”

“Well son, what’s why we hired you and E . . . . you’re our recruiting force! Only 126 more to go!” Gramp’s smirk remained as Brad and E tried to grasp the task just laid before them.

“You’re serious!” E replied, as she realized this was simply not casual conversation.

“Dead serious.” Gramps assured her – looking all the Marine he had been back in 2004. “Dead serious!”

11 -- The Probe . . . .

 

August 2093

“Damnit Bill, we need to know what the fuck is going on!! Bring up the MDR comm net – see if we can pick up some chatter on what’s going on to our south!” E was frustrated with being in the dark. They’d been attacked . . . . were still under attack . . . and had no idea who was behind it. She needed answers.

Bill fired up the HF gear and a crypto comm link to make sure they weren’t intercepted. “What’s the Julian date today E?” E scanned the calendar while Bill punched in the “all-call” frequency and waited for the crypto computer to boot. “227” E replied.

Buried in the weapons vault were a couple dozen state of the art laptops. Well, state of the art for 60 years ago. Links to manufacturers had long since disintegrated. It would be decades before the US regained the ability to actually build a computer. And, as time passed and knowledge was lost – it became a very real possibility that the computers sitting in their shipping containers may well be the last ever made. Regardless of the future – in the here-and-now – the notebook attached to HF gear would help to insure that their communications with the MDR net would remain secure.

The process was simple really – geeks called it a “scratch pad” encryption unit. There was no algorithm to hack; just a simple substitution code was used. The keys were contained in a library of “books” in electronic form. Each day represented a different “book”. Today’s Julian date was 227 – meaning the 227^th “book” would be used. It was also August – meaning the 8^th group of “books” would be used. It sounded bulky but all of this was compressed to twelve individual folders – each folder holding 365 unique books and contained on a single miniature USB drive – these too a technology of the past. The notebook did all the work. Simply come up on frequency, plug in the miniature USB drive, press the mike and talk. The crypto unit digitized and compressed the individual’s voice, combined each and every “byte” of data representing an individual component of the spoken word with a “byte” from the “scratch pad” and then transmitted the resulting “byte” in the clear. The process was reversed on the receiving end – restoring the digitized voice to its original form. Simple, clean and effective.

The MDR – Midwestern Defense Region – had been created in April of ’52. It consisted of Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, North and South Dakota, Nebraska and Kansas. It had been formed after the “’51 Summer of Swarms” that saw a mass migration of enraged, starving, desperate people from virtually all large urban areas. Honestly, migration is too peaceful a term – they exploded into the country side – desperate for food, water, shelter and anxious to take their revenge on any in their path. The farm had nearly been lost. It was estimated that as its momentum built nearly 300,000 Americans died at the hands of fellow Americans. The only thing that really brought the entire process to an end in the Midwest and northern tier states was a devastating winter that started the very beginning of October and buried much of the US under a blanket of snow and ice well into April of ’52. The one advantage those living in Minnesota and Iowa were offered by the extreme cold was that for the first time in a number of generations – the Mississippi river froze solid. Those looking to defend themselves against the raging “swarms” from the east managed to blow every bridge from the southern border of Missouri to the northern regions of the Minnesota. While drastic – the truth was that “flyover country”, as the region was once called, had all the natural resources they needed to support themselves. Such was not so in the more heavily populated area of our country.

Prior to the expected “fighting season” in the summer of ’52 – the MDR, the Midwest Defense Region was formed. Its purpose was to share intel, offer aid to adjacent states and to work together to survive what everyone was beginning to call “the slide”. Each state had an individual communications network – primarily HF stations since much of the infrastructure was rapidly decaying. Forty odd years down the road, this comm network had grown into an efficient and highly effective tool in the defense of the member states of the MDR. It was this network that Bill was “punching into”.

Computer and crypto unit both indicated they were “on-line” – Bill pressed the mike button;

“MDR Control, MDR Control, MDR Control this is India 37, India 37, India 37. Do you copy? - over” Bill released his mike and listened. Their call sign was a simple combination of the phonetic letter representing the first letter of their state and the number of their county – Iowa had 99 counties.

“MDR Control, MDR Control, MDR Control this is India 37, India 37, India 37. Do you copy? - over” Bill repeated his call to the MDR operations center located it Bismarck, North Dakota.

“India 37 – MDR Control. Have you 5 by 5. Authenticate Bravo Bravo Gulf”

Authentication was a last security step. Control used the phonetic alphabet to confirm the Julian date – thus 227 became Bravo Bravo Gulf. The response from the calling station was the same Julian date, but using the phonetic alphabet in reverse order, thus 227 in response became Yankee, Yankee, Tango.

“MDR Control – India 37 . . . . response Yankee, Yankee, Tango”

The authentication was the last step to insure the parties were authorized participants. The formalities out of the way, Bill got down to business.

“Control, we are being probed from the south. We have sustained a casualty with a minor wound and have two raider KIA - We also have an OP that is non-responsive. A response team in headed their way as we speak. We have been loosely following this scouting party since their discovery a few weeks back about 100 miles WNW of St. Louis. They have taken significant casualties yet they keep coming. Have your received any updates on this scouting party or what the hell is goin’ on down there? Over.”

“India 37 – affirmative, we have been getting the same reports you seem to be getting. The estimated strength of their main party is around 50. Their scouting units seem to run around 3 to 5 raiders. They are aggressive and dangerous. We suspect that they are affiliated with the “Sons of Missouri”. “No Mercy” is what they’re known for. If they are indeed headed your way, you folks better get your shit together! Over.”

“Roger that – we’ve dealt with one of their scouting parties a few years back. That particular group will not give anyone a problem again. Over.”

“Understand India 37. Give me a couple hours to contact Mike Oscar counties and update my intel, I’ll come up on net at 14:00.” The call signs changed slightly for Missouri and Minnesota to MO and MN respectively.

“Roger that MDR Control, 14:00. India 37 out”

“MDR Control out.”

“Well Fuck!!!” Bill spit out the curse and turned to E.

“That’s doesn’t sound good – what’d MDR Control have to say?” E could see the rage cross Bill’s face.

“Sons of Missouri E, it’s the fucking Sons of Missouri. “No Mercy” Bill’s voice tense, controlled.

“Well shit! When Brad and Marion check in you make damn sure to get me Brad on-line. NOT Marion – Brad. You Clear?” E gave him a “don’t screw with me look that he had seen from her his whole life.

“Yes Ma’am – I’m clear!” Bill busied himself filling out the comm log and trying to see how this new bit of news would affect the ultimate outcome of Brad and Marion’s trip to the OP.

E turned her attention back to the situation to their south. OP 18 was still off line. Where the hell were her people!

“Jo – bring up OP19 again.” E was looking over Jo’s shoulder.

“OP 19, Command. Do you copy?”

“Command – 19, have you 5x5. There’s a running gunfight headed our way, estimate 50 yards or less . . . . wait one command . . . . COMMAND – 19, WE ARE UNDER FIRE! SAY AGAIN, WE ARE UNDER FIRE!” E and Jo could hear the firefight as 19 pressed the “talk” switch.

“19 – Command, roger that – you are under attack. Response Team 3-2 is headed your way. Hold and defend, they should be on-site any moment. Be advised Brad and Marion are headed your way as well!” E’s adrenaline was definitely kicking in. She’d be much happier headed to OP 19 rather than commanding the county’s response to this incursion but everyone had their job to do.

“Command – 19, roger that. Out.”

And that was all E could do. She had people in harm’s way, under attack and here she sat on her ass, waiting for whatever the outcome would be.

“Jo – conference the southern OPs and the Response Teams. Fill them in on what’s going on – make sure their head’s in the game!” And while Jo brought the Ops and Response Teams up to date – E turned to her maps.

“Hey E – what exactly is going on?” E turned to see Willie walking through the comm room’s door. She wore full gear – vest/plate carrier fully kitted out, her weapon was slung and she carried herself as the professional soldier that she was turning in to.

“Hey kiddo – good to see you! By the way – Happy Birthday! The big 16! Hear you claimed a beau last night!” E set aside the past few minutes and focused on her granddaughter, just the touch of a smirk on her lips.

“Thanks gram. Yep, I let Fred know it’s official between us – not sure he’s recovered from that yet!“ The smile faded and Willie’s face hardened – What’s going on E.” And it was back to business.

“Brad and your mom are headed to OP 18, the 3-2 response team should be nearly on-site, we’ve checked into the MDR net for an update – I suspect we have a true “shit storm” headed this way!” Had you just walked in on the conversation it would probably have looked strange to see a 60ish woman carrying on a tactical summary with a newly minted 16 year old. Yet, in 2093 and in a fractured and broken America, talents were developed early, people worked hard and they defended their property, their family and their friends . . . . with their lives if necessary. Age played little in the discussion and gender was simply not a factor on this day or in this age. Willie was E's best shooter, she was learning the tactical side and she would one day replace E in the command center. That die had been firmly cast.

“There’s an added twist to this probe Willie . . . it appears to be a “Sons of Missouri” scouting party. Their mission is unclear, but they have been kicking up shit since they were first picked up Northwest of St. Louis!” E watched how this news would affect Willie.

Willie’s ears turned red first – a sure sign her blood pressure was spiking. Her eyes followed – narrowing, as she drew a ragged breath. “They’re from the Son’s???” Willie was as focused on E and E was on her.

“Yes child, it appears they are part of the “Sons of Missouri”. Their remaining size is about what we were hearing – around 50. The scouting party seems to be typically 2-5 raiders. Since you and Doug took out two of them, I suspect there are three or so that are dickin’ with us at OP 18.” E noted Willie’s control – one of the traits she liked about her.

“I’m going to kill them you know . . .” Looking E straight in the eye, the words came out easily – with the simple tone of truth. Willie was going to kill these raiders.

“I understand child – but your mom’s nearly there. They won’t live long enough for you to reach them. Let it go, I have other things for you to do.” And in that simple conversation the fate of the raiders was decided, E saw her granddaughter step into the shoes of a fighter and the next step in Willie’s training began.

Hank Jackson could hear the firefight while his response team was still about five minutes out. Hank was one of the members of Brad’s rifle platoon in Africa – “back in the day” as folks say. He’d answered Brad’s call back in the spring of ’50. He’s fought side by side with E and Brad through swarm and raider attacks. “One more time” he thought. As they responded to the request to find out why OP 18 had gone dark, the sound of a running firefight drew their attention. Now, within a quarter mile of OP 19, he gave the sign to dismount.

He had two “heavy guns” – real, honest to God ArmaLite AR-10s each with 300 rounds of ammo. The remaining six team members had the standard kit and were ready to “get some” as they said in his day.

It was pretty clear the raiders were advancing on OP 19 from the east. There seemed to be three or four distinct weapon types, one “heavy” , one either a bolt action or lever action and the remaining two semiautomatic “light weapons”. Hank split his team into two squads – three light weapons and a heavy with each squad. He had one close directly on OP 19 from the north. The second would travel east a bit and then close to the SSW. Hank wanted at least one raider alive just for the intel – he’d take more if possible and kill them all if it was necessary. A sharp hand signal started their advance – Hank with the squad coming closing to the SSW.

They were easy to spot actually, their use of cover was poor, their manner was arrogant, reckless. Nearly simultaneously the three visible attackers were down and wounded. When faced with his eight man response team, all three decided they’d “live to fight another day” and placed their weapons flat on the ground and their hands behind their head – fingers interlaced.

One of Hank’s team stripped the raiders of gear and weapons while another applied a tourniquet to one raider and compresses to the other two. All would more than likely live. They were bound, separated around the small compound that held the OP and gagged. All that was left was to wait for Brad and Marion.

Hank sent a two man team to check out OP 18 while he went in and checked in with E at command.

Hank picked up the handset and pressed the “call” button. It was answered with a sharp “Command – status!”

“Hey E, it’s Hank. OP 19 secure, three raiders are in hand. I have a team on the way to 18 but I’m expecting the worst.”

“Understand Hank. I want you to check the right wrist of any of the raiders – tell me what you see.” E knew what he would find, she just wanted confirmation.

“Roger that – stand by.” Hank went to the nearest raider outside the OP. There, on his right wrist was a broad, black tat . . . “No Mercy”.

“Command – there seems to be a tat – “No Mercy”. We’ve seen that before. Are these guys “Sons of Missouri?” Fuck!! If true, a shit storm was screaming at them.

“Seems to be Hank, seems to be. We punched into the MDR net and they confirmed what we have been hearing about a heavy probe coming up from the south. There’s another 50 or so of these assholes out there!” E’d hoped for the best – and had the worst confirmed.

“E – Marion is coming?? Shit . . . she’ll kill them! “ Not that Hank minded . . . but it wouldn’t be pretty.

“I suspect so Hank, I suspect so. I’m relying on you and Brad to keep her focused – intel FIRST, then I could give a shit what she does with them. You DO NOT need to bring them “home”. You clear Hank.”

“Roger E, I understand you – no need to bring them home. I’ll call you when my assessment team returns from 18.” Hank out.

“Thanks Hank, we’ll be here.” And E went back to her maps with Willie.

Hank looked around the OP. “These guys are “Sons of Missouri” . . . and Marion will be here in a bit. We’re going to have a chat with these guys and then let “nature take its course. Anyone got a problem with that?” Hank looked hard at his team – they had all been with him a long time, and had encountered these assholes before. He was met with a chorus of “No Sir”s.

“Fair enough. Let’s get the OP’s weapons reloaded and then set up four teams about 50 yards out across the southern border. If you take fire, retreat here, we’ll hold our fire until you’re behind the line. Questions?” His team’s response was simply getting to work – topping off mags, reloading the OP’s weapons and heading out to their scrimmage line.

The pair he’d sent to 18 trotted into the compound at a light jog. “Not good Hank – all four are dead. Looks like they were hit during shift change. Frags and a handful of rounds in each sealed the deal.” It had been awhile since there had been such a blatant attack. Again, not a good sign.

“Understood. I’ve sent the rest to set up a perimeter about 50 yards south, head that way and join the party. I need to go and fill E in.” His guys headed south and he picked up the receiver – pressing the “Call” button.

“Command!” E had answered in an instant.

“E – not good. Four KIA. I’ve set a temporary perimeter about 50 yards south. We’ll have a chat with our guests and let you know what they say and get back to you.” Hank shook his head – it would be a rough couple of hours ahead.

“Understood – Command out.” E was crisp, deep into her own planning.

Brad and Marion cantered up about 45 minutes later.

“Hank – what do we have here. What’s the status of 18?” Brad took in the small compound. There were three raiders, each wounded in some way. Their gear had been taken away, their hands were tied behind their back, their feet tied and each had a gag in place. They were placed around the compound – obviously to make sure they couldn’t talk to each other.

“We have 4 KIA in 18. I’ve got a temporary perimeter set about 50 yards to the south. I’ve brought E up to date.” Hank noticed Marion was walking towards their prisoners. “Brad” he said in a quiet voice, “They’re “Sons of Missouri”!

“Fuck me!! Tats and all?” Brad asked. Hank simply nodded. “This won’t end well Hank, you fill everyone in on that?”

“Yes sir. E’s only concern is that we get the intel. She said we didn’t need to bring our guests home for dinner.”

“No worries about that – Marion would never allow it.” Shaking his head he walked towards his daughter-in-law. He saw the tears in her eyes and the steel behind them. “He was my grandson too you know . . .” Brad had no idea what to say – but he wouldn’t stand in her way.

“I know, I know. Does E know?” She had seen the Tats – “No Mercy.”

“Yep . . . . we need intel Marion.” Brad looked her in the eye. “We need to know what’s coming. Past that . . . . well, the tats seem to say it all, don’t they.”

Marion’s face cleared, her tears stopped and her features hardened. “Understood. You OK to stay?” Brad looked at her again . . . “He was my grandson too, like I said.”

Marion collected herself and hardened her heart. The phrase “revenge is a dish best served cold” passed through her mind. Her heart was ice . . . .

“Gentlemen – my name is Marion, Marion Rowley. I’m a deputy sheriff for this county. I’m also a mother – to a fine daughter who had the pleasure of killing one of your party last evening – drove a nice clean hole through his head, just below his nose. Today’s her sixteenth birthday as a matter of fact. I also had a son – Kyle. He’s gone now, would have been nineteen in a few weeks. . . . except for one thing, he met one of your scouting parties about two years back. It was his last day on earth . . . your friends took it upon themselves to kill him. I might have gotten over that – three years in the past, the times being what they are. But your fellow “Sons” had to take it a bit farther . . . . they skinned parts of his arms and legs . . . well before they killed him. We do, indeed live in different times. Years ago you would have been taken into our custody, afforded certain “rights” and then probably hanged. Today . . . . I’m going to kill you.”

Marion struggled for control. She felt her rage at seeing her baby laid out, pealed open and shot to death. She slowed her ragged breathing and allowed the ice to return.

“But, even in death – there are choices. See your wounded friend there? That shoulder and chest wound look pretty bad. You can even hear the beginnings of his lung rattling – it’s filling with blood. The civilized thing to do would be to just kill him!” In an instant her 1911 was in her hand as she drove a round just below center mass – a dark, angry red welt forming just above his belly-button.

“Of course, my son’s treatment taught me a lot, along the lines of your tats – “No Mercy”. Now, we need intel – why are you here, how many are coming, how far out are they, what kind of arms do they have, why are they headed this way, what’s your command structure, how do you communicate.” Her hand went to her holster and a second red welt began to form just to the right of the first.

“Raiders have taught us all any number of inhumane ways to interrogate you. I intend to use them if need be.” Round three and a third welt just to the left of the first. “I have no interest in chatting with your friend there. Consider him an object lesson.” And a final shot rang out, center mass – the center of his heart. His choked cries stopped and the life drained out of his eyes. “We’ll just leave him there until we’re finished – OK”

“So there are your choices.” E said, holstering her weapon and grabbing her backup knife – flicking it open. “You can tell me what I need to know and be on your way to hell quickly . . . . or we can chat awhile, I’ll still learn what I want to know. You’ll just get to hell slower. Who’s first?”

She looked at the remaining raiders – one looked to be mid to late 20s, the other – younger. Each had the defiant look of youth. She’d seen that look before – hell, she’d had it. The swarms and the raiders had taken that look off her face. She decided on the oldest . . .

She removed his gag . . . “Anything you’d care to share raider?” The defiance in his eye remained – his jaw set. “Fuck you bitch!” Her right hand slammed into his chest, slipping the four inch blade just above his left rib. He’d bleed slowly. His lung would eventually fill, but it’d take time.

His eyes went wild – he screamed at her “Fuck you, you crazy bitch – you stabbed me!!” There was a genuine sound surprise in his voice.

“Perhaps you misunderstood. I’m going to kill you today. There are no options, no outs, no reprieves. You are going to die. Your choice is between me sticking you over and over and over with my little knife here . . . . or a bullet in the head. Your willingness to share with me the information I need will determine which it will be.” Just to make sure he understood – she removed her knife from his chest and plunged it to the hilt in the meat of his left thigh. She gave it a firm twist and left it in place . . . and the raider screamed until his voice became a gurgling whisper.

“Brad, give me your knife.” Marion held out her hand and Brad placed his folding backup in her hand. She turned toward the remaining raider – his eyes wild, a wet spot forming in his crotch. Marion removed his gag and in a voice as cold as a January winter she asked “Anything you willing to share with me?” She thumbed the blade and moved the blade tip up and down his rib cage – a small red line left behind.

“Anything, anything, anything . . . . what do you want to know!! Just please – don’t hurt me.” The raider was wild with fear . . . . at this point he’d tell her anything and that was NOT what she needed.

“You seem to not be understanding this whole process son. I’m going to kill you. Quick – or slow . . . . you’ll die here today. Do you understand? What I need from you is truth . . . your honest answer to each and every question. If you do that, your death will be as painless as I can make it. If not . . . “ and she let the sentence hang . . . .

“Don’t tell this bitch anything!! I’ll kill you myself if you tell them a single thing!” Marion took a deep breath, got up and moved back to the first raider. She quickly yanked her knife out of his leg and jammed it into his right side – just above his last rib. She simply left it in place and the raider let out another scream followed by a throaty gurgle. “You seem to not understand either – perhaps your partner here will learn from your mistake.” She returned to the youngest raider.

“Now . . . do you have something you would like to tell me?” Marion looked at the raider, willing him to understand that she was deadly serious.

He took a deep, ragged breath. “Yes Ma’am, I understand . . . . what would you like to know?”

“Brad . . . grab your notebook and pull up a chunk of ground, I think this fellow has some answers for us.” Marion settled it – ignoring the wounded raider – keeping him there as a constant reminder of the options available to the young raider in front of her . . . .

Three hours later, she and Brad were satisfied. They’d asked each question in numerous ways. Verified locations by asking specific questions about areas they were familiar with. With a bit of prompting – once the wounded raider realized his partner was going to answer all their questions he saw little reason to hold out when they asked him to verify various answers. By the end they knew what was coming . . . . it was not good, not good at all. Marion and Brad looked at each other and realized that they may well not survive the weeks and months ahead. They’d been lucky to capture these three raiders. Very lucky indeed.

Brad and Marion both stood and looked at their captives. The one Marion had wounded earlier was in real distress – the other, simply resigned.

“Thank you gentlemen – I appreciate your honesty. Now go to hell!!” And with two rounds for each . . . she sent them on their way.

Range Trip - 8/13/13 - Steel Shoot

 

Honestly attendance has been off this summer.  Ammo is a big problem, a wet start in May and the start of June – it all kind of put us off our game.  Still, the last few scheduled nights, attendance has been “OK”.  We had a simple setup.  Right to left:

8 X 10 White rectangle – 45 feet

8” White Round – 30 feet

8” White Round – 45 feet

8 X 10 White Rectangle – 30 feet

8” Red Round – Stop Plate – left at 45 feet.

Nothing really tricky, just a fun night shooting.  I used both my carry Glock 17 – 50 rounds, and my 22/45 Ruger range bag gun – 50 rounds.  Here are the results:

(Editor Note – date on the score sheet is wrong, it was 8/13/13)

The last 5 runs – 8 – 12 are the .22, rest are the Glock.

Can always do better.  Still I only had one run that I failed to hit a plate.  Funny how your brain can take you sideways.  So, lessons learned:

1. Focus, focus, focus – just drive the plates.
2. Front sight, front sight, front sight.  Stop looking at the damn plate!!
3. Have fun – push your limits,
4. Be happy with a 5.96 for your best run, there’s always next time!

As a side note a new shooter brought his brand new Coonan .357.  HOLY CRAP!!  I acted as Timer/RSO, stood at the shooters 7 o’clock.  The concussion felt like one of those guys you see in early 60s rocket sleds!!  The muzzle flash was long enough and large enough to roast hot dogs!  And the brass was ejected at least 40 feet – it went over our side-wall berms.  I LIKE IT!!  And, it seemed to be a pretty good shooter.

Anyway – my pitch is hit the range, do something different, push your skill set . . . and enjoy!

Basic Prepping - Rope and Knots . . .

 

When a person first begins to express a desire to “tie knots” – it seems like all the local “alchemists” of knot tying come out of the woodwork. They all seem to know the dozens upon dozens of intricate knots and their uses . . . until you actually ask for a demonstration. Then it seems that the actual number that they know dwindles to a handful or so that they use regularly. I find that there are a number of knots I use virtually every time I camp. I’d like to share them with you, take away some of their mystery and show you how I use them. But first, knots are used with rope – let’s spend a bit of time on the different types of rope, those types that you may find useful and how you prepare and maintain them.

A number of materials have been used to make “cordage” that is then woven into rope. In times past these materials have been natural fibers, but the vast majority of today’s rope is made of a synthetic material – typically nylon or some type of polypropylene.

Manila Rope: Still manufactured today, manila rope uses natural fibers in its construction. It has typically found use in salt water areas since it’s

particularly resistant to salt water. And, it can come in diameters from as small as a half-inch to as big as three inches or more in diameter providing a wide range of strengths.. They also have a tendency to weigh significantly more than most of the ropes of a similar diameter that are made with synthetic components.

Poly Rope: This rope is made of synthetic fibers drawn from polypropylene and then woven together. As with all rope – you need to make sure they fit the purpose that you intend on using them for. A poly rope resists damage due to exposure to water, yet

sunlight over time weakens them. They stretch significantly before breaking so if you are using one as a tow-rope, make sure what its max tensile strength is. They are a good general-purpose rope but I find them a bit bulky and “unmanageable” when you go to store them again.

Nylon Cord: Again a nylon cord/rope is composed of fibers drawn from nylon and woven into a cord (small diameter) or rope (larger diameter). I find I use this material

the vast majority of time while camping to secure tarps, tie up canoes or added security for my tent during extreme wind. I typically purchase a 50-foot length of 1/8-inch or ¼-inch rope and cut it into 10-foot lengths since they meet most of my needs. I fuse the ends (more on that in a bit) and store them in a “rope bag” along with stakes for securing one end to the ground. Obviously these sections would do little to tow a trailer or lower a hiker down a canyon wall – but then, that is NOT their purpose. Around the campsite you will find dozen of uses for this type of rope.

Para-Cord: This particular type of cordage has gained tremendous popularity. It is typically seen as one of the risers attached to a single contact point on a parachute.

Today, it is an entity unto itself. To meet MIL-Spec 550 it will contain 7 inner core 100% nylon strands enclosed by a nylon wrap. It is 1/8” to 5/32” in diameter and has a minimum breaking strength of 550 pounds. It’s quick drying and will not mildew. Probably the most common place it is seen today is in Para-Cord survival bracelets that are worn “just in case” the wearer has need of a handy length of rope.

Climbing Rope: Climbing ropes are specifically designed to allow people a level of protection as they climb rock faces. They are composed of nylon

 

strands contained within a protective sheath. They usually have two ratings – dynamic and static. The dynamic rating indicates the total impact force they will take – rated in “kN”, kiloNewtons. Smaller diameter ropes – say 8mm or so – will sustain a total impact force in the neighborhood of 6 kN or 1350 pounds. Larger diameter ropes – 11 mm will go up to 9kN or 2000 pounds. The rope will be rated for a maximum number of “falls” after which the rope should be replaced.

A second rating of a climbing rope is a static rating, the maximum amount of weight a rope can hold – no falling impact included. Small ropes – 9mm or so will hold around 4700 pounds where large diameter ropes – will hold around 7650 pounds.

If you are using a climbing rope to support yourself – pay attention, get a properly rated rope for you weight and activity. It is not the time or place to “go cheap”.

Preparing Rope: This applies typically when you cut a length of rope – say my 10-foot lengths of nylon rope – for use around the campsite. Nylon and poly ropes will quickly fray if you simply cut a length and leave the ends “unprepared”. To properly prepare any poly or nylon rope – you simply “fuse” the cut end. This is done by holding the end

in an open flame until it melts and “fuses” the nylon ends together. The amount of time this takes depends on the diameter of the rope. The open flame from a candle – if you are preparing a number of lengths – or a pocket lighter will do the job.

A second method – typically used on natural fiber rope like Manila rope is called “whipping”.

Whipping Rope: This is done by rapping the exposed in of the rope in small cord in such a way that it secures itself when you are finished. A typical “whipping” process looks like this:

1 - A length of cord is laid along the end. 2 – a loop is formed and the wrapping is begun – outward towards the end of the rope. 3 – the finished end of the wrap is drawn through the loop and 4-the loop is tightened by pulling on the starting end, drawing the finishing end down, into the wrap. The process is finished by cutting both the starting and finishing ends that remain flush with the bottom and top of the wrap.

Once you have selected the type of rope you want/need – there are a couple of very basic knots that I find useful and use frequently. I’m sure everyone has a favorite – feel free to add any that I miss in the comments.

Loop Knot: This is just a simple knot that can be inserted virtually anywhere in a length of rope. I will use them to slip over something, to provide a place that I can run

another length or rope to connect to or to give me the ability to create a larger loop to secure something to – as a canoe. It’s quick, easy and easily untied as well.

Half Hitch: Probably the single most useful knot to learn. I will use this knot to tie to loops, to secure tarps, to tie off canoes – quick, simple, again – easily untied.

Fisherman’s knot: As I said earlier, I will typically carry my rope in 10-foot lengths. When I need a longer rope, this is the knot I use to join two lengths together. I provides you a lot of flexibility in how long of a rope you can create.

Tautline Hitch: This is a favorite when you want to adjust the tension of a length of rope. It’s typically used on tents and tarps.

Bow-Line: A bow-line is a bit more complicated, but is incredibly useful. Its single most useful characteristic is that once tied, it will not tighten further. That’s why it also goes by another name – the “Rescue Knot”.

If you have an injured hiker that has fallen over a cliff and is within reach of your climbing rope, you can lower a rope with this knot on it, have him/her slip their arms and head through it and then pull them up to safety. While they are being lifted, the diameter of the loop will not change insuring you do not hurt them further.

Are there other knots?? On yeah – dozens. But, as a place to start, this handful of knots will allow you to put up tarps, secure tents, secure canoes or boats and rescue a fellow hiker. I suggest you start here – then learn new knots as you find uses for them.

10 – The nickel tour

 

“At least he’s prompt.” E thought as there was a loud knock on their front door.

“Morning Brad, how’s the weather out there?” Catherine asked as she let him in and walked him out to the kitchen.

“Pushing 40 – warm compared to back home. Net says a mix of rain and snow . . . spring in the Midwest !” Brad enjoyed the warm welcome and the smell of fresh cooked bacon even more!

“Grab a chair kid – I’m almost done with the American fries. And grab a cup, the coffee’s hot!” Richard was busy at the stove, E seemed to be setting the table as Gramps and his wife sipped at their cups and read the morning news sites.

As the food was passed and everyone started to eat Richard let his two newest deputies know what their day’s task was.

“Alright you two, this is what I want out of your nickel tour today. I want you to look over our county - roads in, roads out, bridges, communities, rivers . . . but from a tactical point of view. Consider this your primary command area in Africa – how would you defend it? What would your primary defensive positions be? How about the things that should be defended – and those we could let slide a bit? Figure out the size of the force you would need. “ Richard grabbed a small notebook and passed it to E and Brad.

“Here’s your list of what I’ve thought of. Been a while since I’ve been in a firefight, I suspect I’ve overlooked more than a few things. Grab some maps from the office and pick up a couple of carry pieces – Linda has access to the armory. There are a couple standard belts with Glock 21s in them, grab a couple of them.” E and Brad thumbed through the notes while they ate and finished off their coffee.

“What the hell is up pops? What are you thinking? You lookin’ for a shit storm to head our way??” The edge to E’s voice made her concern clear.

“Shit storm? Haven’t heard that phrase since Africa. “ There was just a note of a question in Brad’s voice.

E let out a chuckle – “That’s a Gramp’s story, but Gram tells it MUCH better.” Gramps “harrumphed” while Gram let out a snort and a quick giggle.

“OK – family story Brad. About 10 years ago – early June. We had a heck of a cold front drop out of Canada – took temps down in a heartbeat. Unfortunately we had been having an early heat wave that had settled in from the gulf bringing all its humidity with it. Cold air – hot humid air, not a good combination, we popped a record number of tornados – 4 in our county alone. And one took a walk across our property. Well, Gramps here decided he better take one more pass by the livestock out in the feedlot – make sure they were as secure as they could be. About that time a little twister showed up and dipped its tail in the feedlot. Left all the cattle alone . . . but their manure . . . . mmmmm . . . not so much. It picked up a considerable amount and promptly covered Gramps head to toe. My, my . . . he was a sight. And smell – well pardon the expression but “Holy Cow” did he stink!!!” Gram just couldn’t hold it in, her laughter more a howl than a laugh. Gramps was appropriately embarrassed and assured her the he had plenty of stories about her to share with Brad as well.

“Anyway – the term “shit storm” was born.” Gram wiped her eyes and went back to her coffee, still grinning.

“Ah, it makes sense now. Good story! Good Story.” Brad couldn’t help but grin right along with the rest of the family. Still, he wondered how that phrase had made it to a radio net in Northwest Africa.

“Alright pops, we’re outta here. We’ll check in, you got a freq on the sheriff’s net you want us on?” E was standing, taking her dishes to the sink with Brad close behind.

“I always leave in on 62 kiddo, you know that. I’ve got a hand-held with me; the repeaters should work just fine.” Richard joined the march to the sink with his and Cathy’s dishes as well. “Jeep’s out front.”

E and Brad put on their coats, watch caps, and gloves and headed out the door. E climbed in the driver’s side, Brad took shotgun and the headed to the sheriff’s office. Both were quiet, wondering just what was going through Richard’s mind with this little “nickel tour” as he called it. Their drive was short with E pulling into a parking spot at the foot of the front steps to the county jail/sheriff’s office. A quick jog up the steps took them to the front doors as Linda buzzed them in.

“Morning guys, can I help you?” Linda had been filled on the new deputies; she was just surprised to see them so early on a Saturday.

“Well, the slave driver sheriff gave us a “mission” this morning, wanted us to pick up some county maps and a couple of belts with Glock 21s. No rest for the wicked, as they say.” E was headed to the access door as Linda buzzed them into the office area.

“No problem guys, here are some maps” Linda said as she grabbed a couple folded county maps that detailed everything from the smallest creek to every individual property with call numbers. “The armory is in the back.”

Linda extended her key ring and opened the armory. Brad and E were both surprised at the array of weapons on the walls. Dozens of ARs – both .223 and .308. E spotted a half dozen large caliber rifles including a couple vintage M40s. There were even a couple old Barrett 50 cals. Another wall was covered with plate carriers – all configured for three mags for a carbine and another three for a sidearms. Next to these E spied the gunbelts her dad had mentioned. Looking at their bulk, she opted for an OWB holster for her Glock and stuffed a couple spare mags in her rear-left pocket. Brad followed her example choosing an IWB holster and two spare mags that he slipped in his left coat pocket. Quick signatures on the appropriate property cards and they were finished.

Weapons and maps in hand, E and Brad thanked Linda and headed out to the jeep. A light mist was starting and the temps hovered in the mid-40s. At least they weren’t expecting to spend much time outside the jeep today.

“Ready?” E asked? “Yep . . . . show me my new office!” Brad replied, a little smile crossing his lips.

“Take out your map, I’ll give you a thumb nail sketch while we head to the southwest part of the county.” E said as she started to describe her home. She’d ridden patrol with her dad as a kid. She’d competed against players on various teams from virtually every town whether it was swimming, cross country, track, soccer – she knew every major highway, minor road and even a handful of parking spots young kids went when they thought it was time to become adults.

Following her dad’s outline they inventoried every bridge – major and minor, evaluated the major rivers and minor creeks. Drawing on their military experience they looked for choke points, rises that could be used to defend roads and intersections, depressions that would work as ambushes points. They both realized this task was much bigger than a single “nickel tour”. But, they had gathered enough info that it should help guide future trips for more detailed follow-ups once they had a better idea of the sheriff’s ultimate goals.

“Time for lunch Brad – what you hungry for?” E had noticed that it was well past noon and her stomach was definitely raising an alarm.

“Got a good burger around here?”

“Yep, Mary’s is just the place.” And they were off to a quaint little restaurant that had the best burgers and coconut cream pie in the state – at least in E’s humble opinion.

Brad had been quiet for a bit – as things had been quietly coming together . . . . “shit storm” . . . . channel 62 . . . . . the nagging familiarity of her voice . . . . . suddenly he had it, . . . . he knew. . . .

“Holy shit!! You’re Demon 62!” The surprise in his voice was genuine!

“Excuse me?? How the fuck do you know that!!” It was E’s turn to be totally surprised.

“I was on your op net when you took out Kaheir. I was a platoon sergeant for a rifle platoon about 6 clicks east of LZ Tango. We heard everything . . . . there was no way we could get to you quicker than the cobra. Sorry about your spotter. . . . that was a tough day.” Brad just let the quiet settle back into the jeep.

“That’s it was, that it was!” God, what a small world.

“So how are you – marine to marine – you doing OK?” Brad was looking at the side of her face, watching her body language and wondering how she was coping with the past 10 months or so.

“What can I say – I see Deke way to many nights. The IED? Shit, every time I move I twinge a bit here and there. Life’s a bitch, ya know. Am I a basket case? Fuck no. I’m still a Marine at heart. But it’s past – tears, anger, fear – wasted energy. And watching my dad, listening to the edge in his voice – well, something’s cookin’. I suspect neither of us will have much time to look backwards – ya know?” She looked at him hard and Brad saw a tough woman in control and looking forward. That was all he needed to know.

“Good enough for me E, good enough for me. How far to that burger?”

Dinner was full of banter of two comrades – marines that had met off the battlefield. By its end they knew each other’s history as well as if they had grown up together. They had been tempered on the same battlefield . . . . and it was that tempering that would serve them well in the months that would follow.

Evening approached more slowly than when she had first come home. While the drizzle had lasted most of the day, there was finally a break in the clouds to the far west as they drove up to E’s home. The electricity was obviously out yet again and the glow of Gramp’s kerosene lamps could be seen on the kitchen table. E could see gramps tending a couple Dutch Ovens in the fire pit out back and her mouth started watering.

“You’re in for a treat – Gramps cooks up a mean meal in his old Dutch Ovens!” E shared with Brad. “Hey Gramps – “what’s cookin’?” E asked as they got out of the jeep.

“My world famous chili and some corn bread, it’s almost ready – why don’t you two get cleaned up. Show Brad where the pump is out back.” Gramps turned to lift the ovens off the coals, his face lit by the dying fire.

“Yes Sir!” Looking at Brad – “We have a hand pump on a shallow well out back. Only about 30 feet deep, but it’s the best water, little salty, but it’s my favorite cold drink!” E and Brad headed out back. A couple pumps had a nice flow going. Each got their hands wet, rubbed off the worst dirt and headed into the kitchen through the back porch, Gramps following close behind. He set the Dutch Ovens down on two large hotplates and proudly announced – “Soup’s On!”

Grace was said, bowls passed and shortly each person was working on hearty chili and large chunks of corn bread covered in butter and honey. Richard let the kids get about half their bowls eaten before he asked about their day?

“You two cover a lot of ground today?” He watched for clues on how the day had gone.

“Yes sir, it was an interesting day!” Brad spoke up first, “Nice piece of countryside you have here sir. I think I would categorize this as a preliminary recon – E, smack me if you disagree – but we really need to know what your thoughts and intentions are before we can really take a detailed look. That said, we took notes on the major bridges and roads, creeks and rivers, high spots and places that could be used to boost defensive positions along your roads. And, most importantly – I found the best piece of coconut cream pie on the face of the earth!” Brad ended his review – a smile on his face remembering the desert he had at Mary’s.

“Took him to Mary’s did ya?” Richard smiled at his daughter and at the memory of his last piece of coconut cream pie he had had there as well.

“Yes sir, thought we’d better make a good impression – don’t want you to have to go deputy shopping again!” E took a breath, and look her dad firmly in the eye.

“Alright dad, what’s really going on? Why the hell do you need a tactical evaluation of our county? Obviously you and Gramps have been working on something – have some fears or some clear idea of something coming. What are you up to??” Brad and E each turned their attention to Richard and Gramps. The two men looked at each other, Richard pushed his bowl back and Gramps went out to the fire pit to get the evening’s coffee. When he returned he filled everyone’s cup and looked at Richard.

“Time to let the cat out of the bag son, let’s fill these two in on our plans.” Gramps took his chair, sipped his coffee and waited for Richard to outline his plan.

Richard took his first sip, took a deep breath and then looked at both E and Brad in turn.

“I intend to build and army . . .!”