by Kyle Pratt
Franklin aimed at the man holding Davis but never had a clear shot.
Then the enemy, along with Davis, disappeared amid the trees and shrubs.
“Hold your fire,” Franklin shouted. Then he stared into the forest and whispered, “You won’t get away. We know where you’re going.”
As he left the forest near the site of the ambush, Franklin cursed. Four nervous police officers pointed guns at him from behind a truck and two squad cars. The men ranged from young to an older man with wrinkled skin, bulky frame, and salt-and-pepper hair. Another six civilians, both men and women inched out of hiding. Two had rifles, the others didn’t.
“Stop!” Salt and Pepper ordered. “Drop your weapons.”
Keller and the two squads with him jogged along the highway toward the nervous group.
Franklin held up his hand, signaling Keller to stop. Then Franklin said to Salt and Pepper, “We’re the good guys. We’re after that militia group.”
“How can I be sure?”
Franklin gazed at his soldiers in a semicircle surrounding most of the civilians and police. “Well, if we were the militia that attacked you, I think you’d all be dead by now.”
Salt and Pepper followed Franklin’s gaze. “Your point is taken.” He eased his weapon lower. “I’m Lieutenant Crowley with the Linn County Sheriff’s Office. My officer friends here are with the Lebanon City Police. We were bringing food and water for our families and neighbors when they attacked.”
Franklin passed his rifle to another soldier and walked down the knoll. Standing near Crowley, he slowly pulled out his ID and passed it to the officer.
Crowley looked it over, passed it back, and then they shook hands.
“The militia is heading south.” Franklin pulled out a map and pointed to the area. “If you’re going in this general direction, we can escort you.”
“Yes.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed as he studied the chart. “We’re headed back to a neighborhood in south Lebanon.”
Engine oil and coolant linked from both police cars and bullets had flattened three tires of one van. After moving supplies to the other trucks, the remaining vehicles took position at the end of the convoy as it continued south. Minutes later, just outside of town, a group of men, women, and children waved frantically at the convoy.
Franklin ordered the vehicles to stop. “Soldiers, deploy with your weapons.”
Hansen stopped the Humvee. “They don’t look dangerous.”
“After all we’ve been through, I’m not taking the chance.” Franklin stepped from the vehicle.
“People with guns tried to kill us,” a man in his thirties shouted and gestured to Keller, still in his vehicle. A dozen men, women, and children stood nearby.
Franklin strode toward the group. “Where were you attacked?”
One woman stood close beside the man as he pointed toward Lebanon. “It was in a park in town.”
“Show me.” Franklin unfolded his map.
The man pointed. “This is where it happened.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“Not much really. I was asleep and all of a sudden there was a lot of shooting and screaming. I grabbed my wife and kids and ran. All of us did.”
Others nodded agreement.
“But … there was a neighbor boy with us,” the woman said and then paused for a long moment. “We can’t find him.”
“We’re headed that way.” Franklin folded his map. Could the militia be the attackers in the park? He shook his head. The group they were following would still be en route to Lebanon. Whoever attacked here had been in town before dawn. “We’ll see what we can find out.” But he didn’t want to delay long. They needed to free Davis and neutralize the militia group. Since they had left Salem, a plan had formed in his mind, but they needed to get ahead of these thugs. They needed to keep moving. “Mount up!”
The convoy continued its trek into town, but before the park, Franklin ordered them to stop. From there he deployed the men in two groups to flank any shooters still in the area.
Minutes later, from the woods just outside the park, Franklin looked through binoculars. One man, carrying a shotgun and with a dog on a leash, walked casually from body to body while a brunette-haired woman screamed and cried nearby. He pressed transmit. “Does anyone have eyes on a threat?”
“Negative,” a corporal responded over the radio.
The speaker crackled again. “Just a crying woman, a guy with a dog, and several bodies.”
Franklin nodded and pressed transmit. “Drivers, pull your vehicles forward. Squads, keep watch on the perimeter. I’ll handle the man.” He signaled for Hansen and Braun to advance with him. As they cleared the woods, he shouted, “Halt! Put your hands up!”
The trucks rumbled into view.
The man turned as if to run but then stopped and raised his hands.
The dog barked wildly and Hansen aimed his rifle at the animal.
Franklin didn’t want any shooting at man or beast, but before he could say anything to the soldier, the civilian lowered his arm. Franklin tensed and gripped his pistol.
“No!” The muscles in his neck and jaw tensed as he pulled the dog close. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Hand over the shotgun and tie the dog to the tree,” Franklin ordered.
The civilian handed the gun to Braun and tied the animal to a nearby tree. Braun frisked the man and pulled a pistol from his jacket.
“Aren’t you well-armed?” Franklin asked sarcastically as he examined the well-oiled Sig P250 pistol. “Did you kill these people?”
“No!” The man shook his head. “Of course not. I’m just trying to get home, Major.”
“Sure looked like you were trying to get away.” Franklin waved his hand. “Come with us.”
The civilian fixed his gaze on the officer. “Am I under arrest?”
“No.” Franklin gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to waste time arguing so he stepped close and, in his most authoritative voice, said, “But the state is under martial law so not doing what I say could get you arrested—or shot.”
“What about my dog?”
“I guess freedom for both of you depends upon your answers,” Franklin said flatly. “Were you in the service?”
“Yes. Four years enlisted in the navy.” The man glanced back at the dog. “How did you know?”
“You got my rank right.”
As they walked away, the dog whimpered.
Two soldiers from the armory group led the hysterical woman back toward the convoy.
“No!” She shouted and struggled with the men, then pushed one and bit the other on the arm.
The soldiers threw her to the ground with a thud, yanked her wrists to her back, and zip-tied them. Then they pulled her upright. Blood flowed from her nose and lips.
Franklin stared at the giggling woman and then the soldiers. Two days of combat had left him suspicious and edgy. All these young soldiers were tense and the woman might be crazy. Franklin looked at the man they had just taken into custody. His eyes were wide with fear.
“What do you need to know?” the man asked.
Franklin ignored the question and, as they neared the convoy, turned to a private. “If he tries to escape, stop him but try not to kill him. I want answers.”
“Yes, sir.”
The private looked more like a boy with his first gun than a combat veteran. Franklin nodded and walked away. He wasn’t too worried about the young soldier shooting an unarmed man. He had meant the “try not to kill him” comment as a caution to the prisoner to stay put.
Ten yards away, Franklin approached Crowley and another police officer. “I think whoever launched this attack has moved on.”
Crowley glared at the prisoner. “Is he one of the attackers?”
“I don’t think so, but I’ll talk with him before we continue south.”
With a deep breath, Crowley seemed to let the anger flow out of him. “Our families are probably worried about us. We’ll be
heading home.”
They shook hands and then the police and civilians departed.
Franklin spread his map on the tailgate of one of the trucks and, with an elbow on one end and a hand on the other, bent over to hold the paper down against the breeze while he studied it. Thanks to Dick, they knew the location of the militia compound. If the militia remained on foot, Franklin felt confident that his soldiers would stay ahead of them. The group that attacked this park seemed much more professional than the group they fought last night and this morning. Franklin let out a low groan at the thought of fighting two militias.
After several more moments of study, he stood straight and rubbed his back. Sleeping in a Humvee had left him tired and sore.
“Could you use a table and chair?” Keller and Private Braun offered up a camp table and several folding chairs. “We found these.”
“That’ll make this much easier.” Franklin pointed to a group of nearby trees. “Set them up over there.” He sat at the table and looked again at the map but soon turned away with a sigh. He needed more information. Addressing Braun, still nearby, he called, “Private, bring the prisoner and his belongings to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Franklin folded his map and anchored it to the table with a stone. He would start the interview the same way he had with Dick. Franklin didn’t think this new man was involved in the attack here, but the man’s willingness to talk and the answers he provided would guide the questioning.
Braun and another soldier escorted the prisoner to where Franklin sat. The private held out his hand. “Sir, the prisoner had this small knife in the bag but no other weapons or suspicious items.”
Franklin took the knife, examined it, and set it on the table. He hoped the blade wouldn’t be needed. “My name is Major Franklin.” He gestured for the man to sit in one of the empty chairs.
“Neal.” The chair rocked on the uneven ground. “Uh, Neal Evans.”
Franklin gave a slow nod and allowed a slight smile. This interview was already off to a better start. “Since the solar storm, we’ve had problems with looters and the general criminal element. We’ve had a particularly bad time with one militia group that has been raiding and killing in this area.”
“I have nothing to do with them or what happened here.”
“I don’t think you do either, but somehow everyone else in that park ended up dead or crazy.” He leaned forward. “So, tell me what happened. Who was in the park when you arrived?”
“Thirty, maybe forty, men, women, and children.”
“Were they armed?” Franklin wrote the numbers on a yellow legal pad. “Did there appear to be any military organization?”
“No. They seemed like a bunch of refugees.”
Franklin made notes for his next report. “Go on.”
“Later, eight men came into the meadow. They looked like a biker gang, minus the bikes. I thought they might be a problem.”
“Where were you when they arrived?”
“In the trees just to the west.” Neal pointed to where he had camped. “Anyway, after a while things settled down, and I fell asleep. Just before dawn, rapid gunfire erupted. I stayed low until there was enough light to see.”
“So, all the shooting happened while it was still dark?”
Neal nodded. “I think they must have had night-vision gear. They killed the bikers in seconds. I think the other bodies in the meadow were collateral damage.”
Calling the dead civilians collateral damage surprised Franklin, even if it was an accurate description. Had the world changed so much in three days? Apparently. Franklin jotted more notes for his report.
“Please, you’ve got to believe me. I’m just trying to get home. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I believe you.” Franklin slid the knife back to Neal. It seemed probable he was telling the truth and so Franklin decided to release him, but use Dick as a final test. “Will you be going through Portland?”
“You’re letting me go?”
Franklin nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll need to go through parts of the city.” A smile grew on Neal’s face. “I’ll probably avoid the downtown area. Can you tell me what the situation is in Portland now?”
Franklin shook his head. “I wish I knew. My family lives there.” For the next couple of minutes, he wrote. Then he sealed each of two pages in its own envelope and wrote on the covers. Holding one up, he said, “This is for my commanding officer in Portland. If you make it there, I’ve asked him to provide you safe passage through the city.”
“Thank you. Who is the other letter for?”
“My wife and children. Please let them know that I’m okay.”
When Neal walked out of hearing range, Franklin sent for Keller. “Take a couple of soldiers and walk Dick past Neal as he’s leaving. Mention Dick’s real name, Richard Harlin, as you go by and keep a close eye on both of them. If either reacts, arrest Neal.”
“We gave Neal his weapons back.”
Franklin nodded. “Hopefully Neal and Dickey don’t know each other, but if either does react, arrest Neal if you can, kill him if you must.”
Day Four
Linn County, Oregon, Wednesday, September 7th
Franklin stood by the trucks watching as his soldiers rained bullets on the civilians in the meadow.
No!
Dick stood in the center of the clearing with his bloody hand held high above his head. As the rounds hit closer Neal wandered in the meadow. He walked by and Dick smiled at him.
Gunfire mowed them both down.
No!
He thought the words, but he couldn’t say them.
The crazy woman laughed as she strolled aimlessly among the dead. Guns thundered and she fell giggling and bleeding to the ground.
No! He tried to shout the command, but it remained just a thought, leaving him a mute witness as the carnage continued.
General Gordon and Private Davis sprinted out of the forest. Muzzle flashes lit the night and they fell in bloody heaps.
Next, Franklin’s son, James, ran out of the trees on the far side of the meadow. His son sped ever closer, dodging bullets that pinged and ricocheted around him.
Franklin reached out his hand and then a single round struck James in the chest and he fell.
Thud.
Franklin bolted awake.
“Sorry for the bump, sir.” Corporal Hansen downshifted. “We turned on to the side road. The ambush position is about a mile ahead.”
“Thank you, Corporal.” A dream. It had all been a dream. No, another nightmare. Franklin took a deep breath, rubbed his face and eyes.
Most of the people Franklin recognized in the dream: his son, Neal, even the crazy woman, and Dick, were probably fine, or as fine as they could be. Unfortunately, the only people he could check on right now were Dick and the woman. Keller had reported that Dick had been complaining about his hand when he passed near Neal, but neither gave any notice of the other. Dick was probably still whining in one of the trucks behind him and the woman was probably giggling or crying.
But what about Neal? Franklin hoped that Neal would soon reach Portland, deliver the messages, and head on home.
“Fork in the road.” Keller’s voice came over the radio.
“Convoy, halt,” Franklin ordered. “Soldiers, deploy with weapons.” The ambush would take place just over the next hill.
Hansen stopped the Humvee and Franklin pushed the nightmare from his mind as he exited. The trucks pulled up one fork of the road into the darkness as the soldiers formed up along the pavement edge of the other road.
“Get the squad leaders and meet me on the top of that hill,” Franklin pointed and then strode across the road and into the forest. Reaching the crest of the knoll, he scanned the valley below in the dim light of a crescent moon. The area appeared much as he had envisioned from his map. The road curved around the hill and then dropped into a narrow river valley. A two-lane bridge provided the only dry way across the water.
“It’s me, sir, Keller. The squad leaders are coming. I thought I’d keep watch while you planned.”
“I’m pretty much done with planning.” But Franklin continued to study the surrounding terrain for a moment and then pulled his map and two hand-drawn diagrams from a pocket as the final element of his plan took shape.
When everyone had arrived, Franklin gathered them near as he pointed to the valley. “This is where we fight. Keller, take three squads to the other side and get cover and camouflage along both sides of the road. Then, when all of the militia thugs are on the west side of the river, I’ll give the command to open fire.”
Keller pointed to the bridge. “They’ll want to retreat back across it.”
“They’ll be very exposed if they do,” Franklin said. “I’ll remain on this side with one squad and block the bridge. I’ll radio for the Humvees to rush up and provide additional cover.”
“What about Private Davis?” Corporal Hansen asked in a worried tone. “We’re going to be shooting in her direction.”
“I hope the militia arrives after dawn so we can spot her more easily or that they surrender quickly.” Franklin bit his lip. Neither seemed likely. “She’s a soldier. She’ll need to help us help her.”
Hansen still looked worried, and Franklin wasn’t happy with his answer so decided to change the subject. He pointed to a diagram of the militia compound. “Dickey says that only the women were left to guard the place. Apparently, these candidates for the Sovereign Militia are very patriarchal. After we’re done here, we’ll confirm that.”
“Who drew the map, sir?” Keller asked.
“Dick,” Franklin said. “Good thing I didn’t stab his writing hand.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Of course not, but I’m certain that he doesn’t want me mad either. Does everyone understand the plan?”
“Yes, sir.” Keller looked at the battle map and then gestured across the river. “You want me and three of the squads under cover just inside the forest on the west bank.”
“Yes.” Franklin folded his maps. “We have only enough night-vision gear for me, the senior NCO, and the squad leaders. Make sure you get a set and deploy with your squads.”
