“Rachel didn’t grow up shooting scary black rifles in her rural hometown; she grew up sitting in deer stands with her father. That rifle was the first firearm more potent than a BB gun she was given as a teenager, and she’s attached to it. I’m not a huge fan, tends to jam if I don’t religiously scrub out the chamber after use, but .30-06 makes an impression, and she is surgical with it,” John replied as he followed Mark to the workshop. Once there, he found a bench not unlike the one he left at home (another pang of pain), constructed solidly of four-by-four legs, two-by-fours, and decked in plywood. It was sturdy, all business, and showed the stains of gun oil and carbon from use. “Do you guys get a chance to do any shooting? I mean, you’re way out in the sticks, but, hell, someone would have to be deaf not to hear the sounds of gunfire,” John asked.
“We don’t have many neighbors this far out, and the few we do have plenty of guns and no love for the government. They would no sooner turn me in than themselves. The only reason you got hit today is because you live in the suburbs. They haven’t made their way this far out in the country yet,” Mark said easily. “Talk me through what you have here. A Remington 74 Auto in .30-06, I don’t recognize your sidearm, and that AR has to be homebuilt.”
“This is a CZ P-09. Double action/single action, 9 mm, polymer frame. It’s a service gun, four-and-a-half-inch barrel with nineteen-round magazines; then I added the Surefire X300 tactical light to it and plus-two base pads to the magazines. Twenty-one rounds plus one in the chamber makes for one hell of a potent bedside gun. I built this AR a while back, rifle-length gas system and buffer, fixed stock, eighteen-inch barrel. I stuck a light on the front, red dot sight and a magnifier. I figured I wanted something that would be a modernized M16A2 like what I was issued when I enlisted, so I opted for something that would work from point-blank range out to about three hundred yards. I could’ve put a magnified optic on it, but that makes short-range shooting a little trickier. If I need something with more range, I have a bolt gun that’ll put three rounds on top of each other at a hundred yards,” John explained as he started breaking down and stripping the guns with a practiced hand. “I never did care much for Glocks or other striker-fired handguns. Got my start with a 1911 and always like the way a good trigger on a hammer-fired gun felt. Once I fell into CZs, I was hooked.”
Mark listened as he pulled out some cleaning supplies. John had his own preferences, but beggars can’t be choosers, and he accepted Mark’s offer of supplies and help. The two lit their cigars and enjoyed a moment of silence while they let their hands and the task at hand occupy their minds.
Neither man needed to tell the other they were using this chore as an excuse to keep busy and keep their minds off the uncertainty they felt about what would transpire in the next eight hours while the messages fanned out to the other cells. They had no choice but to impatiently wait to see if the other cell leaders would accept their decision and agree to assist, or if they would leave them to fight this newest battle alone. Mark urged optimism. John was not an optimist. He was a hard worker, but he was also a man who prepared himself emotionally for the worst-case scenario at all times, and his mind worked feverishly to consider his next course of action should this one sour suddenly.
“I won’t ask why you’re doing this, helping us. I figure you’re either completely insane or an ardent ideologue. I do feel compelled to ask how far you are prepared to go to see this through. This fight could get awful bloody, and if you aren’t ready to march that road, I need to know now,” John said suddenly.
Mark regarded his guest, almost let his outrage get the best of him, and realized another piece of John’s puzzle. He and his family were already neck-deep in a bad situation, and he was counting the pros and cons of staying with Mark and his group. He was also giving Mark an out if he didn’t want to put his family in harm’s way. John needed his help terribly, but not at the expense of their lives unless Mark was committed. John wasn’t doubting Mark’s commitment, he was expressing clear concern for Mark’s well-being and, more importantly, for his family’s.
“I don’t doubt you, Mark. I just know it would hollow me out if anything happened to my wife and daughter. I don’t want anything to happen to yours either. And after what I did this morning, I might as well be a pound of plutonium. Anyone who takes my family in is in danger. You have to know that, and what could happen,” John explained.
Mark reflected on John’s candor and found little to argue with. He had accepted the loss of his freedom and his estate when he decided to help John’s family. He expected to have to spend an inordinate amount of his inheritance and wealth to keep his family out of prison. He had not considered that the price to pay might be their own lives. His mind tried to wrap around this thought, he and found it difficult to believe the situation was even that dire. “Are you suggesting that if we were discovered, we would not be taken into custody but simply executed?” Mark asked, careful not to inject the disbelief he felt into his words.
“I think,” John answered, “their next move will broadcast their intentions loud and clear. They didn’t come to my door with a clipboard to conduct a compliance check; they knocked my door off its hinges and came in with M4s at low ready. That isn’t how you deescalate a situation. Neither do you raid a compound with a hundred guys with MP5s, or shoot a man’s wife with a sniper rifle. Those are the sorts of operational postures meant to beat your opponent into submission, not give them the opportunity to come quietly.”
“And what would you have done if they had politely knocked on the front door?” Mark asked.
“I would have left the door locked and let the little pecker necks figure out their next move. Like refusing to speak to a police officer without your lawyer. If they forced entry, they were mine. If they had not, they would still be on their merry little way to stomp the next citizen’s rights and have a beer after work. What happened is simply a reaction. They attacked; I hit them back when they weren’t ready for it. My worry is they may respond by driving that door down with guns blazing on the next guy.”
And that was another thought Mark had not considered, that the reaction to John’s attack and Mark’s attempt to shield him from the agency’s eyes would result in their posture becoming MORE aggressive rather than less. If the agency reacted by doubling down instead of backing down, then John was right; everyone would end up dirty when this was over.
As if on cue, Kevin walked into the workshop. John’s mind, as it tended to, seemed to freely analyze and file away details…like the fact that no one he had seen on this compound carried a firearm. He intended to carry his sidearm at a minimum and hoped that wouldn’t be a point of contention. It would be something he would have to bring up delicately to his new hosts. Kevin began, “We’ve gotten some preliminary responses from the other cells. A lot are quiet, which means they either haven’t checked their encrypted email yet, or they are considering the information. Some of these cells operate via strict democracy, and those will take some time to come to a conclusion. More cells than I had hoped for gave the green light, mostly the ones farther out in the country in their respective areas. But we may have a problem…”
“The cells in the urban city centers,” Mark finished. “They feel the pressure the most because they are closest to the detention centers, closest to the center of the search webs.”
“And they’re the ones who probably shrugged their shoulders at every infringement up to the last one,” John snarled. His anger was evident; it spread out across the room like a fogbank, clinging to every surface. “It was always the but’ers: ‘I support the Second but…’ They would beat the drum for the Second Amendment one day, then say ‘we have to be reasonable’ the next. Fair-weather friends sold us out every time we needed them to hold the line on gun rights. Then when the Second Amendment got totally repealed, gone, most gun owners looked around and shrugged their shoulders like it never mattered in the first place!” John’s fist came thundering down on the workbench.
�
��Kevin, do we have enough support to move forward without those cells?” Mark inquired.
“I don’t know, Mark. The urban-center cells have access to a huge population of potential holdouts, and they are right in the areas we need for AM/FM broadcast and pirate cable channels to try to warn people right where the searches are taking place right now. If we don’t get them, we might end up pushing a rope,” Kevin replied.
“So what will it take to get them up off their asses?” John snarled. “Those weren’t the Girl Scouts who showed up on my doorstep this morning, and you can’t even try to convince me mine was the first house they pulled this act on. They aren’t conducting searches and compliance checks, they are wholesale breaking into people’s homes with guns drawn! When will enough be enough?!”
“Listen, John—” Marked started and was curtly cut off.
“No, you two answer me one question. What has happened to the other gun owners on the naughty list? The ones who do come quietly and don’t smoke check their attackers? They get a slap on the wrist? A finger wagging? Pay some fines? You had a drone above my house BEFORE you knew I intended to fight, that means you’ve been watching them too. Tell me what happened to everyone else!”
Mark hesitated just long enough for John to read his eyes, and he read John’s. John suspected he knew the answer to the question, and Mark was about to confirm John’s worst fears. “Most of the time the entire family is hauled off to a detention camp; kids go with a CPS worker. We’ve tried to get close enough to see what’s happening in the camps, but our drones got knocked out several times. The agency’s control over those sites, even their immediate airspace, is total. We know where they are, but nothing of the living conditions. Some citizens were beaten before being taken, a few severely.”
“Go on,” John said coldly.
“Some were killed, even when they didn’t fire a shot.” Mark sighed.
“And you knew, and you sat here and did nothing. And these other cells knew and have likewise sat on their asses. These jackbooted thugs are imprisoning and murdering people for exercising the rights promised to them by their country, and no one seemed to get upset enough to raise a finger. And now,” John said levelly, “you two are surprised they don’t want to get their hands dirty when an honest-to-God war is about to break out?!”
Mark and Kevin could not meet John’s gaze. The cold fury, indignation, and raw anger in his eyes was the most incredible thing they had ever seen. He looked like a wild animal finally out of his cage and ready to hunt.
The Caged Tiger
Rachel found her husband finishing his cigar on the back porch. She thought she heard him yell and started walking back towards the house to find him there. His body was tight, shoulders hunched forward, the knuckles of one hand near white while the others fought mightily not to crush the cigar it held. She did not have to ask if something was bothering him, or what. She only had to sit next to him and lay a hand gently across his shoulders for him to let it out.
“It’s worse than I thought. They aren’t just arresting people for trial, they’re rounding up entire families and hauling them off to detention camps. Like this is Communist Russia, for God’s sake! How in the hell do people stand for this? When were their neighbors or friends going to stand up and demand justice for these people? It’s like the country I knew is gone, and all the people with the balls to do the right thing are already gone,” John said, his tone halfway between a cry of despair and a sigh of resignation. She could feel how alone he felt.
“What is happening?” Rachel asked.
“The other cells are in disagreement about whether or not to proceed,” John replied. “The ones out here in the country, like Mark’s, are ready to go; the assholes in the cities don’t want to get their hands dirty. Isn’t that how it was a decade ago when we were still fighting for gun rights? It was always these clowns in urban areas, the but’ers and ‘law-abiding gun owners,’ who kept demanding we hard-core gundamentalists stop making them look bad. Sit down, stop making people scared, obey the law, and look where that got us. Second Amendment repealed, and now anyone who didn’t kiss the government’s ass and pass over the guns willingly is being sent off to the gulag, and STILL they don’t seem to care enough to stand up and fight!”
“What about Mark?” Rachel asked.
“What about him? He knew all of this was going on. Was he in that house with us to help when the rubber hit the road? Was he out marching the streets with a rifle? Did he go assault these camps?”
“Is that what you want to do?” Rachel gasped.
John sighed. “Yes and no. I don’t know what to do. I want to go back in there and tear Mark’s and Kevin’s heads off and stuff them into each other’s hind ends for sitting here in the safety of their little compound while people are hauled off to camps, but I can’t blame them. I said for years, one man shooting is a nutcase, a hundred is an insurrection, ten thousand is a revolution. They would have been cut to pieces if they were the only guys doing it. Still, I’m angry, and that’s why I came out here, to think and get ahold of myself.”
Rachel chuckled under her breath. “You threw something, didn’t you?” She knew her husband and his proclivity for explosive anger. He wasn’t by nature a violent person, preferring to take his frustration out on inanimate objects rather than people. He had practically turned throwing tools into an Olympic sport over the years, or offending parts if they were light enough for him to shoulder.
“Yeah, I don’t think Mark will make a habit of leaving hammers lying around on his bench after having me for a houseguest. What do I do, honey? I have to figure out some way to get these guys off the bench and in the game, or we’re just spinning our wheels. If they don’t join us and bombard the citizens with the truth, the agency is apt to release their own statement and use what we did against the Minutemen. That will justify an even more heavy-handed tactic than what they are already using. What I did will get more people hurt unless I can convince these people the time to fight is right the hell now.”
Rachel reflected. This was not a battle to be won through yelling, but through negotiation. What they needed to do was to court the other cells, not shame them…though a little shame might not hurt. They were all idealists at heart; otherwise they would not have undertaken this endeavor. Perhaps if an appeal to the safety of the people would not rally them, a slight wound to their pride might.
“Does Mark have some system to communicate simultaneously to all of the cells?” Rachel asked.
“He would almost have to,” John replied.
“Then why not talk to them? I don’t want to watch my husband march off to get shot any more than the next person, and you almost have me convinced that’s what needs to be done. Maybe you can get them to join us, with a little persuasion and coaching.”
“Use honey before vinegar, huh, honey?” John smiled.
“Of course, love, that’s how I get you to see things my way most of the time.” Rachel smiled. She kissed her husband and hugged him, as much to reconnect as to reassure him. She could always calm the storm that was her husband; it was one of the reasons he married her. And in those times she could not calm that storm, she could at least redirect it, just as she was doing now. His frustration was only due to a lack of direction, and setting him on a path to victory was all that was needed to change his entire personality.
And so John, now with a purpose, stood and turned to face the house and was looking right into the faces of Kevin and Mark. “Listen, guys, I need to apologize—”
“You don’t owe us an apology. We’re all frustrated. We just don’t all react by hurling tools through drywall,” Mark said without a trace of anger. He was grinning.
“Well, I behaved like an ass and took it out on you guys. My wife is right; we need to garner the Minutemen’s full support to this new cause. Do you have some method of simultaneous secure comms with them? Something other than encrypted email?” John inquired.
Mark glanced to Kevin. “We do have
a system, but it’s been used very sparingly. As secure as it is, a continuous signal is easier to trace and find, no matter how many other networks we bounce it through. If someone is looking for it, they’ll find it eventually,” Kevin explained. “The question is, is it worth the risk? What do you have in mind?”
“I’m going to do exactly what I spent years doing before I went silent. I’m going to do my best to rally your people…our people. They have to see that the present course is not yielding the desired result. Some won’t support us no matter what, but if I can convince the majority our course of action is the proper one and the naysayers aren’t yielding any outcome, we have a chance,” John replied. “And if I’m not the one to convince them, I’ll yield to you, Mark, but someone has to try. We’re sitting ducks here without their support.”
Mark nodded. “No, I think you are the one to speak to them, and this system was set up years ago for just such an eventuality.”
Now, John thought, what button do I have to push to get these guys in this game?
In, or Out
John started into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Minutemen, my name is John Arceneaux. This morning I received a call on my phone, like thousands you people have made to try to warn those gun owners who have not yet turned over their arms of the danger that was approaching their door. In many cases, you have assisted these people in escaping to parts of the country where the raids have not reached, or integrated them into your organization. Mark issued me just such a call this morning, only I did not run. I had heard rumors of the confiscations and the incarcerations and the abuses heaped upon people by these agents, and I had decided years ago I had had enough of it. Three years ago, I decided not to comply with their laws, their registration, their bans, and I hid my gun safe behind a false wall in my closet. I won’t go into details, but suffice to say I had enough firearms and ammo in that safe to ensure I would never again see daylight were I caught and tried. I cast my lot that day, and when the day came to stand and fight or bow, I fought.
American Insurgent Page 5
