American Insurgent

by Phil Rabalais

  “You are doing what is necessary. It is bloody and ugly, but necessary. I don’t know if I could do what you and Andy are doing, and I don’t really want to find out. I don’t think I’d sleep for a month if I’d seen the kind of violence you two are seeing every day. All I need to know is what you need from us so you can end this.”

  “Define end this,” John asked.

  “I mean end this. Look, I’ve read so much military history and philosophy since you put me in my place last night, I have a whole new perspective on warfare. The longer this war, and that is what we are engaging in, lasts, the bloodier it will be. The faster we end it, the fewer people will die,” Mark explained.

  “There is some merit to that ideal,” John agreed. “On the other hand, since we are engaging in an outright insurgency, possibly precipitating an all-out rebellion, brutality constrained to our target without collateral damage has the effect of frustrating our enemy. If he lashes out and harms civilians, it pushes more people to our cause. If he measures his strikes, he fails to stop us because we will engage him where he may not engage us.”

  “How did you learn so much about this?” Mark asked.

  John smiled. “Part of it I watched with my own eyes in Iraq. The rest I read in books. Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq, the French Resistance, the Warsaw Uprising; history is littered with examples of numerically smaller forces stymieing larger and better armed forces. But in order to accomplish that hat trick, you have to fight dirty. And that is what we are doing, fighting dirty.”

  “Andy told me last night you said we aren’t the good guys. That really shook me,” Mark replied.

  John sighed. “We aren’t. We aren’t acting like good guys. We aren’t standing up in a field across from the redcoats for a fight with honor. We’re sniping their officers off horseback just like we did two hundred years ago. We’re playing dirty because that’s the only way we win this fight. And we will continue to do so until I get the result I want.”

  “Which is?” Mark asked.

  “Until I have broken that camp down enough to tear it open. Until I have broken their will to fight. Until I have breached the door of that little peckerhead’s office and stomped on his neck with my boot. I will continue until I beat them, or they beat me. Your job is to keep them off my ass and keep my family safe. You fight the information war; I fight the war out there. If you hold up your end, I’ll hold up mine. Anytime you want to switch places, you say the word,” John said matter-of-factly.

  Mark shook his head. “No, John, you’ve made your point. I can’t do what you do, and I won’t question your methods outside this property again. Just tell us what you need, and let’s get this over with.”

  “What I need right now is intel,” John said. “I need to know how much we’ve weakened them, and I need some idea of the layout of that camp. I desperately need to know where the prisoners are so I don’t breach a wall and kill them in the process. A rough schedule of the guard changes or patrols would be awesome. After that, I need to see if we can drum up some support from the local area.”

  “What kind of support?” Mark asked.

  “To pull this off, I’m going to need supplies, vehicles, and maybe a few extra hands. If we manage to take the camp, there are going to be refugees looking for a place to hunker down. And the reprisal from the government very well may be extreme, but we can’t predict that. I’m no Rambo; I can’t assault that camp alone or with just two of us.”

  “Okay, John,” Mark answered smoothly, “let’s see just how much goodwill you’ve won in the local community. Judging by the reports we’ve been intercepting, you and Andy won’t be the only two raising hell out there.”

  Healing Wounds

  The next several days saw a flurry of activity from all parties involved. The reaction at the detention camp bordered on panic. A late night patrol had discovered the body of Agent Johns, shot multiple times in the chest and face, apparently dragged behind a vehicle, and propped up against the front gate with a note on his chest proclaiming:

  “Release your prisoners and walk away, or you all die. No quarter shall be given.”

  Shorts tried mightily to suppress the information, but it rocketed throughout the camp. Several agents resigned on the spot and walked out the front door. Reprisals and threats of jail time had no effect. Some even refused to surrender their government-issued firearms, demanding they needed to protect themselves and insisting the agency could not protect them whether they stayed or left. The agency assets in the New Orleans area were on the verge of complete mutiny. None of this information escaped Mark and Kevin’s information-gathering apparatus.

  “I can’t believe this, Mark, over two dozen agents apparently turned in their immediate resignation and walked out the door. All because of the ‘message’ John and Andy sent. It may have been heavy-handed, but it’s working,” Kevin gushed.

  Mark nodded his head somberly, recalling the conversations of the previous evening and that morning. He and John had come amazingly close to blows, all because he had been unable to see the logic in what John did. John saw the goal, and in his mind the end always justified the means. To desecrate a body and leave it for all the world to see was barbaric, an act no less deserving of the label “terrorism” than anything John had seen in the Middle East. But Mark was forced to admit that in the dangerous game they played, you didn’t gain ground by playing by the rules. Sometimes, it paid off to be the villain, and the agents in the detention camp were justifiably terrified of John and Andy in a way they had not felt since they feared monsters under their beds as children. Those two men had become the face that waited for them in the dark of their nightmares, and the effect it was having on their will to fight was immediate and pronounced.

  “So the time is nearing to end this.” Mark sighed, feeling relief. He longed to answer the question of whether or not his sister, Julie, was safe or even alive. He longed for some peace, even a temporary one, to return to his home. He did not delude himself that the war was over, but hoped that at least this victory would win the battle. But there was much work to do, and he had so little precious energy left. “We need to start putting together supplies and people, get a tactical plan together. John wants to hit the detention camp directly, and the time has to be drawing near.”

  “What does he have in mind?” Kevin asked wearily. He had learned over the past month of his life that where John was concerned, he should expect a fine mixture of ingenuity and brutality.

  “I haven’t asked yet. We both needed coffee, and he needed some time with his family to decompress before we could process all that. We may get started this afternoon or tomorrow. I’m done trying to call the shots. We are in John’s world now,” Mark replied wearily.

  “Mark, I didn’t join this cell to follow John. I joined because I put my trust in you,” Kevin replied uneasily.

  “Then put your trust in him, Kevin, because I am. Every step of the way, that man has proven to be able to act decisively at precisely the right time to advance our goals. His methods are…brutal, to say the least. The devastation he leaves in his wake is hard to stomach. But it is working. In the last thirty days the local agency assets are on the verge of scattering, and in the past two years we barely managed to save a dozen people from these bastards. We weren’t winning the war by ourselves, we were waiting for him. It took me some time to see that, but now I do,” Mark said confidently.

  “He’s no George Washington,” Kevin replied sarcastically.

  “Funny you should mention that, Kevin. I have a book for you to read,” Mark said with a rueful smile.

  In the backyard, John and Rachel sat with Vicky, watching Kay and George play. “John, I said some things last night that I need to apo—”

  “Forgiven.” John cut in with his usual deadpan tone. “What I did is going to give me nightmares for a few days at least. I hope it isn’t longer. I understand how it looks to people not accustomed to it.”

  “But I could have been a bit more tactful,�
�� Vicky insisted.

  “Yes, ma’am, you could’ve been. But to be fair, you’ve never had men in your home who do the sorts of things Andy and I have been doing, and I can sympathize with the shock it caused. Like I said, all is forgiven. I do not make a habit of holding grudges post apology. It just isn’t how I was raised,” John replied with a tone indicating the matter was settled.

  He gazed out across the yard, watching his daughter, seeing glimpses of the happy, carefree child he once knew. The sight of the dead bodies in the doorway of her home had shaken her badly, as had the new surroundings. His leaving for weeks at a time hadn’t helped either, but with his return, she seemed to have suddenly found her old self. He reflected on this with guilt at the thought he would soon be leaving again.

  Rachel squeezed his hand and he glanced over at her. She could read the trouble on his face as if he were an open book, familiarity born from time spent together. “I know you have to go eventually. She does too. We’ll manage till you come back.”

  John nodded, feeling a hole in his chest that must match the one he left behind in his own family when he left the compound.

  “Morning.” Andy yawned, walking out onto the back porch. “Please tell me someone has coffee brewed.”

  “Pot is behind you,” John replied, smiling. His friend’s coffee addiction was nearly the equal of his own. There would be no productivity had from Andy until his blood-caffeine ratio was corrected. Andy filled a mug sitting by the carafe and gingerly padded out to the edge of the deck to join everyone.

  John looked up to his friend’s bleary eyes and asked, “So, what exactly did you say to Mark after I went to bed last night?”

  “I gave him some perspective, John. You know, and I know, the dangerous game we are playing, and the rules. He doesn’t, or more accurately he didn’t. He does now,” Andy said simply.

  John nodded. Mark seemed to have rapidly altered his way of thinking overnight in a way John could not fully attribute to the brutal ass chewing he had doled out. He had gone to bed that night silently cursing himself for losing his temper, though Rachel had accurately pointed out if he really had lost his temper, someone would’ve needed medical attention. Regardless of what had precipitated the shift, John welcomed it. He finally felt like a member of a team, and the work that was about to be undertaken would require the combined efforts of an entire team.

  “Andy, I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I could do with a day or two here to get some wind back in my sails and heal up before we go back out again. Let these ribs heal and remind my family they have a husband and father.”

  “I kinda figured. I could do with a few hot showers and cigars myself. And I would sell a piece of my soul for some whiskey,” Andy replied, deadpan as usual.

  “You know, if you guys ask nicely, I know where Mark hides the booze to keep the kids out of it,” Vicky volunteered.

  John and Andy both regarded her with a smile. John replied, “I accept as long as you aren’t still trying to apologize for last night.”

  Vicky shook her head. “Already issued and accepted. I told your wife weeks ago you three—four were a part of our household as long as you stayed. I’m trying to be a good hostess—when I remember my manners,” she said with a thin smile.

  “Accepted,” Andy replied. Andy turned on his heel to head towards the house to retrieve the whiskey and raid his and John’s dwindling cigar stash, walking right by Mark.

  “How is everyone this morning?” Mark inquired.

  “Fine, Mark, just enjoying a little family time while I can get it,” John replied easily, holding his wife’s hand.

  Mark noted the distinct differences in John’s personality. With his wife and daughter, he was an incredibly gentle, eminently relaxed person. Right before and immediately following an operation, it was as if he were a completely different person: anxious, alert, focused. Mark reflected on the effect being around his own family had on himself, and came to understand a sizable portion of the stress John was feeling spending a week at a time out in the field. John’s family was his comfort, more than any creature comfort his home could offer. The real hardship he felt was not being out in the woods fighting for his life, it was being away from the two people he loved more than life itself.

  “John, I think we can spare a day or two for you and Andy to get some rest. I think we’ll need that much time to get organized for the next phase of our operation, but I did want to share some intel with you later this afternoon when the two of you can spare some time,” Mark said.

  John nodded his head. “We’re thinking along the same lines, Mark. Andy and I have some work and healing to do before we go out again, but we don’t intend to rest on our laurels. Say after lunch?”

  “Sounds good. Is Andy on his way to raid my whiskey and cigars?” Mark questioned.

  “Actually,” Andy replied, walking towards them, “I raided your liquor and my cigars.” Andy passed one to John and offered one to Mark.

  “What exactly do you have in mind, John? I’m guessing our next move is to hit the camp directly?” Mark asked.

  John scratched his chin, a habit he indulged when thinking of how to phrase his words. “When we hit the camp depends on what we can scrounge together, and the layout of the camp and our manpower. We may have to chip away at them a little while longer. One problem is I need to know where the prisoners are and how many other hands I have available before I can really put pencil to paper. You make any headway on that front?” John asked, hoping for positive news.

  “Yes and no. Since you’ve caused so much chaos in the camp, we’ve managed to get drones much closer and get a good layout of the camp. The holding area for prisoners is dead center in the middle of the camp, flanked by barracks for the agents and the admin offices, where we believe Shorts is. Based on his movements, we’re guessing he has a private room in there, that or he’s sleeping on his desk. There’s only one thing that worries me.”

  “You got to wondering why the camp was so small for a metro area?” John asked knowingly.

  “Yeah. Don’t know why it didn’t hit me earlier. We estimated peak strength was about two hundred, maybe two fifty personnel. Based on the size of the holding area, even if they’re stacked up four high in bunks, they can’t be housing more than a hundred people, and that’s really pushing it. Probably more like half of that,” Mark rambled. “But in this area, there’s no way they only grabbed that many people since the searches started. The numbers don’t add up.”

  “Which means one of two things,” John started. “Either this isn’t a final holding area, or they aren’t actually holding prisoners.”

  “What are you saying, John?” Rachel asked, her mind racing. What else were they doing with the people they grabbed if not imprisoning them.

  “I’m saying the scale of this camp, based on the potential population of detainees, follows about the same proportions of either a temporary detention center, or Auschwitz,” John replied flatly.

  A collective gasp was heard, but it was Vicky who spoke first. “You can’t seriously believe they are just executing people.”

  “No, actually, I don’t. I think those trucks we mistook for supply trucks aren’t supply trucks at all. They are prison transports. Which means tomorrow when it shows up, I need you to track it one way or the other to wherever it goes. Wherever they are bussing people, that’s our next target after we put this detention camp out of business.” John looked up at Mark. Mark could almost see the thoughts dancing behind those eyes. John had a hunch, but not one he cared to volunteer without evidence.

  “Got it. We’ll get ’em. To answer your other question, I have a few volunteers from the local area. Small world, one of them is our random hitter from the other night,” Mark said, the humor obvious in his voice.

  “You’re shitting me,” Andy exclaimed.

  “Nope. We know him, kind of a friend of a friend. When we reached out to him and some other guys, he told us about what happened. Imagine his surprise
when he found out someone finished the job he started,” Mark explained. “He’s in, all the way. He’s kind of a loner, old-school prepper, lives on a homestead out in the sticks. He was a local firefighter for decades before he got sick of the fed trying to involve local LEOs and first responders in reporting and seizing firearms, so he told them to cram it and retired. Friend of his was a retired police officer who got nailed after doing some plinking at his private range. That’s why he took a shot at your guy last night.”

  “Well, if we can count on a couple of willing hands, then I have one hell of an idea. Is there a Tractor Supply or similar in the local area?” John asked.

  “Our neighbors are pretty well outfitted. Anything else we need I can get in town. What’re you planning, John?” Mark asked, his curiosity piqued.

  “Remember the Oklahoma City bombing?” John replied, grinning.

  Later that afternoon, John, Andy, Mark, and Kevin sat in the living area discussing the plan that was brewing. Mark had gone into town, scoured used-car lots, and found a well-used fifteen-passenger van for peanuts, being sold without title for parts, then brought it back to the compound for Andy and John to look over. Even without registration or any paper trail tracing the van to them, they still opted to take a chisel and hammer and stipple every VIN and serial number they could find throughout the entire vehicle. They then jettisoned the seats and most of the interior; then John put some of his woodworking experience to use and built a wall behind the driver and passenger seats. This they reinforced with sandbags, and they securely glued and screwed several inches of plywood to the floor, walls, and ceiling of the vehicle, and added more sandbags and more wood to hold it all in place.

  Mark and Kevin kept out of their way, only volunteering tools and muscle for some of the heavier tasks. It also became apparent John would have to add some helper springs to the van’s rear suspension to cope with the additional weight. A visit to a nearby farmer netted sufficient fertilizer to fill a sizeable portion of the van. After adding a few items, John had constructed a sizeable enough portion of ANFO to suitably breach the compound.