by Glen Tate
Rebuild. That’s what we can do together, Grant thought. He smiled. He knew how this was going to end. Well. That’s how it was going to end. After a bunch of pain and misery.
Grant was excited for the future. That’s right: excited for the future. He hadn’t felt that way in a few years. Now he wanted to get the war over with and start the rebuilding. He couldn’t wait to have a thousand amazing experiences like this Thanksgiving.
“Is everything okay?” Kathy asked.
“Yeah, sure, why?” Grant asked.
“You got real quiet all the sudden and just started staring off into space,” she said. “Is this not enough food?”
Grant laughed. “Oh, no, it’s plenty. I was just … well, I was just so thankful.”
“There will be a lot of that today,” Kathy said. “That’s why we’re doing all this.” Yes, that’s right, Grant thought. That was exactly why they were doing this.
Some vehicle headlights were coming up to them. Someone was parking off to the side of the building near them. Kathy walked over and looked.
“It’s Rich,” she said. Grant looked at his watch. It was 4:58 a.m.
Grant heard men jumping out of the truck. The gravel they landed on made that distinctive crunch sound. He heard familiar voices. It was the Team. That must be who was going to take the food to the “rental team.”
“Over here, guys,” Kathy said. The Team huddled under the cover of the eaves of the Grange building.
“Whoa,” Ryan said, pointing at all the food.
“You are kidding me,” Wes said with his North Carolina drawl. “Y’all cooked that? Overnight?”
Kathy just nodded with a giant grin. This was better than cooking for a wedding. This was the best cooking she’d ever done. The day was already magic. And it wasn’t even 5:00 a.m. yet.
“Holy …” Pow said, and then caught himself before he swore in front of Kathy. “Toledo,” he said.
“Can you weak girly men pick up these heavy coolers of food and get them in the truck?” Grant asked. “Or does a wussy lawyer have to do all the work here?”
They started loading the food into the back of Rich’s truck. They all had ARs and kit, except for Rich, who just had his pistol. But the Team had become accustomed to loading things with their ARs slung on them. They had those awesome SKT slings that cinched up tightly against their bodies and didn’t let their rifles flop around. A quick tug of a small release strap and the sling opened up into the regular length for aiming.
Loading took a while because there was a tremendous amount of food. When they were done loading, there wasn’t any room in the back of the truck for the guys to ride.
“Someone find us another truck for you guys to ride in,” Grant said.
“Aye, aye, Lieutenant,” Ryan said—and then realized what he’d just said.
“Lieutenant?” Kathy asked. “When did they start calling you that?” Kathy was sharp. Nothing got past her.
“It’s just a joke,” Ryan said. “We tell Grant that the only reason he gets any breaks is that he ‘outranks’ us.”
“Oh,” Kathy said. That didn’t seem like a very funny joke, but oh well.
A second truck came around and they all got into it. Grant rode in the cab of Rich’s truck. Grant was glad to be in the warm truck cab. Rich had the radio going to that country music station he liked. They were playing Christmas songs, even though it was only Thanksgiving. Apparently the Limas wanted to get the people thinking positive thoughts and remembering the good times of holidays past. Grant couldn’t fault them. That’s what Grant was doing, too.
After a while, Rich said, “This is the first time in a couple years I’ve been hopeful, Grant. The first time since…” Rich thought. “I don’t know when. Since before I left the Sheriff’s Department.”
Grant just said, “Yep.” He wanted to hear what Rich had to say.
“Truth is,” Rich said, “up until a couple days ago, I didn’t think we’d make it through the winter. Oh, sure, most of us, like the people in this truck, would. But I didn’t think the community would make it through together as an intact group. I figured there’d be arguing over food, especially the semi. Then the arguing would turn to shouting. Then pushing. Then shoving. Then shooting.”
“Yep,” is all Grant said.
“But people are really coming together for this Thanksgiving,” Rich said. “Who’d have thought a meal could do that?” Rich thought about what he’d just said. The Pilgrims, that’s who, he thought to himself. There was something about the power of a big meal and a tradition that could do this.
“Grant, it’s weird,” Rich said. “I feel like we’re one of the only functioning communities. Like we’re an island in a sea of craziness. Why us? Why are we making it while others aren’t?” Grant could tell Rich was feeling guilty about their apparent success.
“Dunno, man,” is all Grant could say. Well, actually, he could talk for hours about why Pierce Point was making it while others weren’t, but now wasn’t the time for that.
Rich got quiet. They both seemed to be fixated on the windshield wipers and the song on the radio as they rode silently to the turn off to Marion Farm.
Behind them, the truck with the rest of the Team flashed its headlights, which meant Scotty had called into the farm guards on his radio and told them they were coming. This was another example of how things that used to take planning and discussion now just happened.
The Marion Farm guards knew that Thanksgiving dinner was coming, but were still amazed when they saw a truck bed full of coolers and food. In the light from the guards’ flashlights, they could see steam from some of the coolers with warm turkey.
“Unbelievable,” the guard said as he saw, and smelled, the turkey. It was unbelievable, especially when people had been eating lots of cornbread, beans, and biscuits lately. And didn’t really expect to each much better than that—ever.
Chapter 232
Band of Brothers
(Thanksgiving Day)
Grant felt like Santa Claus as they drove the turkey down the road toward the farmhouse. He was bringing a sleigh full of goodies made by happy elves. Grant felt so glad that these guys and gals, who had been working their asses off for months, would have a memorable day and a big meal.
The lights were on in the farmhouse even though it was only 5:15 a.m. They drove up to it and started to unload the food. Some of the soldiers on KP (kitchen duty) came out to help. Their eyes were as big as saucers when they saw all of the food.
Franny, a Navy submarine cook from the nearby Bangor sub base who went AWOL and joined the 17th, came out with his apron on and a big smile.
Petty Officer John “Franny” Francis was a huge asset. Sub crews had the best cooks. There is a lot to know when feeding a hundred people in semi-primitive conditions, and a great cook makes a huge difference, in morale and by getting the very most out of the food that a unit has. Franny knew how to stretch food supplies. There wasn’t a huge extra stock of food on a cramped submarine. Nothing went to waste in Franny’s kitchen.
Ted got Franny by basically trading him for two infantrymen. Back at Boston Harbor during the planning phase, another unit had two cooks, Franny being the second one. The other unit, the 14th Irregulars based on Anderson Island, needed trained infantrymen. Ted realized what a huge find a submarine cook would be and, knowing that he had plenty of regular military men and the Team, he traded Franny for the two infantrymen. Franny was happy to go wherever he was needed.
Franny started to organize the effort to get the Thanksgiving food inside and ready to start eating. The plan was for a Thanksgiving breakfast. That wasn’t the old tradition, but they were starting new ones out here. Thanksgiving needed to be a breakfast because Grant and the Team had to go back and do a second Thanksgiving at the Grange.
Rich went back while the Team, the KP detail, and a few extra soldiers got everything in order. They would have the meal in the equipment shed because it was the only place big enough to hol
d everyone.
The unit didn’t have enough regular plates and silverware for everyone to eat at once; normally, they ate in shifts so they could get away with having half as many dishes as they had soldiers. So, at Franny’s suggestion, Grant brought out plenty of paper plates and plastic utensils to make up for the lack of regular dishes and silverware.
The prep work for the meal went on at full speed. At about 8:00 a.m., the light was coming up, and soldiers started arriving at the equipment shed. Coffee was brewing. That was a luxury. The 17th had managed to steal some coffee months ago when Stan, Carl, Tom, and Travis went on one of their “liberation” missions.
Normally, the unit only had coffee on Sunday mornings during the optional chapel service that Pastor Pete came out and provided. Ted and Grant wanted to encourage attendance at the chapel; a rare cup of coffee was an extremely effective incentive to attend, but today was special. Very special. Coffee for everyone. Hell, there was even creamer and—treasure of all treasures—sugar. A basic cup of coffee with creamer and sugar tasted like a milkshake to the soldiers who hadn’t had any sugar in months.
Grant made sure to talk to as many soldiers as possible that morning. He’d met them all when they first came to the unit, but that might have been the only time he’d talked to them. He was trying to remember their names, but was candid with them that, with his day job taking up so many hours, he couldn’t spend as much time out at Marion Farm as he’d like. They understood.
As Grant talked to the soldiers, he marveled at how lucky they were. They had a stunning 105 soldiers out there. Over half were recently AWOL active duty. Of these, twelve were infantrymen from Ft. Lewis. Another dozen were Air Force and Navy who came out in the first wave and got the base set up. Another thirty-two were military and ex-military of all branches and specialties. There were lots of support troops in this category: supply, communications, vehicle maintenance, administration. They didn’t have their former sophisticated military equipment out at Marion Farm to work on like they did back then, but all the support troops knew military discipline and were adapting well to their new roles as irregular fighters. There were the four walk-ons, including Nick, the much-valued combat medic, and Olson, the former cop. There was the Team and eight of the really good Pierce Point gate guards.
Rounding out the unit were thirty-five civilians sent out by HQ. They had an amazing set of backgrounds and skills, but no previous military experience. It was a mix of former construction guys and computer guys and gals, and plenty of former retail workers. The one thing they had in common was that they no longer had their old jobs and they were Patriots. More importantly, they had no families. The 17th was their new family.
For the most part, the civilians were adapting well. Ted, Sap, and Grant worked very hard at this. It would be easy for the military people to form a clique, especially the more elite ones, such as the infantrymen. The civilians could do the same, perhaps forming up around the college-educated civilians, so Ted and Sap made sure that military and civilian personnel were mixed together on things like KP duty. Obviously, some tasks, like guard duty, required more military skills (although the Pierce Point civilian guards did a great job of guarding). But most didn’t. Ted and Grant told the squad leaders—the men and one woman who were in charge of a squad of ten soldiers—that military personnel and civilians were to mix into one cohesive unit.
While combining the military and civilian people was the goal, basic military discipline and customs were to be followed by all. This meant the civilians needed to adapt and become “military.” While Marion Farm wasn’t West Point with its rigorous military protocols, a civilian couldn’t respond to a squad leader by saying, “I’m on it, dude,” either. With lots of work, and the good examples set by Ted, Sap, Grant, and the squad leaders, the civilians saw how they needed to act. In the end, the 17th found the balance between being a squared away and disciplined unit without being a bunch of uptight screaming West Point assholes.
One minor distinction between military personnel and civilians remained, however, and that was the clothing. For the most part, the military people wore military fatigues, usually the ones they brought with them from their former units. The civilians, for the most part, wore hunting clothes. The Team was a third category: tactical clothing. They looked like a SWAT team; neither military nor hunters.
The civilians appreciated that “one of theirs,” Grant, was the commanding officer. The military people appreciated that “one of theirs,” Ted, was in day-to-day command.
Training was the main way the unit bonded; it integrated everyone in the unit because they all had to know the same things.
The main training subjects were firearms and unit movements. That matched the 17th Irregulars’ mission: to go in behind the regular units and occupy a city, which was increasingly obviously going to be Olympia. Soldiers in the 17th needed to know how to move toward their objective and defend themselves along the way. They needed to know how to enter a recently taken city. They would then need to know how to set up defensive positions. Then they would need to get out into the population and make a show of force and deal with any threats from remaining Limas or gangs. Finally, they would need to know how to help with the civil affairs program, which was the last training priority.
Firearm training was the main focus because it would be a part of everything they would do. At a minimum, they would have to defend themselves, and probably go on the offensive.
The support troops, and most of the civilians, were only minimally familiar with ARs. The infantrymen, the couple of Marines, and the Team showed everyone how to safely handle an AR and, for the ones without ARs, how to handle an AK.
The unit primarily used ARs because it was what they had. They got most of theirs from Chip’s guns store and the remainder from HQ.
While every member of the unit had a rifle, only about a third of them had pistols. Everyone was on their own for pistols. There were a wide variety of pistols; lots of Glocks. Ted and Sap had their military-issued Beretta M9s. Nick, the medic, was an exception to the rule and was issued a pistol because he really needed one. He got Bobby’s spare Glock in .357 Sig.
There weren’t enough ARs for everyone, but there were enough AKs to make up the difference. The 17th was better off than some irregular units, who had to use civilian guns.
The 17th was short fourteen ARs, so the fourteen troops least likely to fight—guys like Franny—were given AKs. This wasn’t because AKs were inferior, but because ammo resupply to the fighting squads meant that only one standardized kind of ammo and magazine should be used, if possible. But, in the event of a “battlefield pick up”—where a soldier couldn’t use his rifle for some reason and needed to pick one up off the ground—everyone was trained on AKs, in addition to ARs. There were a fair number of AKs out there, especially with the gangs, so a battlefield pick up of an AK was a fairly likely possibility.
Ammo was at an extreme premium. HQ sent lots of ammo—pallets of it—donated by defecting troops and stole lots more. It was all 5.56 ammo for ARs. However, it was likely that the hundred plus soldiers of the 17th would use an incredible amount of ammo. There was no way to go into an enemy city without having piles and piles of ammo. There would be no helicopters resupplying them; what few helicopters the Patriots had were devoted to other duties. The 17th might have to be in a hostile city for a month and shoot it out all the time. They had to carry in everything they needed, which meant that each irregular unit had to have five hundred rounds per soldier. HQ sent enough 5.56 for the ARs, but not enough 7.62 x 39 or 5.45 x 39 for the AKs. Chip and the Team donated most of the AK ammo. The troops with AKs would just have less ammo. Usually they only had a few magazines.
With ammo at such a premium, training with live rounds was hard. There were two ARs in .22—one of which was the Smith & Wesson M&P15-22 Grant donated—and these were used for the support troops and the civilians to train on. Even .22 ammo was at a premium; it was literally currency. It was like shooting
dollar bills.
Much of the training was done without shooting. The 17th constantly practiced moving as a unit and communicating between squad members. They primarily used voice commands and standard infantry hand signs because they had so few radios. They practiced this over and over again. Ted and Sap provided an overview of explosives training with some dummy training explosives, but they knew that the irregulars would not be blowing up buildings; the training was just an overview of explosives. Quite honestly, it was mainly for morale, to make the irregulars feel comfortable that they could handle situations involving explosives.
First aid was another topic of instruction. Many soldiers, especially the former regular military, knew this topic well. Nick, the medic, gave these classes.
Rounding out each day of training was lots of basic work around the farm. There were always heavy things to move, but no equipment to move them, which meant work details. There was cooking and cleaning; lots and lots of cleaning to keep things sanitary. And there was guard duty.
From all this training and the work details, people were bonding. Grant sat back and watched as the people who really didn’t have a reason to talk to each other a few weeks ago were now joking with one another. They were totally at ease with each other. There were some quiet guys, but there always were in any unit.
All the hard work of training and the stress of knowing they were going into combat soon would be forgotten today; it was a day of celebration, a day for everyone to celebrate what they had to be thankful for. By about 9:00 a.m., everyone was in the large equipment shed. Most were jacked up on coffee for the first time in a long time. People were talking a mile a minute. They were relaxed and thankful. Really, really thankful.
