Michael sat back in his seat, but didn’t offer a response. After a moment, Christian continued.
“I can’t remember exactly when, but a few years or so before the collapse, people started opening their eyes to what was going on. The number of critical thinkers was increasing. A resistance began and it was spreading…and it turned into a full-on movement. The sheer amount of self-reliant, prepper, and survivalist types was increasing exponentially. People were arming themselves like never before and moving into less-populated areas—even going off the grid at a rapid pace. Irregular armies and militias started to form. It was like the beginning of a revolution…a revolution of the people who wanted their country back. And I think those in control started to feel threatened. And they decided to do something drastic to regain control. Their incrementalistic strategy was no longer viable. And that’s why the war, Michael. We’re in their way.”
“So that’s the endgame, then?” Bryan Taylor asked. “To just kill us off? Is that what you’re saying?”
Christian rubbed his head and nodded slightly. “I’m saying that an armed society isn’t subservient and, therefore, poses a threat to them. I’m saying that self-sufficient, self-reliant, strong, objective American people no longer fit the paradigm. We aren’t dependent and we can’t be controlled. And now, we’re an endangered species.” Christian paused as the looks falling upon him began to get even more dumbfounded. “Look, I know I’ve said a lot…and I know I probably sound like a raving idiot right now and I’m sorry. I don’t want to lead us too far off track with what we’re all about to face. The point is there’s a lot more to this than meets the eye. And it doesn’t matter if DHS comes for us in a pack of black SUVs and armored vehicles or if they use an army of militarized outlaw bikers to wipe us out. They’re coming, one way or another. And we need to find a way to be ready for them.”
The room fell silent apart from the sounds the old wooden church pews made when someone would adjust their sitting position. Fred, who still eyeballed Christian, nodded and produced a look of satisfaction to go along with his sly grin. Trusting Christian fully was going to take time for him. What he’d said today, however, had removed miles from the journey.
“I asked for a little enlightenment, but got an entire essay,” Fred jeered.
“Sorry,” Christian said, looking a little embarrassed. He took his seat with his head lowered as the church began to fill with back and forth conversations.
Bryan Taylor raised his hand before speaking. “As much as I hate to bring the doom and gloom story to an end—what exactly are we expecting to happen, Fred?”
“I think we need to expect some sort of attack, Bryan.”
“Okay—and I assume you have some sort of plan already thought out for something like that?” Bryan commented, a look of restlessness overtaking him.
Fred nodded. “I’ve always been partial to Ben Franklin’s quote about failing to plan, Bryan,” he said. “I’ve been putting some things together since our first encounter with them. Considering what we’ve witnessed already, it’s only prudent to expect them to eventually show their faces again.”
“Fred, that’s fifty to a hundred guys we’re talking about—at least,” Michael Perry remarked, sounding overwhelmed. “Those men are killers. We’re—farmers here. Gardeners and homemakers. At best, hunters. How exactly are we supposed to stop them?”
“There’s only one way to stop them,” Christian blurted out impulsively. “By killing them first.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” countered Michael.
“No, it’s not easy for me to say,” Christian mocked. “There’s just no other way. We either kill them or we all die.”
“It’s a great plan in theory,” replied Bryan as he turned his head to make eye contact with Christian briefly before turning to Fred. “And it’s a much stronger theory when you have some sort of law enforcement or military training, which most of us here don’t have. And I like Ben Franklin’s quotes too, Fred…but all I can think about is what Sun Tzu said about ‘better to be a warrior in a garden that a gardener in a war’.”
“I agree with Bryan,” Michael iterated. “Besides you, Fred—and maybe our new, rather presumptuous friend in the black uniform over there, not a single one of us here is trained to deal with something like this.”
“Michael, I’m fully aware of that,” Fred scolded. “And that’s why getting everyone here trained is a requisite part of the plan.”
An assortment of doubtful looks fell across the faces in the congregation as they stirred.
“What sort of training are you talking about?” Sarah Taylor asked timidly as her husband looked on.
“Sarah, I understand your concern,” Fred assured her. “And I’m pretty sure you already know the answer to your question. Our enemy has greater numbers than we do. And they also have some pretty serious firepower. We can’t fight those odds using sticks and stones.”
Sarah smirked. “So, guns, then. Shooting skills, then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Right. And of course, I had to be the one to ask that question,” Sarah whispered cynically as Bryan consoled her.
“Fred, I’m pretty sure most of us here can shoot a gun.” Kristen Perry spoke up. “But we’re not in the military. Whatever training you’ve got up your sleeve can’t be some gung ho Army Ranger stuff.”
Fred sneered. “Kristen, I wouldn’t think of teaching anyone here a tenth of the ‘gung ho Army Ranger stuff’ I’m privy to. The training plan I’ve devised is simple, but it’s going to be intense. It has to be. We’re operating on a very truncated timeline.”
Fred paused and took a drink from a bottle of water while the group continued to stir. “Put your minds at ease. I’ll work with each of you personally if need be. Christian, I know you said you were in a militia and I’m sure you probably learned a trick or two from DHS. I’d appreciate some help with the training detail if you’re willing to help us.”
“Of course,” Christian affirmed. “I’d be happy to.”
Fred then moved closer and gestured to Lauren, who sat quietly with her hands in her lap. “Lauren, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to be involved in some capacity as well.”
Lauren hesitated, and looking a little uncomfortable, she shrugged. “Okay.”
“Lauren?” Whitney asked abruptly. “Why Lauren?”
“It’s a long story,” Lauren dismissed.
“Well, all things being equal, it’s a story I’d like to hear sometime,” Whitney resolved.
Grace smiled briefly as she squeezed her sister’s thigh. She’d seen what Lauren was capable of when she’d witnessed the aftermath of the fight at the cabin and again at Devil’s Hole. A number of gaps still existed in the puzzle, but the sudden confidence that Fred Mason was now openly displaying in her sister had made things even clearer. Maybe Lauren really was like one of those camouflage-laden girls in Red Dawn, she thought.
The group assembled around the table to view Fred’s topo map after he provided a verbal invitation to come forward. Fred pointed to the Wolf Gap barricade, which was marked using a die-cast Matchbox bulldozer toy, before moving forward.
“Let’s talk briefly about our current situation,” he began. “As of now, the barricade at Wolf Gap is reinforced and impassable to vehicular traffic. We also have sentries stationed there.” Fred paused as his finger pointed to the opposite end of the valley, where two toy cars marked the spot in front of the bridge. “Thanks to the additional manpower we’ve received from the Brady family, we’ve barricaded our northern border at the bridge over Trout Run. We’re able to use the valley’s topography to our advantage here, and with that, there’s only two ways in and out. By guarding our borders around the clock, we deny our enemies access. It’s a strategy known as area defense.”
Fred paused to take a breath as those crowded around the table began nodding or offering curious looks. He continued as his index fingers walked the map.
“Taken directly
from the US Army field manual FM3-90, area defense should be conducted under certain conditions, including when the forces available have less mobility than the enemy—which we do—when the terrain affords natural lines of resistance and limits the enemy to a few well-defined avenues of approach—which it does—or when there’s enough time to organize the position.”
“Area defense is working for us now, but it won’t work forever. The enemy outside has more freedom of movement. They can come and go as they please. They can attack when and where they want, resupply, attack again, and eventually wear us down or catch us sleeping. They have opportunity. We do not. We have limited tactical options, and once we’ve exhausted them, they can run right over us. And if DHS is supplying them, they have unlimited resources.”
“So what are you saying, Fred?” Kristen asked worriedly. “That no matter what we do, they’re going to eventually get in?”
“It’s inevitable, Kristen,” Fred affirmed. “The odds just aren’t in our favor.”
“So, it’s over, then,” Kristen gasped, her voice almost panicked. “Just like that?”
“No,” Fred resolved. “It’s not over. Not if we ready ourselves. Not if we train and get organized.” He paused. “Not if we change strategies.”
“Change strategies?” Michael asked as he comforted his wife by wrapping his arms around her. “Change it to what?”
Fred’s posture began to sag. He hesitated. He leaned back and took a seat on the altar behind him. He adjusted his cover forward and backward and then ended up just taking it off. He crossed his arms in front of him, then gazed upward at the crowd that stood around the table. And then, he divulged his plan.
Numerous audible gasps filled the room, as did a preponderance of back and forth conversations.
“Wait—you want to let them in?” Amy Saunders asked loudly. “Did I hear you correctly?”
“Yes. You heard correctly,” responded Fred.
“Fred, you’re a veteran and I respect you, but that’s just fucking crazy,” Michael said while shaking his head in disapproval.
“It’s more than crazy—it’s goddamn insane,” his wife agreed sternly.
“There’s a fine line between genius and insanity,” Christian interjected. “And I’m sorry, but to me, this looks a lot more like genius.”
Christian scooted past Lauren and Grace to get closer to the map and pointed his finger at two ridges, one on either side of the bridge.
“Take a close look at this…especially right here, at the gulley where the stream runs through under the bridge. It’s super narrow and there’s a ridge on either side. Does anyone know if these spots are accessible on foot?”
“They sure as hell are,” Ricky Brady suddenly piped up in a distinctive hillbilly drawl. “My brothers and me used to climb up there when we was kids.”
“He’s right,” his brother Junior agreed. “There’s spots up there with clear views of the road. Lots of rocks to hide behind, too.”
“Perfect,” Christian continued, his fingers stroking the map. “Now, bear with me. If we bring them in here, their movements are severely restricted. We can place shooters on either side and hit them hard from the high ground as they enter.”
Norman, whose interest was now piqued, made his way to the map alongside Christian. He pointed to the closely spaced contour lines on the map. “It would be a damn turkey shoot. There’s no way they could defend themselves down there.”
“Or find cover,” Fred said with a smile. “It’s my version of a kill box. Any target within it can be acquired quickly without exposing ourselves. We’ll coordinate our fire into it simultaneously and halve their numbers right there—and that’s being conservative. We have plenty of rifles and ammo to go around. All we need is to get in some training and get organized.”
Fred paused as the group quieted down and began to closely examine the plan as it unfolded on the map. He pointed his index finger just north of the northern barricade.
“We open the doors and maneuver them all right into the kill box,” Fred continued. “Then we cut them off by bringing a vehicle up behind them to block the bridge. The only way out at that point will be to go farther in.”
“And let me guess,” Peter said, “we’re going to find a way to make that a mistake, too.”
Fred nodded slightly. “There are additional shooting positions with decent cover on either side of the road along the straightaway. They’re about fifty to seventy-five yards away from each other. We’ll shoot from covered positions and use diagonal firing lanes from each location. Whoever drives through gets caught in the crossfire—and the dying continues.”
“You’ve really thought this through,” Michelle said encouragingly. “I’m impressed, Fred.”
“I don’t want to give these assholes any options, Michelle,” Fred said. “We already know their intentions. If they bring them into our valley, they die.”
“I have a question,” Whitney said, her hand half-raised. “How are we supposed to know when they’re coming?”
“That’s the tricky part,” he yielded. “I want to set up a couple of outposts where we can see them coming, but if we do that, we’re going to need more manpower. I know of a good spot not too far outside Wardensville. It’s well hidden and offers a good vantage point to the road. We can set up a two- or three-person outpost there with a radio. At maximum, that’ll give us ten minutes to deploy to our designated locations. I’ve already run this by Chad and Mark. They’re willing to act as forward observers, but they can’t stay awake forever, so each of them is going to need a partner.”
“We’ll help,” Ricky Brady offered. “Both my sons, Tommy and Wayne, are pretty good shots. I’d rather them be closer to home, but wherever you need us is fine by me.”
“That’s much appreciated, Ricky,” Fred said. “I’m sure we’ll find a place for them.”
“Well…your boys seem to be pretty involved in all this,” Ricky said. “I figure mine might as well be there right beside ’em. They gotta grow up sometime. Might as well be now.”
“My son, Austin, is old enough to help, Fred,” Bo Brady said. “Whatever we need to do—just let us know. We’re in.”
“Same goes for my boy, Trey,” Junior Brady said. “He’s a deadeye with his bow. We can add him to the fight.”
Fred expressed his recognition while others expressed their amazement at the Brady family’s sudden willingness to participate. They’d always been recluses, and up until recently, a collaboration with them had been considered an impossibility.
“Hey, Fred,” John asked, breaking his silence as the room quieted down once again, “how do we know they’ll come in from the north?”
Fred shrugged. “It’s the path of least resistance,” he said. “I don’t imagine they’re going to want to hike over Mill Mountain and they won’t be able to ride past the dozer at Wolf Gap. These guys, I’d imagine, aren’t in the best shape of their lives, and making a go of it on foot isn’t something they’d prefer to do. If they attack us from there, the show of force would be limited and we have enough firepower up there to hold them off for a while if necessary.”
Fred paused and turned his attention back to those assembled. He explained to the group that he wanted to move the meeting to the northern barricade and give everyone a chance to visualize his plan. As the group gathered their things and began moving toward the exit, Kristen Perry and her husband stood motionless beside the table. Both had looks of frustration and doubt on their faces.
“I’m sorry, Fred. But the more I hear of your plan, the less I like it,” Kristen said. “Let them in? Just open up our border and allow them to tear through here? We can’t do that…we can’t just let them waltz in.”
“I respect you, Fred, but I respect and agree with my wife,” Michael said. “This has bad written all over it.”
“I can’t say that I disagree with everything I’ve heard here today,” said Bryan Taylor, who stood with his wife about midway between the exit and th
e Perrys. “But I will say that I’m not fully convinced that this is going to work.”
“If it puts your mind at ease, Bryan, I’m not convinced either,” Fred admitted as he traded looks with Bryan and the Perrys. “But believe me when I say this…it’s the only way. It gives us the opportunity to fight them once and destroy them—once. This has to be done one time, and one time only. We can’t just repel the threat. We have to eliminate it.”
Kristen shook her head in refusal. “You can spin this any way you like…I still don’t like it,” she said. “I don’t like it at all. There has to be another way.”
“Fred’s got a good plan here, Kristen,” Norman said calmly from his spot just inside the vestibule. “If you have a better one, now’s the time to speak up.”
“I prefer to just stay the hell out of this,” Kristen huffed. “I prefer to just live my life like I always have. I don’t want to die…I don’t want any of us to. But I don’t think we need to stage some epic battle in order to stay alive. We can try talking to them or maybe negotiating some sort of treaty with them…there has to be another way.”
“There is no other way,” Lauren blurted out angrily.
Lauren knew what had to be done and she was done listening to Kristen’s attempts to discredit Fred and his plan. Eyes turned to her as she paraded heatedly out the door.
“What’s her problem today?” Kristen asked rhetorically with a shrug.
“You’re the one with the problem, Kristen,” Michelle asserted defensively. “Lauren’s right. There’s no bargaining with these people. Making the choice to do nothing about this is the same as making the choice to die.”
After enough time had passed for everyone to gather their things and travel to the northern barricade, the meeting reconvened in the road, several yards from the bridge over Trout Run. George Brady was still there and looked as though he hadn’t moved a muscle in days. He sat as still as a fox hunting prey in his lawn chair, his enormous shotgun cradled in his arms. Some members of the group made an effort to wave to him or say hello. When he chose to respond, he did so halfheartedly.
What's Left of My World (Book 2): This We Will Defend Page 25
