by Glen Tate
The Team definitely stood out, but not too much. They were the only ones in 5.11s. They had tactical pistol belts with the same Raven Concealment holsters. A trained observer could see that their pistols had small lights attached to them; the outline of the lights was visible through the holsters. No one else had those. But the guys, especially having Chip with them, didn’t look odd. They just looked different.
As they went in, Mark realized that he didn’t know everyone, either. Some of the faces were familiar, but that was it. Most of the full-timers were like Mark: rural residents in hunting and work clothes. Some had jeans and tee shirts. There were even a few who looked like cabin people.
Seats were going quickly. The sign inside said “Capacity: 120” and it looked like the place was just about full. A dozen or two women were there. Pow motioned for the guys to yield their seats to the ladies. That got noticed by the crowd, as a positive thing.
Rich Gentry was at the front of the room with a little podium. He was comfortable there, as he had given many briefings before and this was like being back at work at the Sheriff’s Department.
“OK, let’s get this thing going,” Rich said looking at his watch. “Thanks for coming out tonight. This is a meeting of what I guess we’ll call the Pierce Point Security Committee. I hate committees, but I love security, as in I love not having thieves, rapists, and murderers in my neighborhood,” Rich said, deciding to shock people into the reality they were there address.
“That’s what all this is about. Keeping out bad people. This is not a militia or anything like that.”
Everyone nodded.
“First of all,” Rich said, “is there anyone here who disagrees that we need a guard and patrol?”
Silence.
“Good,” Rich said. “By the end of this meeting, I’d like to have some volunteers to man the entrance to the Frederickson Road on a shift basis and some men,” he looked at two women in the front row, “well, some people to patrol inside the development. Once we have enough guards, we can start working on training and communications.”
Grant knew that this meeting was about more than just guards at the entrance and a patrol. Leaders would emerge from this meeting. It would set the tone for the governance of Pierce Point. By “governance,” Grant meant how food was distributed and shared, how medical care was handled, communications, and, eventually, what side—government or Patriot—Pierce Point would take.
But first things first, Grant thought. Security first, governance second, and politics last, if ever at all. It was all about surviving out there. Politics was a luxury for people who didn’t have to worry about surviving.
Grant was itching to have a role in the meeting, but he didn’t want to overdo it. He was a cabin person and brought a group of well-armed strangers there. He was a lawyer and most people hated lawyers. Grant had to be careful. He’d been in some tricky political situations, but this one was the most important one so far. He had the oddest feeling that the politics of this meeting would be child’s play compared to what was coming in a while.
Grant knew that he had to get a big role for the Team. They were exactly what Pierce Point needed. He wasn’t going to let his Team just blend into the neighborhood. What a waste.
I put you and them here for a reason.
Whoa. He hadn’t heard the outside thought for a while. He understood it loud and clear.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Rich Gentry. I was a sheriff’s deputy for eleven years until about six months ago. I left because some things were going on that I couldn’t be a part of. I’ll just leave it at that.” It was apparent that having to leave the force still pained Rich.
“I still have lots of friends on the force,” Rich continued. “They tell me that there basically is no more law enforcement out there right now.” He let that sink in for a few seconds with the crowd. No more law enforcement. Grant knew it, but suspected that most in the room hadn’t confronted this fact first-hand like he had. No more law enforcement was such a shock that it would take quite a while for most people to fully accept the new reality.
“We have to be law enforcement for ourselves until this all gets sorted out,” Rich said. “This doesn’t mean vigilantes. It means structured volunteers with some training and accountability to the community. None of you are expected to be like what law enforcement was. No six-month academy, but you need to know the basics. And you need to know when to use force and when not to. That last part is key. We are not a thug squad beating and killing people. I’ve seen enough of that in the past.”
Grant was so glad this Rich guy was laying the foundation for the neighborhood security force like this. Perfect.
I put him here, too.
Of course. Grant felt stupid for thinking this was pure chance.
“Here is my plan in a nutshell,” Rich said. “I’m not a dictator, so I want to lay it out, see what you think, and get started on putting a guard and patrol system together. To get boots on the ground tonight, as a matter of fact. OK, the nutshell.”
Rich looked at everyone in the room and continued, “We have at least a half dozen guys.” He looked at the women and said, “and when I say ‘guys’ I mean men or women. As long as people have some rudimentary training, they can volunteer for this. Anyway, we have about a half dozen guys, armed of course, at the entrance to Pierce Point Road. We have a car across the road. We’ll work on a real gate that can swing open and shut, but we can use a car for now. We need communications between the gate and a headquarters. We need enough people in reserve that we have guards to take shifts and to man the gate if someone is trying to shoot their way in.”
That thought caught a few people by surprise. They probably thought a “security” meeting would be like some homeowners’ association discussion of locking their doors and maybe some unarmed “neighborhood crime watch” crap that worked great when 911 answered calls in two minutes except, those days were gone.
Even out in Pierce Point, there were still plenty of people who hadn’t fully grasped that things were totally different now. They weren’t bad people, they just needed to process the changes. It was weird: back in Olympia, normalcy bias was the enemy. Grant fought against it. He was outnumbered by all the weenies who thought things were fine. He was in the minority there. But out at Pierce Point, he was in the majority. He didn’t have to fight as hard against normalcy bias, although it still existed.
For the first time since he fled Olympia, Grant realized he wasn’t furious at the people with normalcy bias like he had been in the past. As long as they didn’t cling to “normal” and let it affect their decision-making on important things, they’d be fine. If they did cling to it, they’d be dead, and get many others killed along with them. That’s the part that he would be watching for. Grant wasn’t on a crusade to have people think like him, but he was on a crusade to get through this, and people with normalcy bias would put him and his people in danger. It wasn’t personal. It was survival.
“There are two other things we need security-wise,” Rich said. “The first is a patrol that can respond to things door-to-door. These need to be the best trained because they are dealing with our families. This is where a no-thug requirement is key. The patrolmen need to be very well trained with firearms and tactics and respect for people.” Rich was looking directly at the Team. He had singled them out the second he saw them, but he needed to know if the well-armed guys in Mark’s truck were thugs or not.
“I will personally train and lead the patrol,” Rich said.
Grant wondered how Pow would react to that. Probably pretty well. Pow was glad to just be out in a safe place and having some training would only make him happier because he could do an even better job. It beat the shit out of selling insurance, which is what Pow had done during peacetime, just a few days ago.
“The second thing we need,” Rich said, “is a way to hold prisoners and, I guess, find out which ones are guilty.”
Here’s your role.
&
nbsp; Grant suddenly knew exactly why he was in that room and in that neighborhood,. He had that odd feeling again that this was just the beginning of the role he was to fulfill.
“Chances are, we’re gonna need a judge, and a jail. At least some way to resolve disputes, and lock up people who are violent or thieves. As I see it, the jail won’t be fancy,” Rich said. “In fact, if you’re caught stealing from us or hurting us then I’m not real concerned that you’re comfy or even well fed. But we’re not animals. We won’t mistreat prisoners. This will mean a facility and some guards.”
Rich kept going. “The judge part will be pretty easy. Nothin’ fancy on trials. I just want someone or some people who can objectively look at things. I don’t want innocent people punished. Don’t worry. We won’t have lawyers and arguments and technicalities and week-long jury trials. Unless you guys want that, in which case we’ll try to make it happen.” Rich knew that the level of due process out there would be a topic of debate. He was hoping that if there were a lawyer in the room that he or she wouldn’t be a spaz who loved process over substance.
“Any questions?” Rich asked.
A hand went up from what looked like a cabin person. “What about the beach? That would be a way for people to come in and out.”
“Good point,” Rich said. “Well, we’ll need a beach patrol.” He pointed to the person asking the question. “You and me will get together after the meeting. You can coordinate the volunteers for what I’ll call the beach patrol. We’ll get some boats and some beach walkers. Thanks for bringing that to our attention.”
Another hand went up. “What kind of guns do we need for this?”
“Another excellent question,” Rich said. “We’re not a military force. We don’t need military weapons, although those are certainly welcomed,” he said looking at the Team. “If you’re familiar with your shotgun, hunting rifle, or handgun, then that’s what we need. I’d much rather have guys who know their weapon well than have people with the latest and greatest gizmos who are unfamiliar with those gizmos. People who haven’t shot ever, or in quite some time, will get trained. Some people probably have a couple extra guns. We could start a ‘gun library’ where people without a gun can check one out for a period of time. We would keep them in a central place, like a makeshift and secure armory. That way, the person loaning the gun to the community doesn’t have to worry about it walking off. Or, if people make arrangements to borrow a gun and keep it with them, that’s great, too. But it’s up to the person loaning the guns to loan them to the armory or directly to a person.”
Rich paused. Grant couldn’t tell if he was thinking of all of this as he went or if he had thought it out in advance. Either way, it was impressive. This guy was a leader.
“Guards borrowing guns from the gun library is fine and I can’t fault those loaning guns to want to get them back,” Rich said. “But I have to say that my preference would be for direct loans to people. This way, people would have the loaned gun with them in their homes. Armed home owners will be our best defense against crime. Don’t forget, the majority of crime will be among neighbors, not from outsiders.”
It was silent. People either hadn’t thought of that or didn’t want to hear it.
“Yep, I know it sounds bad,” Rich said, “but it’s true. We need to keep bad people out and we need to have a plan for if a gang tries to breach the gate, but most crime will be internal.” Rich let that sink in. These people needed to know that. They needed to be realistic. These were the times that called for realism.
Someone asked, “What about communications?”
Rich smiled, “I expected that question from you. Ladies and gentlemen, Curt Copeland here is a ham radio operator. A very, very valuable person to have in a situation like this.” Grant wondered if this was the guy who lived at the house with the huge antenna array that he and Pow had noticed.
Curt just smiled. He loved that he was a valuable person right then. Ham radio operators often spent years at their hobby with no one understanding how important they would be in a disaster. Curt was glad he had a chance to shine. He wished things hadn’t broken down, of course, but since they had, he was glad to be there with many ways to communicate.
“Curt, what are your thoughts?” Rich asked.
“Well, I can keep in contact with the outside world with my various equipment,” he said, not wanting to bore everyone with the details of his various radios. He could literally talk to the space station with his gear.
“Curt has plenty of handheld radios that we can use. Isn’t that right, Curt?” Rich said. It was obvious they had talked before the meeting. Good.
“Oh yes,” Curt said, “I have about a half dozen handhelds that operate on the VHR and UHF ham bands. They’re easy to use. Very good reception, even with the highlands up here and the beach down there. Especially when we bounce them off the Frederickson repeater.”
Rich looked at the Team again. “Some of you have CBs, too. Raise your hand if you have one.” About a third of the room raised their hands, including the Team. “Great. CBs are fine for short range communication and getting info from nearby people outside of Pierce Point. They aren’t secure, of course, but I doubt the bad guys will be monitoring all 40 CB channels to hear us. Besides, all the stuff we need to have secure will be done on the ham bands and then we can relay it in some simple code via CBs.”
That reminded Rich, “Oh, if any of you are going into town anytime soon, please try to buy all the CBs and antennas you can. It would really help us out. If the stores are out, which is likely, then don’t worry about it. I just wanted everyone to know how valuable CBs are right now.”
Rich waited for another question. There wasn’t one. “OK, now we come to personnel,” he said. “This is the most important part. Equipment is great, but if we don’t have good people, none of this will work.”
Rich pointed to Curt. “We need lots of people with diverse talents, like Curt here. He isn’t prior military or law enforcement, but you can see how valuable he will be. So regular civilians are very much needed.”
Rich paused. “With that in mind, military and law enforcement experience is a definite plus. So who here is prior military?” About a quarter of the hands went up. Rich pointed at the first person he saw and said, “What branch, what did you do, and when did you get out?”
Men and a few women around the room described their service. All branches were covered. Lots of Army, but it was the largest branch. Some Air Force and a couple Marines, including Mark. Quite a bit of Navy and even two Coast Guard. None of the people in the room were active duty or in the Guard or Reserves. Two people said they had neighbors in the Army National Guard and one said her neighbor was in the Air Force Reserve, but that they weren’t at the meeting.
The veterans had done many different jobs in the military. Four had combat specialties in the Army: two infantry, a scout, and armor. Another, a Marine rifleman named Ryan McDonald, was a combat veteran from Afghanistan.
John raised his hand and said, “U.S. Navy. Machinist. Got out in 1968.”
Mark said he was a former Marine, a sniper, and left in 1975. He grabbed his belly and said, “I ain’t in Marine shape anymore. I couldn’t lie in the forest for two days and make a shot at 800 yards anymore, either.”
When it came to Chip’s turn to talk, he said, “I’m Chip. Army. Supply sergeant but saw some combat in Southeast Asia. Got out in 1970.” He didn’t mention the part about building ARs for a living and having a few dozen “assault rifles” in Grant’s basement. He knew it wasn’t necessary to mention that now. There was still too much at stake; too many unknowns. Not even to mention that Grant was a wanted man. Blend in whenever possible, Chip would always say. Be the gray man; a fighter or resistor who doesn’t attract attention so he can get the job done.
One veteran was particularly interesting. Rich smiled when it came to this guy’s turn and said to him, “Sergeant Morgan, why don’t you introduce yourself?”
The man, i
n his early forties with black hair and in great shape said, “I’m Dan Morgan, formerly of the United States Air Force. I was in Security Forces, which used to be called Security Police. We defended air bases and other sensitive installations, and conducted counterterrorism. I was MWD, or Military Working Dog. A dog handler. I retired as a Senior Master Sergeant. I am currently—or, I guess, formerly—a volunteer for the Sheriff’s Department’s K9 team. I say formerly since I don’t think there is a Sheriff’s Department anymore.”
Dan paused. “Anyway, I train their dogs and kennel them here. I have several great dogs.” Dan smiled, “Defending an air base or an area like Pierce Point, it’s all the same. I got some tricks up my sleeve that Uncle Sam taught me.” He was beaming. He was so happy to show off his skills and save his friends and neighbors in the process.
Rich said, “Dan and I know each other from Oath Keepers.” No need to hide that anymore, Rich thought. He was off the force and, besides, the cops had enough on their plates. Arresting political people wasn’t high on their list of things to do. Rich smiled, “Welcome to the Security Committee, Dan.” Rich and Dan had obviously talked before the meeting.
Nice, Grant thought. He was feeling like he was in good hands. Could this set up get any better?
Rich asked, “OK, any law enforcement, past or present, here?” Grant winced at the “present” part; he was technically wanted, or whatever POI meant. He was hoping there were no cops in the room.
Four hands went up. One guy said, “I was a reserve Sheriff’s Deputy in the 80s but I haven’t done it in a long time. I wouldn’t count myself as ‘law enforcement.’”
A man said, “My neighbor is currently a county sheriff’s deputy. I haven’t seen him in about a week.”
Another guy, who looked like Jimmy Buffet, said, “I’m Dick Abbott. I’m a retired LA County deputy. Out on disability. Lost most of my hearing in a shootout twenty years ago. Don’t know that I’ll be much help, but I’ll do whatever is asked of me.”
