Winter Kill 2 - China Invades Australia

by Gene Skellig

  “So how many are still serving, staying under military control?” asked Ian.

  “As of yesterday, the First Sergeant told the CO that they were effectively below Company size.”

  “What does that mean? Aren’t they a battalion? How many men is that?”

  “The 829th was officially an under-strength battalion, so 350 or so personnel. When the war broke out, they updated their so-called Parade State and found that they were down to 280 personnel, so that’s two or three companies, maximum, well short of a battalion. Last Friday, when the CO gave that depressing briefing about the long-term food supply outlook, they still had almost two hundred men and women under effective command, but as of yesterday, the Monday report from the Master Sergeant was that they had eighty or less personnel who were still responsive.”

  “Responsive?”

  “Answering their radio calls, sending in Situation Reports from their taskings – the warehouses and grocery stores.”

  “Shit,” Ian said softly as he hunched over the table, listening intensely to his wife.

  “I had no idea that they were falling apart,” Owen said to Ian, then turning back to Beth: “I see them all the time, driving up and down Highway 14 in their Humvees. But it makes sense to me. What’s the point in putting your life on the line to guard the town’s food when it’s obvious that there won’t be enough for everybody. And from what I hear, the global nuclear war has completely destroyed the system that moves bulk freight across the planet. So no more food will be coming, other than what we’ve got here, now.” Owen’s gaze ominously scanned all the food now on the table. Everyone was silent for a moment. Then Owen looked up and spoke again.

  “Did you hear what Wisconsin Public Radio said, in the morning update yesterday? The war is definitely China’s fault, and the Chinese military forces have been taking over places like Australia, New Zealand, places in South America and Africa – wherever there were good food-producing areas.”

  “Well, what does that matter to us, Owen? There’s going to be a nuclear winter,” Ian said. His voice was low and even, trying to be as unemotional as possible as he continued speaking. “By the time the radiation and dust-cloud finishes encircling the earth, the temps will fall, who knows how low. Nothing will grow, not even here. It’ll be starvation, looting, and the complete breakdown of society,” said Ian.

  “That’s what Colonel Hurdman and his Ops O were talking about,” interjected Beth. “They were talking about grabbing as much of the weapons, ammo, IMPs, fuel and so on, and throwing in with some of the men who want to flee for the hills.”

  Catherine’s voice joined in, soft but deliberate. “Did they say where to, exactly?”

  “No, Catherine,” Beth said, turning to her. “But I think it’s up near Pier County Park, on Pine River, where the CO has a hobby farm or a cabin or something. He used to talk about it with some of the other officers, and the ones who he seems chummy with – out of those still around – some of them also have recreational property in that area.

  Catherine leaned in closer to Beth. “So when were they going to do this, abandon their post?”

  “Well, they heard someone coming and stopped talking about it. But I’m pretty sure it was going to happen tomorrow night because later in the day the Ops O was on the phone with the Transportation Officer and the Supply Officer, talking about details like they do just before a major operation or a training exercise. But by the hushed way he was speaking I think that the exercise is actually their own ‘bug-out’ operation. All of the details sounded like they were related to tomorrow.”

  “So what will happen tomorrow, when the townsfolk get wind of Lieutenant Colonel Hurdman abandoning his post?” asked Ian.

  “All bets are off.” Owen said. “All hell will break lose. It will be every man for himself, with no fear of the military stopping it. I bet that any remaining military men left out of Hurdman’s group will raid the armory and become armed gangs themselves.”

  Ian leaned forward, his elbow on the table. “Owen, if you’re right, we should get the hell out of here right now. Tonight, before all of this happens.”

  “I agree, but we’ve got nothing. We don’t have a plan. And where would we go?” asked Owen. “We don’t even have any guns, do we, guys?”

  “No,” Beth said. But I know where we can get some.”

  “Where? The Army?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “That sounds crazy, Beth. We’ll get killed trying.”

  “No, Owen, hear her out. Go on, Beth, what’s your idea?” her husband asked, encouragingly.

  As she laid out her idea, it actually made a lot of sense. By the time the four of them had ‘what if?’ed it to death, they all felt that it was their best option. At least, in terms of securing vehicles and fuel. But then they turned to the more important question.

  “So where will we go?”

  “Home,” said Catherine, simply.

  “She’s right, said Owen. I hate to admit it, but her dad’s farm in Altoona, Pennsylvania, would be our best bet. They’ve got tons of forest around their farm, so lots of firewood. The place is off the beaten track, so it won’t be constantly attacked by looters, and the old bastard has guns. Lots of guns. I know that for a fact.”

  From the look on her man’s face, Catherine knew that it pained him to have suggested that they go to her dad for help, but it really was their only good option.

  “Owen, thanks. I just know that you and Daddy will get along better this time. You two really are very much alike. You just have to give him time to see you the way I see you – the way you are.”

  “So would you be welcome there?” Ian asked, not really understanding what the issue was.

  “Of course we will. And so will you guys. I’ve talked about this sort of thing with dad. He’s quite the survivalist, you know. And he always says that you need a strong community, and lots of people, to hold things together in a crises. That’s also why he encourages Maggy to bring her brother in-law along to the family dinners – to expand the network of what Daddy calls ‘good people’,” Catherine said.

  “Who’s Maggy?” asked Ian.

  “She’s my sister. Her husband is a Warrant Officer in the army, and his brother is a Major in the Marines. Dad encourages Maggy’s husband to invite his brother, Joe and his family to family dinners at Dad’s ranch on account of the Blakely brothers’ mom and dad being gone. He has sort of adopted the entire family,” she said.

  “Well, there’s more to it than just that he likes having lots of people around his big empty ranch. It’s also because he does not have any sons of his own. So yes, I agree with Catty. General Upton has adopted the Blakely boys into the extended family. What’s really going on is that the General wants people to make use of his 100 acres. And he is always talking about how he has agreements with other ranchers about how they will cooperate wen the shit hits the fan.”

  “Well, the shit has hit the fan, so I sure hope they’re cooperating well, ‘cause they’re in for some surprise guests!” said Ian, clearly having made up his mind about embracing Catherine and Owen’s plan.

  Ian and Beth returned to their flat to pack their Ford Explorer with food and water. They figured they were ready to go fully an hour before the planned rendezvous time at the garage, when Ian had a brainstorm. He did not even take the time to explain it to Beth, he just hurried her out the door of their apartment and into the secure parking lot in the basement, where their SUV was parked.

  “What’s gotten into you, Ian?” asked Beth.

  “I’ll explain later, if everything is as I hope when we get to Randy’s.

  She was impressed with the intent and focus in her husband, and did not mind waiting the few minutes it took for them to race down Orange Street to ‘Randy’s Automotive’, the now all-but abandoned garage where Ian and Owen both worked.

  The place had been raided more than once in the last week, and was nearly devoid of useful items, but Ian had come up with a brillian
t idea which he shared with Owen when his buddy arrived, driving his old Honda Civic.

  The two men looked around for “Run Flat Randy”, their boss, but he was nowhere to be seen. The man had been through hell lately trying to protect his business from the looters and had been beaten senseless a few days ago. For all they knew, Randy was dead, or had fled to the hills where he used to go hunting.

  Ian told Owen his plan.

  “That is a fucking great idea, Ian. Let’s go check,” said Ian, and the two men rushed around to the back of the vandalized building.

  Their eyes lit up when the saw that the broken down old F-250 was where it had always been. It had been overlooked by the looters as it was without tires, engine, and a few other parts that had been removed from the old truck over the years.

  But there, securely bolted to the front end was an articulated snow plow, from when the truck had been used as a utility vehicle on a farm up in the hills. The plow had been reason enough to keep the run-down old truck running for years, simply to keep the half-mile driveway clear in the winter, but in the end the old truck had too many problems and had come to Randy’s garage to rest and rust in peace.

  The two men, one a master mechanic and the other his 3rd year apprentice, made quick work of removing the heavy blade assembly from the deceased pick-up. Rather than try to move the blade rig itself, they simply towed the corpse of the F250 out with the Ian’s much heavier Ford Explore 4WD yanking hard at the chain rigging, leaving deep gouges in the tarmac as the old wreck was dragged away from the snow plow and the Explorer brought up to it.

  After nosing the Explorer into position up against the blade, they spent a few hours rigging the lower mounts, hooking up the hydraulic lines and electrical controls, and finally rigging the manual controls through to the cab of Ian’s Explorer.

  After that, they looked around the welding shop and found that the oxy-acetylene rig and their welding tools were still where they kept them. They carried on with modifications to Ian’s truck. They cut up and installed a few slabs of plate-steel on the interior sides of the doors, and improvised some fold-up hinged plates to provide additional side armor that could be swung up against the bottom half of the windows, if and when needed.

  Next, they moved the Civic and the Explorer into the shop bays and hoisted the Explorer up to give it a thorough “peace of mind” inspection, and installed a large piece of sheet-metal under the body, extending from front to rear. They also beefed up the suspension with a few techniques that Ian had learned when he used to work on monster trucks. This gave the vehicle more road clearance and the room to install upgraded shocks to accommodate the increased weight from the snow plow assembly, steel plates, and other modifications.

  They had just lowered the hoist and began to turn their attention to the collection of provisions and camping gear when they were surprised by a homeless man who had entered the shop through the rear door.

  “Randy! It’s you! You had us scared for a minute,” Owen said to his boss. “You look terrible!”

  “Thanks for the complement, Owen,” said Run Flat Randy. “I feel even worse. I tried to drive out to my cabin up near Viola, and ran into a road-block just five miles from my road. I tried to back out of it, but they ran a school bus across my escape route. They took everything and beat the living crap out of me.”

  As the women came to Randy’s assistance with the first aid kit, he told them more about his ordeal, and the long walk back to his shop.

  Eventually Randy asked what they were up to. He was not upset at them at all, and was quite interested in the modifications they were making to Ian’s Explorer.

  “Wish I had this with me yesterday. I would have been better off to ram right through their road block. It was just two cars nose-to-nose. This rig could have blown them apart and not even slowed down in the process,” Randy said, approvingly.

  “That’s what she’s designed to do,” said Ian.

  “And you have enough provisions and fuel, to reach Altoona?”

  “Not quite. We need more gasoline, but we have enough food and water, and tons of camping gear. We’re also going to have a second vehicle, tomorrow morning, when we hit the road.” Owen went on to detail Beth’s plan.

  “Wow. That’s gutsy, little lady. Sure you can pull it off?”

  “I have to. There’s no other choice,” she said, simply.

  “So what do you think, Randy. Will this tank of ours work, if we encounter something like you did?”

  After looking the Ford over, Randy got up from his hands and knees. “That belly plate could help, if you run over some wreckage or other obstacles, and those TNT Nitro Shocks really give you better ground clearance, but you have missed a few important things I might suggest. For a price that is…”

  “A price? Randy, we’ve got nothing. What do you want?”

  “Take me with you, for a start,” he said, with a tone of desperation that surprised the men. Both of them took it as a sign that Randy’s experience at the road block had really taken the wind out of him.

  “Of course, Boss. We’ll take you with us! No question. Besides, you’re the only one with any military training.” Owen said, referring to Randy’s fifteen years in the Army, his two tours in Afghanistan.

  “Thanks, Owen. But you’ve got a few years in as well. But thanks, I can offer my combat experience. But on this enterprise, you and Ian are the boss, Owen. I would much prefer just to be a henchman, and follow your lead. You’ve got women to protect and I’m all by myself. So use me as a soldier. I’ll do my part. But in that line, there are some things you need to think about. When you – we – encounter a road-block, or other situations like I’ve seen in Afghanistan, you have to already know the SOP.”

  “SOP? asked Beth.

  “Yes, the ‘Standard Operating Procedure’, what you will do, without having to talk about it. You have to act fast, to get ahead of the decision-making cycle of your enemy. And from what I saw up in Viola yesterday, they’ll have nearly all of the advantages. But with this rig, and a few anti-ambush techniques I can teach you, we could turn the tables on whoever we come across.”

  Randy went on to discuss the sorts of things they could do when encountering an ambush.

  “So as long as everybody does their job, in a predictable way, and everybody is on the same page without even having to communicate, then the advantage tilts back to us.”

  “Randy, that’s a big if. And it seems that your ‘Actions On’ plan puts Beth in the greatest risk,” said Ian.

  “Yes, it all hinges on her performance. But as far as risk goes, we are all in the same boat. Cause once we are in it – find ourselves in such a situation – there’s no going back. If we don’t deploy and set up rapidly, in the way I have laid out, then we’re all doomed. We won’t even get out of the county, let alone across four state lines and all the way to Altoona.”

  “I’m not afraid, guys,” said Beth, “Knowing you are out there, covering my back, will give me a boost. And I can be very convincing when I need to.”

  “She’s right,” said Ian. “Have you ever seen her work a room? I’ve seen my Beth take on some pretty aggressive, over-confident types at her Toastmasters events. She sets ’em up and then knocks them down. It’s like that line from Star Wars: “Your overconfidence is your weakness.’ When whoever she is working on finally realizes that he has under-estimated Beth, it’s too late, she’s already won the contest. That’s why she makes friends so easily, too. People realize that she’s this super-smart, secure, and thoughtful person and they want to do whatever they can to help her succeed.”

  “Yeah, and in that scene, doesn’t the Emperor retort: ‘Your faith in your friends is your weakness?”

  “Yeah, Owen, but just remember the moral point here: the good guys win, despite desperate odds, because of how they trust each other. And that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “OK, Randy, I agree. It’s our best shot. And I know that I’ll do my part,” said Owen.

/>   “And trust me, Owen, I won’t let us down,” said Beth.

  Randy straightened up, painfully. “But that’s not all. We also need to do a little more work on the Explorer.”

  “Like what?” asked Ian.

  The veteran hitched a thumb in his belt and grinned. “Why do you think they call me ‘Run Flat Randy?’”

  After installing the Continental Self-Supporting Sidewall run-flat tires that Randy had been storing on the roof of his small garage, and strapping four extra SSR run-flats to the growing mass of supplies and equipment stowed on the roof of the Explorer, the three men worked together to jack-up the rear end of each of the two fuel tanks at the back of Randy’s lot.

  Looters had gravity-drained the fuel tanks almost completely dry, but by raising the rear end up by eighteen inches and drilling a hole in the bottom of the front end of the tanks, the three men were able to recover the final twenty gallons of diesel from one tank and close to thirty gallons of gasoline from the other, into a variety of jerry cans Randy produced from the crawl-space.

  Randy surprised the others by revealing that he had some firearms.

  “I left them here, buried in my stash, when I headed out to the cabin – just in case. I may have lost my Ruger and Glock, and all my gear, but at least I have my trusty old AR15, and the Colt-45, and about two hundred rounds,” he said, much to the relief of the others, who were inexperienced with firearms.

  “Will you show us how to use them?” asked Catherine.