The last person to make his report was Myron Schenk, the local HAM guru. He was what you would expect a HAM radio operator to look like, squat, chubby and awkward. But his eyes were sharp and intelligent, and he had a very friendly demeanor. He took on the challenge of setting up and maintaining a radio net with gusto.
He stood and cleared his throat, “Our network is operating perfectly. We have each post wired with a radio, and the scouts are also equipped with longer-range units for communication. We have also devised a set of codes and emergency procedures in case the net gets compromised in any way. I think we are as ready as we can be in terms of radios.”
Elaine banged her gavel on the desk, “Is there anything else to discuss? Seeing nothing, I bring this meeting to a close….good luck everyone!” She stood and gathered her papers and prepared to leave the office as the meeting broke up, and the participants went there separate ways.
At the McDonnell farm, preparations were also being made for the big attack. Weapons, consisting of M-4 carbines and Beretta pistols were distributed to the soldiers along with a meager supply of ammunition. Each soldier carried three full 30 round magazines for the rifle and a single magazine for the pistol if they had one. Delquan convinced them that lightness and speed would win the day, so they shouldn’t be unnecessarily weighted down with additional equipment.
Most of the “soldiers” were college students, with a smattering of gang members who had no concept how long three magazines would last them in a firefight. A lucky few carried a stick of dynamite from a box found in the barn and classified as sappers, charged with using their explosives to inflict damage on whatever they could during the battle. Unfortunately for them, a lot of that dynamite began to sweat due to its age, which essentially turned each of the sappers into an unwitting suicide bomber. After being outfitted, the soldiers placed their equipment at the foot of their beds and returned to the front of the house for an important speech from their leader.
Once the troops finally assembled, Delquan stood on the front porch and gave what he thought to be the most important speech of his life.
“Brothers and sisters of the New Nubian Army, you are at a crossroads in history! We are finally in a position to take what has been taken from us…our dignity as the rightful rulers of the land. We are the new Nubian Kings and Queens of America. With our blood, sweat and tears we will remake this land into one, which serves us and us alone, while our enemies are driven before us and enslaved for their past crimes against the black race! Destiny chose us to rule this land as our own…we have been given a chance by divine providence to take our place as the elite….but we must be willing to act with aggressive force to ensure that that place is never snatched from us again!”
The crowd began to clap, hoot, and holler at Delquan’s words.
“Before us stands a town filled with the people and ideas of the old, decayed world. They failed to tame this planet and now must face the consequences for their hubris and corruption. We will go through them like a scythe through wheat. Have no mercy for these devils…..kill them all! Each town we come across will fall in the very same way until we at last reach Milwaukee. Milwaukee will fall to us and our might and then the state, and then the country! All we have to do is fight for our chance, and we will surely be triumphant!”
Delquan’s words whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Delquan fed off their energy and raised his arms in triumph.
“We are the new rulers of the world. We will control it; we will benefit from its fruits, and we will demonstrate to the world that we are its masters! Join me and help to make this happen! You will reap rewards beyond your wildest dreams. Now is our time! Tomorrow is just the beginning!”
The army was on it’s feet now hollering and clapping for the inspiring words given by their leader. For a shining moment, they saw Delquan as the King of the new world, a King that they would willingly follow to hell and back to make the dream he spun come true.
Delquan raised his hands for silence, “Now it is time to party! Drink deep my warriors….for tomorrow victory is at hand! A cart full of captured liquor and a bale of marijuana they had liberated out of the liquor stores and drug houses while on their way out of Madison. Everybody indulged in alcohol and marijuana for an hour, getting good and drunk or stoned before they returned to the barracks for rest.
After Mustafa gave final instructions to his troop leaders, he tried to corner Delquan and convince him that there was something wrong with Simone’s information.
“Sir, we need to talk about the upcoming plans for the attack on the town.”
Delquan glared at Mustafa, “And what’s the problem now…..methinks you have a problem with a certain woman.”
“Yes sir. The information is just too good to be true…I think she’s leading us into a trap. If we do exactly what she says, we can lose the entire army……we simply can’t risk it in my opinion.
Delquan got up from the couch he was reclining on, “Why can’t you accept that the sister as finally awakened to the white man’s treachery and corrupt nature. She is helping us because she wants all of us to succeed. I don’t think she wants to destroy us, after all; I have looked into her soul and seen the truth!”
Mustafa rolled his eyes; he hated it when his boss went on these quasi-metaphysical tangents. He continued his protestations knowing full well he was skating on thin ice, “Sir, let me have a crack at her. I assure you I will get to the truth before we commit our forces.”
Delquan got face to face with his Lieutenant, his rage burning white hot, “NO! YOU WILL FOLLOW THE PLAN AS IT HAS BEEN DISCUSSED! OR WOULD YOU RATHER GO IN WITH THE TROOPS ON THE FRONT LINE!” Spittle flew from his leader’s lips and splashed Mustafa in the face.
Mustafa could barely control his rage. He wanted to skin this little prick alive, but he didn’t have enough support from the group…yet. If he moved too quick to take the reins, he could find himself on the outside…or in front of a firing squad in short order.
He swallowed his aggression, “Yes sir.” He turned and left the room with slumped shoulders. He went down into the barn and issued his key people and additional magazine of ammunition. His most loyal supporters, all Milwaukee Street gang members, were happy to get a little extra ammo for the upcoming battle. He then met with the squad leaders and made sure that everything was in order before turning in. As he fell asleep, he thought to himself, “This plan had better work, Delquan….it had better work.
On the morning of the seventh day after the event, the troops were then fed a small meal of corn and whatever else they could scrounge up from the root cellar. They picked the farm clean, either packing what supplies they could take or consuming it on the spot. Everybody was well aware that they had to take the town…there was no coming back here. Mustafa Stood up on the cart and yelled, “Form up!
The troops all fell into their assigned places and stood at a semblance of attention. Mustafa addressed the troops, “Everyone, remember your training. Use cover and concealment, pick your targets and watch your ammunition, remember one well-placed shot will kill from these weapons, so don’t waste ammo! Groups A and B, you are the assault force; it is imperative that you keep the defenders busy while C and D groups do an end run around the barricade and take out their command and control personnel and communication systems. If we do this right, we have a good chance of success. Move out!”
At 7: 50am, Delquan called for a march to the town, and the 200 men and women of The New Nubian Army marched forth to take the town, and whatever spoils they could find! The army made no pretension of stealth; they walked right up the middle of County Road PQ which turned into water Street as they crossed the border of Cambridge with Delquan and his closest advisors safely in the rear. Unbeknownst to the approaching force, they were under observation.
John Charden and his spotter Louise Jenks were the first of the mobile scouts saw the formation moving toward town on Highway PQ about a mile before it met Highway 12. They were both wearing homemade ghilli
e suits which made them both part of the landscape.
John and Louise had been friends since high school. The draft took John away all those years ago and sent him to a little backwater place called Vietnam where his natural talent as a rifleman earned him a spot on a scout sniper team. One year and 78 kills later he was home and working in the Lumber mill alongside Louise’s high school sweetheart, Dan. They all became fast friends, and hunted with each other every year during deer season. John always got the biggest deer out of the group, and was able to turn his hunting skills into cash by guiding rich idiots from Chicago on his private piece of land. When cancer took Dan in 2000, Louise and John took up again and were living a comfortable life out away from the cities. When the call was raised to help the town, John asked Louise to be his spotter, using her sharp eyes and skill as a birdwatcher for he benefit of the town. She was a quick study, and armed with her spotting scope bought for her by Dan as an anniversary present, she and John headed out of town at dawn to observe the oncoming army and slow them down with a few well-placed shots.
John raised his binoculars and smiled, “Louise, glass those fools and tell me how far away they are…I think it’s about 325 yards.”
Louise pointed her high powered spotting scope at the group…..John was right on the mark…329 yards.
“Right in the wheelhouse John, 329 yards and closing.”
“Pick one for me sweetie, look for somebody in charge.”
“Right-o!” Louise scanned the group and found an excellent target. He was standing up straight and pointing out things to other members of the group. Louise thought he must be an officer or somebody in charge. The stupid red do-rag on his head made him even more of an easy of a target for her teammate.
“John, the idiot with the red do-rag, he was just ordering a few others around. Take him when you’re ready.”
John found him in the scope, “I got him…..sending it.” He took a full breath, let out half of it to steady himself and gently squeezed the trigger, sending a 147-grain boat-tailed bullet whizzing towards its target. John almost felt sorry about the man on the other end of his rifle, but then remembered that the man was here for one reason, to take everything from him and his kin.
His target looked like he was taking a Sunday walk with his buddies across campus; he bobbed his head in time with his steps and carried his weapon casually as if he had no idea what it was capable of doing.
Just before Jesus Brown went to meet his maker at John’s hands, he was telling other soldiers nearby what he planned on doing to the townspeople when they won the upcoming battle.
“Man, first I am going to get me some of that high school girl pussy. I mean I ‘m going to ride hard on that shit and bust it all up! Then I’m going to get my drunk on…wooohheeee this is going to be fu…” The bullet struck the newly minted soldier in the temple and blew his head apart, scattering it over his close compatriots and spreading fear and chaos through the ranks.
“What else you got Louise?” John ejected the spent cartridge and put it in his pocket.
“How ‘bout the woman with the yellow shirt pointing out toward us?”
Louise looked over at a woman in her spotting scope. She was pointing right at them and yelling something. Louise knew she had to die to discourage her comrades from searching the fields.
John grunted, “She’ll do…Sending it!” Another 147 boat-tailed bullet streaked towards its target.
The bullet struck the female solider in the neck, nearly decapitating her.
It was time to go. John said, “Displace to location bravo.” They crawled along the brush line until they were out of direct sight, and then sprinted to their next hide, another excellent ambush point closer to town. The battle of Cambridge had begun, with the town far ahead of its adversaries in the kill column.
Delquan and Mustafa had their hands full bringing their troops under control after the quick strike by the sniper team. People surrounded their compatriots and cried and screamed. Some threw their weapons down and refused to continue. The majority of these so-called soldiers are still pampered University students, and had never experienced violence of this magnitude in their lives. Delquan knew that he was losing them, he had better motivate them quickly, or he and his core group would be attacking Cambridge alone.
Delquan stood on a small rise above the roadway and yelled, “People, please listen!” The army calmed down, and he raised the bullhorn he was carrying and began to speak.
“Brothers and Sisters, we are in the fight of our lives. The townspeople could have welcomed us with open arms, but no, they decided to resist. Their resistance to us represents the racism of the old world, which they will continue to cling to if we allow them to survive. We are the warriors of the new world; we will bring this wild place under control for our children and the betterment of the superior Black race!” He paused dramatically, “Could you face your brothers and sisters if you ran now? Would you be able to enjoy the spoils of hard-fought battle with them? I think not. We must move forward and honor our fallen comrades by taking this town in their name, and making them pay for spilling our precious blood!”
Simone, playing the part of the truly converted, stood up from the dead female soldier’s side and shouted, “Tell it Delquan!” Simone’s exhortations brought forth a few more “Yeah’s and Uh Huh’s” from the crowd.
Delquan was pleased from the small burst of energy provided by Simone, and used it to whip the crowd into a blood-crazed frenzy. “Oh yes, my brothers and sisters, they are trying to keep us down just like the Klan kept our brothers and sisters of bygone days down. But we as a people can no longer tolerate this treatment at the hands of these white oppressors! Join with me, and together we will crush our enemies, see them driven before us and hear the lamentation of their women!” He stole that last part from one of those sword and sandal movies of the 1980’s, and it had the desired effect.
The army, buoyed by their leader’s words, quickly formed back up into their ranks, and began marching down highway PQ with payback on their mind and the sure and certain belief that they would quickly triumph over the townspeople.
John and Louise had set up about 600 yards away from the first ambush point and observed the leader of the group give his speech. He couldn’t hear much, but the wind carried some of the speech to John and he snickered to himself at the silly imagery that Delquan fed his supplicants.
“Louise, report to headquarters and give them a sitrep.”
Louise turned on the radio and dialed it to the right frequency, “Team one reporting.”
“Go ahead Team one.” Came back the calm reply of the radio operator.
“Louise keyed the mike; we have contact on Highway PQ, two bad guys down. We displaced to location Bravo…awaiting instructions.”
The radio operator passed on the message to Elaine, who whispered a response. The operator keyed his mike, “Command authorizes two more shots at targets of opportunity, then get back to the line.”
“Understood,” Louise shut the radio down and whispered to John “Two more tags and we got to split.”
“Got it, let’s let them close a bit, and then find me another.”
Louise got back behind her rangefinder and selected a soldier in the front rank. The man carried a pistol as well as a rifle and his eyes burned with intensity.
“Front rank, center column…he’s got a rifle and a pistol, 300 yards and closing.”
“Got him….sending it.”
John decided to shoot him in the chest to increase terror in the ranks. If he didn’t die right away, maybe his agonizing last seconds of life would rattle the attackers further. He sighted his rifle, let out half a breath, and squeezed the trigger sending another 147 grain piece of death towards the enemy. The target reacted as if a baseball bat hit him. He whooshed out his last breath and fell like a puppet with his strings cut.
Unfortunately for John, his shot raised a small puff of dust from the dry ground, which was seen by some soldiers on t
he flank.
One of the soldiers yelled, “Over there! Over there!” Indicating where he saw the dust cloud rise from the ground.
Several soldiers fired wildly in the direction of the shot. John and Louise found themselves pinned down by un aimed fire. John tried to crawl to the tree line but caught a stray bullet in the side of the head, killing him instantly.
Louise screamed, “JOHN!” just a bullet struck her in the hip, shattering her pelvis.
Louise laid in the field gasping in pain. She heard the excited yells of the soldiers as they approached, knowing full well that they would kill her once they discovered her. She crawled to John’s rifle and removed the bolt and threw it away. She then took the radio and smashed it against a nearby rock, severing the communication link and denying the enemy eavesdropping ability. Louise rolled onto her belly and snapped the safety off of her late husband’s pistol, a Detonics 45ACP from the early 1980’s. She saw a soldier appear and yell, “Hey! I found one!” The soldier shot John’s body several more times. He then rolled John over and began to search him, laughing. Louise’s ghillie suit concealed her from the soldier, despite the face she was less than 3 yards from her husband. She lined the sights of the pistol upon the young punk and emptied half of the magazine in him.
The young punk could only yell “Gurkkkkk!” as the bullets struck him, killing him before he hit the ground. Mustafa caught a movement in the field as he rushed to the aid of his soldier.
Louise rolled over onto her back; pistol still clutched in her hand, breathing heavily. Her strength left her, and she dropped the pistol on her side and faced Mustafa with unafraid eyes.
“Leave us alone you bastard!” She spat on the ground at Mustafa’s feet.
“Not after this, bitch!” Mustafa raised his pistol and emptied it into Louise, killing her.
After searching both corpses, Mustafa walked back to the to the column lost in thought. He thought to himself, “These two people were in their late 60’s, and yet they were acting as a sniper team, if we run up against fighters like that in town….man, we’re fucked!”
Lights out in America's Dairyland: An EMP Adventure Page 13
