This We Will Defend [Book 2]

by C. A. Rudolph

  Grace felt that she was far from mastering all the mechanics of moving and shooting that she’d learned over the past couple of days. It had only instilled within her an incomplete level of confidence and wasn’t nearly enough to set her mind at ease. She’d made her concerns known to the only person she knew that would tell her what she needed to hear—and maybe help teach her what she needed to know. Lauren promised her that she would do just that.

  While some of the group trained with Christian, others were working with Fred on a range he’d put together that simulated shooting at moving targets. He’d used several thousand feet of paracord and a tensioned pulley system suspended from trees to make it work. Targets hung from the paracord and would move from one direction to the other when an operator pulled on the draw mechanism attached to it. It was far from perfect, but the end result performed remarkably well and helped each shooter learn how to lead their intended target while it was on the move.

  As training continued, Fred suddenly let out a loud whistle that could be heard above the intermittent cracks of gunfire and then was heard calling out loudly for a cease fire. His actions got everyone’s attention and they began moving in his direction. Fred reached for his radio and brought it to his ear and after a few seconds had gone by, the expression on his face took a turn for the worse. His lower lip began to protrude along with his jaw as apprehension washed over him.

  “How long ago?” he asked gruffly into the radio microphone.

  Fred’s expression coupled with the tone of his voice began to gather the attention of everyone within earshot. Whoever he was speaking to was providing him with mood-altering information.

  “Negative. Do not break cover,” Fred said. “I repeat, do NOT break cover. Remain where you are unless the need arises to exfil, copy?”

  He continued to nod while displaying varied expressions with the radio placed back to his ear again.

  “Roger that. You guys keep your heads on swivels. Radio back the very second you see or hear anything else.”

  His conversation having concluded, Fred snapped the radio back onto the MOLLE webbing on his plate carrier.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” Megan asked as the others began to gather around her father to hear the news.

  Fred spent a few moments studying the faces of everyone that had now crowded around him, each eagerly awaiting news.

  “I think our truncated timetable just got a little more truncated,” he said grimly. “That was Mark. He just told me that a group of bikers pulled up a little while ago and just left Wolf Gap. They pulled the body we hid out of the woods and took it along with them.” He paused and put his hands on his hips. “I had a feeling they’d come looking for it after what happened the other day. The one who got away must’ve spilled the beans.”

  “Dammit. I knew we should’ve buried him,” Michael said in disgust.

  “Or set fire to him,” Peter quipped.

  “Yeah,” Norman added. “And I should’ve tried harder to stop the joker who got away. Sorry, Fred.”

  Fred held up a hand and shook his head dismissively. “It’s too late to worry about that, Norman. You did what you could that day. No one blames you for this.”

  “Are my boys okay?” Ricky Brady piped up with marked concern on his face. “Think we should head up there?”

  “Your boys are fine, Ricky,” replied Fred.

  “Well, what was all that do not break cover stuff about, then?” Whitney Schmidt asked with marked concern in her voice as she and Scott moved in closer to the conversation.

  “I was getting to that,” Fred began. “Mark also said that one of them shot another one in the head just before pulling away. He just rolled up on the guy and killed him. They left him to die right beside his motorcycle…and the engine is still idling as we speak.”

  “Are they going to investigate it?” Peter asked.

  “No,” replied Fred. “They could’ve done what they did just to draw us out into the open. That’s why I told the boys to stay put.”

  “So what do we do now?” Michael Perry asked as his wife, Kristen, put her arm around his waist. “I assume you have a plan for this.”

  Fred sighed. “Michael, I’m trying my best to predict the future here and I don’t have much to go on. I’d appreciate just a little leeway, if you don’t mind.”

  Fred began to pace. His mind raced while trying to estimate the best option for the group at their current combined training level, which he knew wasn’t anywhere near what he would prefer it to be at this point in the game. If they were this close, the timeline was severely curtailed. There seemed to be only one option from here on out.

  “It’s time to get moving, folks,” Fred said. “I would’ve liked to’ve had more time for training, but unfortunately, it looks like we’re going to have to move forward with the plan as it stands. We’ve always known they were coming, but now it’s pretty clear we’ve run out of time.”

  “If that’s the case, let’s all hope what we learned will be enough,” Kristen said snidely.

  “It’s going to have to be,” Michelle said. “We’ve run out of options.”

  Fred cleared his throat. “So first things first—Michelle, can you help oversee the relocation of personnel to the fallback position?” he asked. “Kim can work out the indoor logistics if you can get everybody there that needs to be there.”

  Michelle nodded. “Absolutely,” she said, and turned to Norman. “Can you give me a hand?”

  Norman nodded and went along with her.

  “The rest of you know your assigned positions. My suggestion for all of you is to head back to your homes and gather whatever gear you’re going to need and get your weapons and ammo squared away. We’ll be camping out for the duration,” Fred instructed. “I want everyone to be within ten minutes of your assigned shooting positions from this point forward. Keep your radios on and close at hand at all times. Maintain radio silence and listen. If something pops off, that’s the only way we can pass along the info. Only transmit if it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “And when it does pop off, remember your shooting lanes,” Christian added as the attention of the group turned to him. “We don’t need a friendly fire accident on our hands.”

  “Exactly,” Fred said. “And the best way to prevent that is to keep your damn heads down and stay behind cover. If they can’t see you, they don’t have a target to shoot at. If they can’t shoot you, you have a better chance of not getting dead.” Fred turned his attention abruptly to Peter and Amy just before they walked off. “Pete, I have something I’d like to discuss with you later on, after you guys get your boys squared away.”

  After a moment of mixed discussion, much of the group began to gather gear and shuffle to their modes of transportation. Christian and Grace, Lee and Megan, and John and Lauren remained where they stood, huddled closely together.

  “I hope I’m not the only one who’s freaking out right now,” Lee said nervously.

  “Just remember what we’ve been drilling on the past few days,” Christian said. “We’re going to be fine.”

  “I wish I had your confidence,” Megan said as the breeze tossed her hair around. “I’m with Lee. I’m freaking out too.”

  John’s face was still and emotionless. He put his arm around Lauren but got nothing in return. Lauren’s eyes were fixated on the tall grass at their feet and she’d started to leisurely crack her knuckles—something she’d been known to do when she was preoccupied.

  “Lauren, you have something you want to add?” Christian pondered.

  Lauren rolled her lips through her teeth. She glanced at each person who stood near her for a second and then returned her gaze to the ground at her feet. John began rubbing her shoulder.

  “Hey,” John said. “Are you with us?”

  Lauren swallowed hard. “Guys, there’s some things that I know—and I don’t have any time to explain how or why I know them. I just need you all to listen and just hear me out for a minute. Okay?” />
  No one said a word.

  After a moment of silence and realizing she’d piqued everyone’s interest, she continued. “We’ve been training the past couple of days to shoot at moving targets. And that’s good,” she said. “But what we haven’t trained for is what’s going to happen once the shooting starts. And that’s bad. When these guys get hit and go down, the rest are going to panic.”

  She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts.

  “After the panic starts, it’s going to escalate quickly. Some of them are going to go faster and try to run the gamut. Others are going to bail and try to fight us on foot. The faster bikes are going to be harder for us to hit. But their shots will be much less accurate—so it’s both good and bad.”

  “They’ll probably just shoot at anything and hope they hit something,” Lee said.

  Lauren continued. “The ones that choose to fight us on foot are going to be a bigger problem. We haven’t had time to train for that, and we’re going to need to enhance our plan on the fly. If they come at us, remaining stationary could be the worst plan. We need to anticipate when to retreat or when to go at them head-on.”

  Lauren slid her rifle from her shoulder, pulled the charging handle back, and chambered a round. She then moved in between the group and the one-hundred-meter range that lay just beyond them. Multiple targets were lined up in random locations along the path. She turned to face her friends and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

  “An old friend used to have this saying—it’s been stuck on replay in my mind today.”

  Lauren took a pause, brought the rifle to her shoulder, and aimed it downrange. She then snapped off the safety.

  “He used to say that no matter what happens in a gun battle, keep moving, and keep shooting. And…in the absence of a plan, move toward the sound of gunfire. And kill…everything.”

  Pulling the trigger repeatedly, Lauren emptied the magazine in her AR-15 as she advanced and engaged several of the targets along the path. When the bolt held back, she knelt on one knee and pressed the mag release while twisting the weapon inward, causing the empty mag to fly out and to her right from the centrifugal force. With a fresh magazine already in her hand, she sent it home and slapped the bolt release with her free hand and then continued her forward movement. Lauren then squeezed off the remaining thirty rounds as fast as she could pull the trigger at the remaining targets.

  “So, kill everything,” Lee said. “I can’t argue with that plan.”

  “It’s an effective strategy,” Lauren said as she returned to the group, “until you run out of ammunition. So don’t run out. Take high-quality shots and take a lot of them. Overwhelm them with firepower. No matter what happens, don’t stop shooting.”

  As she slung her rifle over her shoulder, Lauren walked past the others and immediately over to her sister, then pulled two fresh AR magazines from her pack and handed them to her. Grace took them, placing one into her rifle and slipping the other into her back pocket. The look on Grace’s face was hesitant, but Lauren smiled at her, placed her hand encouragingly on her shoulder and said, “It’s your turn, Grace. You can do this.”

  Fred stood silently, several hours after dismissing the group at the range, and leaned against the hood of his Humvee while sketching his last-minute battle plans on several sheets of graph paper. His attention was averted when he noticed the group of younger people walk past him, headed for the road, accompanied by his daughter. He easily caught up to them and reached for her hand as she turned to face him. The others soon stopped and gathered around, but didn’t initially notice his approach. Lee broke from the group and positioned himself just beside Megan.

  “Megan, I want you to gather your things, say your goodbyes to your friends, and head home,” Fred said firmly. “You don’t have any business being out here while all this is going on.”

  Megan turned to look at Lee and then shook her head in refusal. “I can’t do that, Dad,” she said timidly.

  “I’m serious, Megan. Some real shit is about to go down and I want you back at the house with the others.”

  “With the other children, you mean,” Megan said defiantly.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “But it’s what you meant,” Megan mocked. “I’m sorry, Dad. But my place is here.”

  Fred adjusted his posture. “Young lady, this isn’t a request.”

  “I’m aware of that. I can tell by your tone. And I’m telling you that my place is here. With them.”

  Fred moved to within inches of his daughter. His pounding chest was nearly touching hers, and every time he exhaled through his nose the air pressure moved Megan’s hair around.

  “What did you just say to me, young lady?” he growled.

  “Back off of her, Fred,” Grace ordered as she pushed past Christian to impulsively insert herself between Fred and his daughter.

  “Grace—stay out of this.”

  “No,” Grace refused. “You’re being an asshole right now. And that’s the last thing any of us needs at a time like this—especially your own daughter.”

  Fred dismissed Grace’s attempt to thwart his authority and kept his attention aimed at Megan. “I told you to go home, Megan,” he said while pointing his finger southward. “Go. Home.”

  For the first time in her life, Megan Mason stood her ground against her father and his wishes. A young person who’d been brought up in a strict military family wasn’t supposed to defy his or her parents. It wasn’t just frowned upon—it was equivalent to disobeying a direct order. Megan didn’t know why she felt so strongly about being in the fight—she just knew it was what she was supposed to do.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Megan said, trembling. “I’ll go home, but I’m only going there to gear up. I’m not staying.”

  Lee, who was watching the situation unfold closely and was worried that it might spiral out of control, moved a bit closer to Megan to offer her support. He wanted her to know that he was there.

  “Leave her alone, Fred,” Lee said in a nonconfrontational tone. “If she wants to fight with us, you should just let her.”

  Fred’s thousand-yard stare promptly found its way to Lee. But before he could act on it, Megan spoke.

  “Dad…enough already. Don’t you get it? This is our fight, too. We all have a place in this now…and we all reap the same consequences if it goes bad.” She paused and shook her head feverishly in refusal. “We have a responsibility to each other and there’s no way I’m going to run home and hide while everyone else fights. I’m going to fight, too. With you…and with my friends.”

  Fred shook his head and scowled bitterly. He’d never seen this side of his daughter before. She’d always done what he’d told her to do. Something, or better yet, someone was influencing this new insubordinate behavior. He turned his attention to Lauren and glared at her.

  “Lauren Jane, you’ve always been quite the rebel. Is this your influence?”

  Lauren casually returned his glare. “No. This is your daughter trying to be…what you’ve always wanted her to be.”

  Fred put his hands on his hips, stood tall, and puffed his chest outward in an attempt to look intimidating. But the mood that surrounded his present company was too surreal and it had little to no effect.

  “You should be proud of her,” Lauren said. “God knows…I’d want my dad to be proud of me right now.”

  Lauren turned her back to Fred and walked off hand in hand with John. Grace and Christian followed in tow. Megan stood silently for a moment, waiting for some mark of approval from her unrelenting, hard-as-nails father. Assuming she’d never get what she was looking for in this lifetime, she decided it wasn’t worth the wait. She stormed off, with Lee following closely behind.

  Fred, who now stood alone in the middle of the field he’d turned into a makeshift gun range, was completely thunderstruck. His little girl had just told him to his face that she wasn’t going to do as she’d been told. Fred’s anger and aggressiveness began to give way
to feelings of resentment and, soon, turned into full-on guilt. Megan had grown up too fast for his liking—way too fast. He’d lucked out after the collapse—to be able to spend so much time with his children. In normal times while on active duty, he’d spent a lifetime away from them when he’d been deployed. In his absence, Megan had turned into a woman. A living, breathing, fighting woman. Was that what he really wanted? He didn’t know for sure. He only knew one thing—he didn’t want to see her get hurt.

  Fred’s confidence had abandoned him. It’d been that way since he’d gotten the call from Mark on the radio. He’d never in his life had to worry about his family while fighting wars. They’d always been safe. They’d always been at home. He never worried about himself either. Fred had always known that he possessed a warrior’s blood. He always knew the role he’d chosen with the Army put him right where he needed to be. He’d fight the battles and let those who couldn’t fight, like his family, reap the benefits of freedom by living normal, safe, and happy lives. Even if something were to happen to him, his family could move on eventually and continue their lives.

  Things were different now. Home was no longer a safe place to be. It had become the battleground. A war was going to be fought here, and his family was going to be right smack-dab in the middle of it. And that prospect scared him to death. For the first time in his life, Fred, the warrior, the retired Army Ranger, was afraid.

  Peter and his wife, Amy, stepped over to where Fred was standing. He appeared frozen and didn’t even notice that they’d returned, as he’d requested them earlier. After a moment, Fred snapped out of his trance and nodded to them, but neither returned the gesture in light of their current predicament.

  Peter threw up a hand. “You rang?”

  “I’ll make this brief,” Fred said, his tone much more morose than usual. “It’s rumored that you have a high-powered rifle in your possession. A .338?”

  “Affirmative,” said Peter. “But don’t get your hopes up, it’s not a Lapua. It’s a .338 Win Mag. It’s about five hundred feet per second slower—but that saves me from needing a new barrel after a couple of hundred rounds.”