Righteous Sacrifice

by Timothy Van Sickel

  For the next half hour the complications of the effort are hashed out. What people will need most is food and clean water. The town has both, but transporting it is the problem. The hypersensitive regulatory regime of yesterday bogs down decisions on the proper movement of prepared food. Mark is getting exasperated when a high and whiney voice chimes in from a corner of the room.

  "These people won’t care about hair nets and purified containers. Get the food to them in hog troughs if you have to. Don’t get bogged down in this bullshit, just do your best." The Commander, a highly decorated Vietnam vet, lays back down and resumes his uneasy nap.

  "The Commander is right, we cannot provide perfection, but we can provide relief," my wife, Becca, states.

  As the discussion on the refugee relief operation winds down, I pull aside the militia leaders.

  * * *

  "Okay, men, keep your heads screwed on straight," I state. "There is a pile on our plate. We need to maintain local security, assist and coordinate with the other local towns, stop the hooligans from raiding any more farms, and then take back the farms around Davidsville."

  I am met by a half dozen stoic faces.

  "I remember a prayer that may do us all good right now, let's pray." My militia leaders all bow their heads, even Captain Hutchins, a known agnostic. "God, grant us the serenity to accept the things we can not change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference." There are a few teary eyes and mumbled Amens at the recognition of the prayer and its practical sense.

  Looking up at my staff, I hobble to the front of the room on my crutches, due to the loss of my leg defending my own home. I state very directly, "All big problems are solved by taking care of the small problems.

  "Local security comes first. Lt. Devers, you can shift your main effort to Route 160 and the northern approaches to town from Windber. You will need a refugee relief station too. Make sure the civilians know that. With our improved firepower, that should free up a lot of men. Send the extra men to Hooversville and Benson. Don’t worry about Route 30. Hutchins' men will have that secured by the operations they will be running."

  "Captain Hutchins, we are going to control Route 30 from here to Route 219. Renegades busted out and control farms along that corridor. If they are willing to turn the farms back over to their rightful owners, you will offer them peace. If they won’t, take the farms back as you deem needed."

  "General, these groups coming out of Johnstown now, they may have gotten a hold of some of the arms and ammunition at the airport. This wont be easy." States newly promoted Captain Hutchins, a local veteran with several tours in Afghanistan, honorably discharged as an E6 Infantry Ranger.

  "Most of these people, all they want is food," states Colonel Fisher. Colonel Fisher is a retired Army Ranger First Sergeant. He accepted a promotion to colonel at the same time I was elected general. "It's been almost two weeks since the power went out. So it's been days since they have had good food. I know beans and bullets. Napoleon once said that armies move on their stomachs. If we can feed these people, we can win them over to us. The drug-addicted hooligans were a different story. These folks heading into the countryside now, they want peace and security as much as we do. But most importantly, they want food."

  "Good point colonel," I respond. "Zach's convoy brought in several pallets of MREs. Captain Hutchins, make sure you all have several cases of MREs for immediate relief."

  "We can do better than that, Mark. We should have fresh food, roasted chicken, pork or beef. That will win a lot more people over than cold MRE’s" my wife, Rebecca states. "We have apples galore right now, so they should have some bushels of apples too. We want these people to know that we have fresh food, long term food sources, not just stored food.”

  “You are so right Becca,” Colonel Fisher chimes in. “We need to look long term. We want these refugees looking long term too."

  "Just the aroma of the food will have them laying down their weapons and joining us!" Captain Hutchins exclaims. "I like your thinking Top, I mean Colonel. Win hearts and minds, not battles. We can make that work."

  "I like this track of thinking," I state. "Come up with a list of what you want and I'll get it to the mayor before I leave tonight. He'll get the fire department to light up its grills and have everything ready for tomorrow morning."

  Our impromptu group of militia leaders discuss the next day’s missions. Runners are sent out to let people know who will be needed and where. No cell phones, no text messages, runners, some old CBs, and a few wireless mics that were protected in a Faraday cage, are all we have to communicate with. But in an organized but semi-chaotic way, orders get disseminated.

  Lt Anders, our communications and intelligence officer joins us to help coordinate. He is a middle-aged man with a wife and two children that were rescued from the Flight 93 Memorial. He is a West Point graduate who had spent most of his career as a Pentagon desk jockey and had been a Lt. Colonel. He has felt more useful in the last seven days, helping the militia that rescued him and his family from the Flight 93 Memorial, than he has in twenty years of paper pushing in the regular army.

  "Hooversville and Benson are with us on our operations,” begins our communications officer. “Benson is really worried about the people in Davidsville heading over the hill and into their town. Hooversville can't take many more people, they don't have the farm support that we have. The word from Jerome, Boswell and Stoystown is troubling. It's all mixed up, but their contact with the Somerset people has gone cold. Something has changed but I can't put my finger on it.

  "And the HAM radio is going nuts. Since that SAC broadcast explaining the worldwide attacks, people are freaking. It's become more obvious that the federal government has fallen. In the few places they have tried to step up and help, they have been overwhelmed. The idea that FEMA could have food stock piled to feed three-hundred-million people is nuts. But people believed that, and now they are screwed.

  “I can tell you this, the people who have survived this long are migrating out of the cities, looking for food. What I have heard is bad, very bad. We will have a full report for you tomorrow morning. I have two people monitoring the HAM and taking notes."

  My group goes a bit sour at this news. I voice a bit of personal philosophy. "Before you can clean up the nation, you must first clean up your own backyard, then help cleanup your neighbor's back yard. Then help clean up your neighborhood. Then join forces with other people doing the same. We can't help everyone. The Serenity Prayer we said just an hour ago should be our guide. Let's change what we can change, and know that there are things we can't change."

  "The General is right," states Colonel Fisher. "We have taken care of ourselves. We don't need FEMA. We have proven that. Now we need to make sure our neighbors are okay. Let's step up to the plate gentlemen. No looking back, let's move forward. God has our back, we are on a righteous mission."

  From the back corner of the room a weak voice is heard, "Amen, brother. Now quit gabbin' and get movin'," the Commander says.

  Chapter 3, Movement

  Somerset to Bakersville, PA

  September 23rd

  "Don't even move a muscle, chief," Sergeant Hay states as the muzzle of his weapon is pointed squarely at Police Chief Fleegle's forehead. "Have your boys in the pickup behind you come on down here. Take a look at our four trucks, you’re out gunned. They all have your truck sighted in and will rip it to pieces if you make a wrong move. We faced down a thousand strong horde just a few days ago. So you and your five men don't scare us."

  Chief Fleegle eyes up the well armed convoy, and waves his security truck down to the large intersection.

  "Have your men come out here and sit down. They can bring their weapons," states Sergeant Hay, relaxing his stance on the chief of police. He doesn’t want these men, many of whom he knows, to think of themselves as prisoners. If they are allowed to keep their weapons, then they will know they are being treated with respect. At least he hopes.<
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  He and Ms. Hodge sit with the six men and women around him on the hard pavement. His convoy keeps guard over their pow-wow.

  "So we have martial law now? Explain that to me?" Sergeant Hay begins.

  "Calm down sergeant," Chief Fleegle states. "It came over the HAM radio three days ago. Captain Albright and I started instituting what the president directed. We’re just makin’ sure that everyone is treated fairly and that we have control over the resources needed to recover from this attack. These are orders from the president. We’re tryin’ to help with the national unity."

  "It's been almost two weeks, what help have you seen from the federal government?" Ms. Hodge asks.

  "Well, that’s just it, councilwoman. If we impose martial law, then we can control things so that the feds can come in and help."

  "This town had started to adjust pretty well without martial law. And you are not going to get help from the feds. I saw that first hand in Johnstown,” the councilwoman responds. “They were supposed to resupply the airport and never did. What makes you think the feds are going to come in here to Somerset?"

  "Well, if we can maintain law and order, then we will get helped out," states Chief Fleegle flatly.

  Sergeant Hay goes to the meat of the matter. "Why do you have most of the city council locked up?"

  Unflustered, the chief responds openly. "They opposed Captain Albright in takin’ over the farms and the distribution of the food, as the martial law decreed. The decree was clear, but the council opposed it, so they had to be jailed. It's martial law now. We can't have people disobeying the law. The council should know that. I don't see your concern, Sergeant. We’re just followin’ the law. You should respect that. Now have your people stand down and all will be forgiven as a misunderstanding."

  The standoff in the middle of town has gone on for more than fifteen minutes. The Georgian Place Mansion can be clearly seen on a hilltop overlooking the town. Movement at the mansion is seen by some of Sergeant Hay's people who give him a quick sign that trouble is coming.

  "Chief, before I unload my cargo, I'm heading out to Bakersville," Sergeant Hay states. "I'd like to hear their side of the story." As an aside, Sergeant Hay throws out a zinger. "If Captain Albright has you all join the Laurel Highlands Militia, he will probably be put in the command structure."

  Sergeant Hay motions for his convoy to mount up and follow. A minute later they are heading east on Route 31, towards Bakersville with their heavy cargo of munitions.

  In the darkness, Captain Albright's lead vehicles only see the vague outlines of a few trucks turning west in the middle of town. Captain Albright shows up at the intersection where Chief Fleegle is shaking his head, knowing he just got played. "You got two choices Captain Albright. Join ‘em or fight ‘em."

  * * *

  Five miles west of Somerset, the convoy rolls up on the backside of a roadblock. Sergeant Burns, recruited to Sergeant Hay’s group while fleeing the chaos at the airport, hops out of the lead vehicle which has rolled up to within ten yards of the roadblock. "Captain Albright sent us out here. He is expectin’ the renegades in Bakersville will try to push back here tonight. Who's in charge here?"

  "I am, sergeant," a buff looking young man in full dessert battledress uniform proclaims. Three civilians and two other reserves troops are with him, manning the roadblock.

  Sergeant Burns shakes his hand. "Staff Sergeant Burns from the 528th Engineers," she states confidently. "How many men do you have on the perimeter? You got positions out on the flanks?"

  "Two men with deer rifles on that knoll over there, Sergeant," he says pointing northwest of the road. "With your extra manpower, we can move forward to the next ridge. That ridge is occupied by the Mostoller family. They ain't taking too kindly to the martial law decree. Captain Albright said we would get reinforced and better arms too, so we’re glad you showed up, Sergeant."

  "I'll send two men to your outpost. You relax a bit, we got this for you." Sergeant Burns says with due concern. The young soldier relaxes a bit, happy to have been relieved by a more senior NCO.

  After a few minutes Sergeant Burns casually asks, "So what's the beef with the Mostollers'? They have always been leading citizens."

  "They don't like the martial law. I don't like it either, but I'm army, like you. I got to follow orders."

  Sergeant Burns sees a brief red light flash from the top of the knoll. The roadblock is now totally in their control without a shot fired.

  "What if the martial law order was unlawful? Have you thought about that?"

  "Can't be, the president ordered it, so it's lawful."

  Sergeant Burns, realizing this approach is not going to work, decides on a different tack.

  "Would it be okay with you if we went up and made peace with the Mostollers'?"

  "Hell yeah! I played football with some of them boys. If you can make peace, let's get it done!"

  "You're a good soldier. Let's see if we can make peace. You stay by my side and on my side. Just listen to my lead, okay?"

  Sergeant Burns heads back to their convoy. She needs two things, a white flag and an American flag. She also grabs a flashlight that she hands to her new friend.

  "Me and you are going to march over to that hill and make peace. Are you with me?" The young soldier looks around at the heavily armed trucks, and soldiers around him.

  "Yes sergeant! We got the fire power, let’s go make peace!" he responds enthusiastically.

  The two young National Guard members head off across the two hundred yard wide no man’s land. Sergeant Burns with an M16A2 fully loaded on a swivel strap, holding the Stars and Stripes high. Her burly young friend has a 30.06 strapped to his back, with a white flag waving high in peace.

  * * *

  There are several dozen woodsmen, vets and farmers on the opposing hill. They take quick notice of the approaching envoy because of their bold approach with the dual flags flying. The outpost commander is quickly alerted of this odd development and takes up a hidden position as the two uniformed soldiers approach. When they are about one-hundred feet from their position he nods to his buddy who hollers out to them. "Stop where you are and state your business."

  "We come to make peace. Neighbor fighting neighbor will not end well," Sergeant Burns states loudly.

  The OP commander hollers back, "We want nothing to do with your martial law. Your leader has no idea of how to help us recover from this attack. When he reinstates civilian control, then we can talk peace."

  "We are here to help make that happen," the female voice responds. "Most of Somerset disagrees with the martial law. We are here to join you, and persuade the captain back in Somerset from following the path he is on."

  The two men at the outpost are surprised at this statement. They talk for a bit. Is it a ruse? Can they trust these people? What if they turn on them after letting them into their ranks?

  While they are talking, Sergeant Burns hollers from the road. "I got four trucks and a dozen people with me including Ms. Hodge, the county commissioner, and First Sergeant Hay. We were sent to Johnstown for supplies four days ago."

  The two men at the roadblock stop their discussion at this statement. One of them knows Sergeant Hay. "Why didn't you say so? Bring George on up here young lady. Tell him Frank Hays says hello." The Hays' and the Hay's are related, it's a complicated Appalachian lineage. The two men are probably cousins four times removed or something like that.

  Sergeant Burns hand signals the truck in the over watch position, soon Sergeant Hay's truck pulls around and heads towards them. Ms. Hodge and Sergeant Hay dismount, and after getting a quick rundown on the situation, they approach the roadblock.

  "Frank Hays? That you? Open up this dang road so I can get my ass out of no man’s land you fool." After a strong embrace, Sergeant Hay waves his convoy up, followed by most of the outpost on the opposing hill.

  The young corporal is looking around, dismayed. What just happened? Whose side am I on? He is swept up along with the con
voy and most of his roadblock companions from the other knoll. He is bear hugged by one of his high school friends. "Man am I glad you got out of that mess," his friend states warmly. "Come on, let's get you settled in." And before he has time to think it through, a warm bowl of chili is in his hands and several of his friends are slapping him on the back, yuckin’ it up, glad that he has joined up with the 'good' side.

  Two men skirt back through the wood line and begin the long walk back to Somerset. They argue about what just happened as they walk, but they continue back towards town.

  Sergeant Hay and his friend, Frank Hays, talk up a storm, along with Ms. Hodge. Stories are told and local news is exchanged. Sergeant Burns makes sure the roadblock is reinforced, ammunition is supplied for those who need the 5.56 rounds they have, and a few of the bigger arms are distributed. Captain Albright will not overrun this position.

  * * *

  Once the situation has calmed down, Sergeant Hay relays by CB to Stoystown what has happened, which is eventually relayed back to Central City. Mark Mays, is back at the farmstead, where he was hoping to get some rest to let his amputated leg have more time to heal, when he gets the news. He will not get the needed rest as he and his step-daughter, Colonel Brit, pour over the maps, and re-plan the next day’s moves. Somerset cannot be lost. It has to be an ally of strength or the fertile farmlands needed to feed the survivors will be lost.

  While Mark and Brit are evaluating their options, Sergeant Hay and his convoy show up at the Bakersville Fire Hall. With its propane fired generator and backup fresh water well the fire hall has become, the headquarters for the martial law resistant group.

  Even though it is approaching midnight, the place is a beehive of activity. News of the supply convoy not stopping in Somerset has spread. People who had sided with Captain Albright and his martial law are defecting. Even without modern communications, word has spread. The people's faith in the federal government helping them is faltering. Support of martial law is waning, as the farmlands that will feed the town rise in rebellion.