Righteous Sacrifice

by Timothy Van Sickel

  Chapter 24, Acquiring Intelligence

  Jeam Bonnett Tavern

  10/09

  The crisp autumn air is refreshing. The sweet smell of apples being processed fills the air. A few days ago the countryside was stagnant. Today it is vibrant. Farmers are working their fields, the refugees are out helping them. Trade bazaars have been set up. And there is even traffic on the roads; horse drawn wagons outnumber the local farm trucks, but people are out and about, moving, trading, communicating.

  On the spacious porch of the historic tavern, my team meets with Colonel Adkins and her best people. “Your assessment of the situation is very perceptive, general. Our general staff did not account for the fight over the farmlands, but I think you are right. Especially about the farmlands needing to be preserved. If the ability to produce food is decimated, those who do survive this winter will starve next spring.

  “But you have not adequately accounted for what the military will do,” She continues. “There is a national protocol for US Armed Forces to implement martial law, for the military to just take over until the Washington establishment can retake control. That protocol is what we fought against in our G3 meetings at the PA National Guard. But, that is what is happening right now, despite our efforts to have the martial law decree changed

  “That’s what happened at the Murtha Airport,” I respond. “They weren’t asked to implement martial law, but they were told to hold the airport. Once the soldiers had to start firing on the civilians, the whole thing collapsed. Those were reserve and guard soldiers. What will active duty soldiers do when the civilians storm the gates of Fort Belvoir or Fort Hood?”

  “Two completely different situations General,” she states. “Belvoir is an urban fort. It is heavily guarded by some hardcore loyalists. The NSC has, or had, its deepest secrets hidden there. But so close to Baltimore and DC, my bet is the sheer number of people seeking refuge has overwhelmed that post. And the hidden secrets all got fried when a billion microchips melted down. That post is a useless shell.

  “Fort Hood is a different story,” she continues. “That’s a rural post and is the home of the 1st Calvary division. Most of their assets, including their soldiers, are deployed in Afghanistan. But I am sure they can fend off any civilian uprising that may make it to their gates. I am also sure that they have hardened assets too. So they will be a mobile and well-armed force.

  “But Fort Hood is in Texas. They have a different attitude in Texas. In a situation like this, they very well may have allied with the governor and scrapped any national allegiance.”

  “My thoughts too, Colonel,” I reply. “Each fort will be different. Some will hope the federal government will reconstitute itself and will follow the martial law protocol. Others will go with the state or local governance, and other posts will just cease to be; overrun by the local populace.”

  “You have a better handle on this than I thought, General Mays.”

  “It’s been in the back of my mind, Colonel. Front of mind has just been surviving. My family has seen the chaos happen in our front yard, and we survived. Now we are trying to help our neighbors. That includes you. But we are smart enough to know our neighbors can help us too. We need you on our staff. You need to find a replacement to run this county.”

  “Just like that, I am supposed to move at your command?” She laughs a bit at her statement.

  “The 28th Division, if it still exists, will arrest you for treason. The United States military, as we just discussed, is in disarray. I am sure my staff will be glad to have an officer of your experience join them. You are hereby officially offered a commission as a full Colonel in the Laurel Highlands Militia. Your acceptance is contingent on assigning a suitable replacement for your duties here in Bedford County.”

  The intelligence in the woman’s eyes is evident as she ponders her decision. I have stated her choices pretty clearly, and she knows it. Colonel Adkins turns to Sergeant Merkle. “Lt. Shaw sided with the sheriff and Lt. Meyers never showed up, right?”

  The sergeant stiffens his back a bit. “Correct ma’am.”

  “The people who have been following us know you and respect you, and you have coordinated well with the General’s militia. You are from this county, I am just a newcomer. Will you step in and take over the security of this county?”

  The sergeant stands to attention. “I will do whatever the colonel asks of me.” He states proudly.

  “Sgt. Merkle, I am not asking you to go get the newspaper, I am asking you to oversee the safety of several thousand people. You’re smart, and you know these people.”

  “I am your man, if Zach, Captain White, will be available to help me form protocols, set up liaisons and communications” The sergeant states firmly.

  “Yes he will,” I respond. “He is my son, and he is tasked with expanding our presence to the east. He will be here with a strong patrol to help you. Members of our communications team will be here too. You need to send out teams immediately to scavenge for CB radios, HAM operators and old rotary dial phones.”

  “And some of your civilian control group too,” he states matter-of-factly. “To help us bring in the refugees and establish the systems you all put in place. Your system incorporates a civilian council. We need to incorporate that as well.”

  “Yes, Captain Merkle,” I reply to him. “A civilian council will need to be put in place, and we will help you with that. But how that is formed will be up to your civic leaders. We don’t have a formal system at this point.”

  “You misspoke General, my rank is Platoon Sergeant.”

  “Not if you’re going to be our man in this county. You already have over two hundred people under your command. You know military hierarchy. You need the appropriate rank to implement a command structure.”

  “But I am a supply sergeant. The action we have seen over the past few weeks is the most combat I have ever experienced. And it didn’t always go so well.”

  “You got some veterans out there, right? Some infantry soldiers maybe some marines?” I ask.

  “Yes sir, saved our asses a few times.”

  “Round up the best of them and bring them in,” I state. “Have them here in an hour, Captain.” He salutes and heads out the door. I watch him. He quickly begins to delegate runners to fetch his best leaders. I smile. A good leader trusts his people and delegates assignments.

  I turn back to Colonel Adkins who is looking at me quizzically. “You’re an odd man, General,” She says.

  “Kookier than a kookoo bird, if I don’t say so myself,” I respond. “Keeps me sane. That and having Jesus in my heart. Shoot me now and I go to heaven; that is a promise God has made me, and he keeps his promises. So call me anything you want.”

  “That’s not what I mean, or maybe it is. I don’t know. But, you trust people, almost naively so. Yet, you get results.”

  “I do trust people. Most people want to be trusted. Most people think of themselves as competent. If you stand over their shoulder and watch them, they will probably screw up. Leave them be, to do what you want them to do. They may not do it the same way I would, but if they get it done, all is good. It backfires sometimes. You need to keep some oversight. But mostly people are good, and if you treat them with respect, they will respond with better results than you could have gotten if you tried to do it yourself.”

  “That’s what makes you an oddity, General. Your ability to read people and delegate to them. I saw it when we first met here several days ago. I saw it again at the unity picnic. And you are doing it again right now. You have already put me on your staff and you are going to delegate to me to oversee your mission to push eastward. And I have not yet accepted your commission.”

  “Huh, never argue with a woman who is right. Waste of time. Becca taught me that, though it took years to sink in. You are exactly right. But you know why we are pushing to the east.” I state. “Which is why you will accept this commission.”

  She ponders my statement for a few moments before
responding. “To the west is Pittsburgh and turmoil. South leads to West Virginia and untamed wilderness. North is central PA, small towns and farms. East leads you eventually to greater chaos, once you get past the mountains and into the Mid-Atlantic farmlands. Those on the east coast who have survived will be invading those farms like a ‘horde of locust’ to use your own words.”

  “You are avoiding the answer to my question,” I state. “Colonel, you were in the G3 of the 28th Division, you know a lot more than I do. Letterkenny. Tell me what you know.”

  She looks away as her face turns red, then ashen then pale. “You don’t want to know,” she states.

  “I already do know. It is a cold war relic that never got axed in the budget cuts. It is a twenty thousand acre storage depot full of tanks, artillery, and ammunitions. It was all stock piled there in case the soviets invaded. Two hundred miles inland, far enough for America to respond to an invasion and fight back. A total relic that should have been closed years ago.”

  “But it is still there,” she continues. “Full of arms and ammunitions, trucks, tanks and artillery. All of cold war vintage. All with hardened electronics. Whoever controls Letterkenny controls the east coast in whatever reforms as the United States”

  Looking straight at me, Colonel Adkins has my full attention now. “We talked about trust, Colonel,” I state. “I trust the people around me. But I do not trust anything that comes from Washington DC, and I will be very skeptical of anything that comes from our US armed forces. Some will side with the people like us, some will follow orders despite the constitution.

  “Our people are going to scout and then take control of the Letterkenny depot. You are going to plan and execute that mission.” I lean back slightly and look at her unwaveringly. She stares back at me. I see fire in her eyes.

  “Are you nuts!” she exclaims. “You’re not an oddity, you’re freaking out of your mind. You think your pissant crew of misfits can march in and take one of the largest cold war army depots on the east coast?”

  I look at her calmly. A chill runs up my back, a Holy Spirit thing. I see the whole operation laid out in my mind. “You can do it. With the help of my misfits, we will control the Letterkenny depot. We’ll meet in three days in Central City to start discussing what needs to be done to get things rolling.”

  “But I didn’t accept your commission yet. We haven’t heard back from sergeant Merkle and his people yet. What? Wait a minute. You can’t assume this is all just going to happen.”

  I step out onto the large veranda of the restaurant and meet four grimy soldiers. They introduce themselves, all combat veterans. I let them know that Captain Merkle is their new commander. Hugs and high fives are exchanged as well as reports and new orders. Captain Merkle has his men redeployed before I can even turn and say my goodbyes to the staff and Colonel Adkins.

  Colonel Adkins stands ten feet away as the new Captain Merkle takes reports, issues commands and relates the new strategy to his soldiers. She smiles at the results, happy that her rear echelon NCO has been willingly accepted as their new commanding officer.

  “You are still an oddity, General Mays,” Colonel Adkins states. “Three days from now, six am. Letterkenny is the mission.”

  I nod to her as I climb into the old Dodge farm truck. “At the Farmstead, less interruptions there.” Our four vehicles turn and head back over the mountain, an important mission accomplished. We have moved thirty miles closer to our goal and gained some very crucial assets; mainly good people.

  Chapter 25, Stuff

  Richland

  10/11

  “Holy shit! The Captain has to see this!” the young sergeant exclaims to his security man as they explore an unmarked warehouse up the hill from a large tire dealership. Rows and rows of tires fill the warehouse. As they explore further, they find shelves full of brake pads, tie rod ends, wheel bearings and other useful auto and truck parts. “Mark this place as triple A. We are going to need stuff from here.”

  Two miles away, another team is in an emergency medical clinic. They too mark the place as triple A for supplies.

  For the second day in a row, five teams are searching the Johnstown area for useful supplies. Already two farm truck loads have headed out with everything from canning jars and spices to auto part and machine tools.

  Big Paulie is not sure what to make of it all. But he is getting food and moonshine in return, which is keeping the several thousand people still in the city passive. He reluctantly is having work crews bury the dead and clean up the roads. Even his world has changed, but he is still in control of his kingdom. He has even had contact with his people in Jersey and his dealers in Pittsburgh. Both of them assure him that the punks and the white masters will end up killing each other or dying because they are too stupid to survive.

  He is not so sure of that, the farmers of all colors are keeping him alive. He hopes they survive, or he will die. He may be a racist, with no love for the white man, but he knows who is providing his food. But mainly he is a dealer and wants to make sure he is getting a good deal for the goods he controls. Every truckload is a bargaining session.

  Down by the hospital, a whole different scene unfolds. Roxbury Park has been turned into a grave yard. Hundreds of bodies needed to be pulled from the hospital, and nearby nursing home. Slowly the hospital is being cleaned up. The emergency room is functional again, but with a minimal staff. Food and protection are being offered to all the staff who show up, and their families. But what they can do is limited due to most of the diagnostic equipment being shut down.

  Two surgery rooms have been cleaned up and put to use as well. Lighting is poor, and the surgeons are trying to perform operations in a style that has not even been taught in thirty years. A security zone is mutually established around the hospitals, with the plan that as the nursing home gets cleaned up, the remaining hospital staff and their families will stay there. The plan is slowly coming together, and a minimum degree of medical care is taking place.

  It is an unlikely combination of cooperation; drug dealers, evangelical Christians, agnostics and socialists all coming together to help make sure some form of medical help is available to all.

  Even with this cooperation, the mortality rate is skyrocketing. Medicines are becoming scarce. Food and water borne ailments increase. A small infection can now grow to be life threatening due to a lack of antibiotics. The violence is still taking a heavy toll, and some just can’t deal with the changed world, and take their lives rather that deal with the chaos, hunger and uncertain future.

  Less than one month after the attack, the population of the rural town and the surrounding farmlands has diminished from almost one hundred thousand people to less than sixty thousand people. And a cold and bitter winter is approaching. The mortality rate here is minimal compared to what has been happening in the larger cities. After four weeks, true starvation is taking its toll, food wars erupt, and diseases run rampant due to bad water and lack of sanitation.

  * * *

  The items rolling back to the farmlands from Paulie and the people still in Johnstown are being put to good use. Canning operations are a huge deal, but even the several thousand quart mason jars they have scavenged will only preserve a fraction of the food needed to feed the survivors. Root cellars are being dug, care being taken to make sure they are dry and rock lined. Smoking of meat and sausages is another full time activity; the spices scavenged from restaurants and stores being used sparingly for this process. The livestock is being pared down so that a good breeding herd can be fed through the winter.

  Several local garages are seeing a booming business as the few precious tractors, trucks and cars still operational need to be kept running. A large storage tank manufacturer in the area has started to use its excess steel plate stock to build crude fire boxes that can be used to heat a home; their one working generator being allocated additional diesel to keep a few older arc welding machines running for this necessary production.

  In Stoystown, a
one hundred acre junk yard is a favorite spot now as people scavenge for items that may get an old car or truck running. The owner requests extra patrols to keep people from over running his yard. He gets his request, but he has to feed, house and cloth this extra manpower. It’s all done through barter. Which brings clerks and accountants opportunities for work, to keep track of the many exchanges going on.

  In some ways the barter system works efficiently, there are no free rides. But in other ways it is very inefficient with no set prices. A carburetor for a 71 Torino may cost a man to work in the fields of a cabbage farmer for three days. Then he has to haul the cabbage he earned to the scrapyard to get his carburetor. Meanwhile he still needs to keep his family fed and his home warm.

  At the same time, the seller has to try and keep an inventory of what he has coming in. Too much cabbage and not enough meat will upset his workers and security people. But cash is nonexistent and no one has come forward with a solution. People are now looking towards the future, but living day to day is the main priority. So barter remains the system of trade; the best aspect being, if you are willing to work, you can get what you need.

  Possibly the happiest group of people about the stuff coming from Johnstown is the brain squad. Reports of machinery, tools and other manufacturing equipment have them ecstatic that a basic manufacturing operation can be instituted. CNC tooling is history, but basic tooling can be revamped. A large problem will be finding true old school machinists. Modern machine operators push buttons and select programs. The old school machinists turned knobs and pulled levers to precisely hone a gear or a shaft.

  But a lathe is a lathe, a milling machine is a milling machine. Strip away the electronics, apply a power source, even if that is a belt drive from a water mill, and the machine will work. Figuring out how to precisely move the control apparatus may take some time, but it can be done. It was done in mass production fifty years ago. Hopefully some old timers retain that knowledge and can train some new people in the old ways.