The Battles of Rock Harbor: A Bugging In Tale of the Apocalypse

by J. B. Craig

  As Greg was listening, Jennifer saw the color drain out of his face, as he slowly fell to his knees with his head down. “No, No, Not Atlanta,”

  “Greg, where is your home in relation to the blast?”, asked Jennifer, patting his shoulders.

  We are northwest of the city in Marietta, but only 25 miles as the bird flies from the airport. Mike, what’s the definition of ‘small yield’?”, asked an Anguished Greg.

  “I have no idea, Greg. I heard bigger than Nagasaki, but not what the US could do to, say Moscow with the multiple warheads on our ICBM’s. I’m sorry to give you the bad news. Word in the camp is that LA, New York and Atlanta are burning – and not just from the bombs. Several other cities, those not bombed, are also burning. Any real population center is suffering big time food riots and the bad guys banding together. There aren’t enough sheepdogs in the cities to band together against the bad guys. The locals in these highly-populated cities are fleeing the bomb area and taking what they can, trying to get away from Radiation.”

  Greg lost a little bit more hope for his son, and Leigh. He thought, no… hoped that she was far enough away. Georgia Tech is even closer to the airport, and the hope of ever seeing his son Jared faded a little more. He knew the house was prepared, and his wife could shoot. He also knew that several good friends had said that they would come to Greg’s forest retreat if the SHTF. He didn’t know if they would move TOWARDS a bomb to do so, as most lived farther out.

  I’m sorry, but that’s all I know about anything not in the immediate Dahlgren zone, Greg. Then he looked at Jennifer and said “Go get your essentials, we’re Oscar Mike.“ Oscar Mike is OM, or military speak for ‘On the Move’. Jennifer looked from Mike to Greg, then walked towards the house she’d been sleeping in to get her things.

  “What the fuck is this?” yelled Mike. “Are you fucking my wife?” He yelled this as he moved towards Greg. Angel tried to slow him, but he threw him off, and kept coming, fast and angry.

  “Mike, I swear to you I never touched...” Greg was able to get that much out while standing back up, just as Mike hit him with a haymaker and knocked him flat. Greg’s first instinct was to punch Mike in the balls as he was getting up. Greg had been in his share of fights in the Army and knew that the only fair fight is one you won. Then, he got his anger under control, and took a deep breath.

  “Through his diminished eyesight, Greg saw a melee happening as the 3 troopers started swinging at the armed, but disciplined guard rotation. It ended up with a lot of yelling and pointed guns, but no deaths.

  “Mike, STOP!”, yelled Jennifer as Annie was somehow sitting on the ground, balling, after being knocked over by rumbling troopers and sheepdogs. Greg was sitting up, shaking his head, and saw Jennifer pulling him into Grandma’s house. Greg followed, while Angel spoke to Angie in his Spanish baby talk. Annie was OK, and Angel had her smiling and babbling broken Spanish in no time. The rest seemed a bit calmer on the road. While Greg hoped nobody would get hurt, he was glad that his guards had the weapons.

  Mike, Greg, Annie and Jennifer went into the house, with Mike throwing death-glances at Greg. Jen walked Mike through the house. “This is where Annie and I stay, Mike. THAT…” she pointed across the hall, “is where Greg has slept every day, and I have slept HERE.” We did this because this house is safer, and the Osprey nest is on the roof.”

  “The Osprey Nest?” Mike sputtered. “What the fuck does that have to do with…”

  “SHUT UP, MIKE!” Jennifer yelled in a voice that Greg was glad he hadn’t had to hear so far – because that sounded like the voice of someone who was in a relationship, and really pissed off. It was a lot like the ‘FINE!’ voice Greg heard from Leigh when he was being a bone-head. He was thinking about everything that did NOT happen, and glad she never had an excuse to use that voice with him. He was shifting his world-view, once again, and was coming to terms with the change in group dynamics.

  “Greg, show Mike the Osprey nest while I get my things.” Ordered Jennifer.

  Greg said, “I understand why you would think what you did, but nothing happened. Let me show you why we’re here, and why your house is not occupied.

  Mike nodded and followed Greg out the back deck, clearly restraining himself and giving Jennifer the benefit of the doubt. Greg pointed at the ladder, and said, “Osprey Nest” and climbed up, across the roof, and pointed to the sniper’s platform. “It’s only 180 degrees to cover, cutting in half the threats to this house, me, and the girls.” I swear to you, I never touched her in that way… ever. Here, take this.” Greg would stand by his statement, even if he couldn’t exactly say the same for Jennifer not touching him. He figured that wouldn’t help the situation, and Jennifer could tell Mike what she wanted to when they had more time together. Hopefully when Mike was far away from Greg.

  Greg handed Mike his main sidearm, handle first. It was his prized Springfield .40 cal EMP on a 1911 frame and said “Shoot me if you don’t believe me. I knew it would look bad, so I had my guys take your weapons until we could talk. Jen and I are just good friends. No, I think of your girls as my family, but not like you’re thinking. Keep the gun until you leave. You decide, you kill me if you want. I’m still waiting for my wife, son and daughter, but every day when I wake up, I look down that barrel and think about pulling the trigger, so death by you would be one solution, and not a terrible one at this point.”

  Mike said “You called her Jen. That’s my pet word for her.” His grip tightened on the gun, and he pointed it closer towards Greg. Greg saw Angel point his rifle more towards the confrontation on the roof. Things could get messy quickly in this situation.

  “Yes, you stubborn, jealous asshole. We shared a house for the last 2 months without any support from OUR SPOUSES! She asked me to call her that, because we’re close. I helped take care of Annie, and she’s learning Spanish and gardening! However, I never touched Jennifer in passion! I never did anything but try to be a good guy. Shut up and pull the trigger, or BACK THE FUCK OFF! Look at this from our perspectives. What would you do? Leave a woman and child in a more vulnerable house? Let them be raped, killed, or taken? Shoot me, you fucking idiot, or LET IT GO!”

  Greg closed his eyes, more than 50% certain that he saw his last daylight. Then he felt the gun poke him in the chest, around the heart region. He was sure this was the end. He could not see, but he was sure that Angel was aiming down on Mike, and he waved off in his direction.

  Mike said “The handle is against your chest, man. Take your fucking gun back. I’m sorry – I’ve been crazy. I trust Jennifer – I’ve been worried about her every day. Worried sick. I don’t know what’s come over me. It’s been months of nightmares thinking about what could have happened to my girls. You don’t know what I’ve seen. This is actually a better situation than I ever imagined. Thank you, Man, and I’m sorry about hitting you. How about you calm your guys down, because 2 have guns on my partners, and the rest are pointing my own rifles at me.”

  Greg was relieved, but almost regretted the loss of the oblivion he could have rested in if Mike had killed him. “That’s OK, you hit like a Navy Puke.” Then he laughed and laughed until tears streamed down his eyes.

  Mike said, “I was an Air Force MP before joining the cops.”

  “Well, you hit pretty hard for the Chair Force, then.” Greg laughed again, trying to catch his breath.

  Both men on the roof waved off their men with signs that said: “All Clear - Everything OK”. Angel and his squad returned the firearms to the Troopers, even if they looked a little worried about doing so.

  “How did Angel get you guys to give up your rifles? I know that’s one of the main rules in both the service and law enforcement.”

  “Well, he’s pretty convincing. He had half of his guard shift give up their weapons to my guards by the truck. Then said he wouldn’t let us through the minefield without giving up ours. He said Jennifer and Annie were OK, and he spoke like he knew them, so I was motivated to see them and convinced my g
uys to trust me. I’m glad we didn’t have them 5 minutes ago.” Admitted Mike.

  “Yeah, me too. Angel took them on my orders. I don’t know you all that well, and I hoped for some discipline and understanding, but I also know how first-hand how I would feel if I was showing up to find MY wife in some relationship with another man. Mine cheated on me in Atlanta, and I wanted to kill the guy. On the other hand, I would take her being alive over any situation than dead, as I now fear mine is. She always said she’d eat a bullet when we discussed life without electricity. A nuke in our backyard and riots leaving the city is not helping my assessment of the situation.”

  “Well, I’m truly sorry for you, Greg. You’re a smart leader, based on your handling of this situation and the defenses you’ve put in. I think you’ll need them, but I hope for the best for you.” Mike paused, and visibly relaxed. He looked Greg in the eye, and stuck out his hand, again trying to hand back Greg’s pistol, and offering the same hand for a handshake. “I’m sorry I hit you. Get your stuff, we’re headed to the FEMA camp and safety.”

  “We’ll talk about that at the community center.” Greg picked up the radio clipped to this belt and looked at Angel to get eye contact. He also knew he had 2 other groups listening. “Angel, all clear. Get those troopers some hot food and send runners to pull together the community. Enema.” Then he laughed out loud, and told Mike, who had a confused look that Encima was Spanish for “over” and it was a pun he just made up. Greg laughed again as he sat down on the Osprey Nest to collect his thoughts and emotions. “Go to your girls, Man. I’ve got over watch.” He chuckled to himself again, because nobody could be within sight, with the barrier ¼ mile or so away, so he just kept laughing at the irony, sadness, and relief of the situation. He also couldn’t do much from his sniper’s nest with no Mauser – it was just inside the door by the ladder, safe and dry. Life would be different without Jennifer, but there would be a lot less sexual tension in the house, if nothing else.

  Greg needed a few minutes to stop his hands from shaking, and he didn’t think it was from a lack of his morning shot. Then, he pulled himself together, descended the ladder and followed the larger group to the community center.

  Do I Stay or Do I Go?

  Greg was only a few minutes behind the guards and troopers, but arrived to chaos at the center. The first thing he saw were highly agitated Hondurans, who were vehemently protesting going to any Federal detention center, FEMA camp, or not. Gunny was translating as quickly as she could, attempting to calm them down. She was also making it clear that there was no way she was leaving the peninsula to go to a FEMA camp. “I served in the Corps, and I don’t trust those Homeland guys to get anything right! I’m taking my chances here.”

  Others in the community were excited about getting some help from the government. These people were generally those who had medical issues, and medicine running out. They were anxiously looking toward their homes, wanting to go get their personal articles, as the troopers were instructing.

  “Listen up, folks!” Greg yelled. “Nobody is going to be forced to go to a FEMA camp. This is still America, and we have the right to stay in our homes. I’m staying, because my son and girls are headed here. That said, any of you who want to go, please go gather your things, and may God go with you. It’s been a pleasure, and an honor seeing how we all worked together.

  The radio on Mike’s belt went off, and he listened into his earbuds. “Well, get your weapons back and help hold the trucks!” he yelled. Then he looked at Greg and said, “Meth head and biker gang coming in fast.” As this sunk in, Greg heard the big guns, presumably on top of the Trucks starting to fire, and small arms fire in return. This was all happening on the other side of the obstacle.

  “Everyone to your fighting position or your fallback position, now!!!” The community had drilled for this, and everyone dispersed quickly, but with a purpose. Non-combat troops, including children, the medical team and the kitchen team retreated down the peninsula to the circle, where the ‘Alamo’ plan had been prepared. Les was in charge of that detachment.

  Both shifts of security - those not out with the trucks, anyway, reported to fighting positions on the berm, and Greg directed the troopers to the firing positions not filled by those guards with the trucks. An explosion occurred in front of the obstacle. It was large enough that Greg assumed at least one of the trucks had blown up. That was the first heavy weapon’s shot of the battle of Rock Harbor. It sounded to Greg like a LAW Rocket or an RPG. Someone got a good shot off.

  As the sheep dogs got into position, the first toe popper was tripped on the access path. The problem is that it only popped a tire on the first motorcycle to trip the mine, not a toe. Several more mines went off, as motorcycles started to pour out of the path. On the back of the lead motorcycle to emerge from the gap was Tripp, pointing the way through the last of the obstacles.

  “That son of a bitch!” Yelled Greg and fired his pistol at Tripp. Unfortunately, hitting a moving target, with a compact pistol at that distance was not an easy task. In the excitement to settle the FEMA issue, Greg left his Mauser at the bottom of the ladder up to the Osprey nest. The single-shots of most of the defenders from their bolt-action rifles and pistols mixed with the sound of the 2 peninsula semi-auto rifles and the 3-round bursts of the troopers. Gunny’s M-14 was barking, and Angel was firing the Browning 12 Ga, one or both were having success knocking bikers off their motorcycles. Carlos, on duty in the tower was the first Sheepdog shot and fell to the ground 15 feet below, twisted in an unnatural way. Este was the guard at the front with the .308 turned from the road, apparently out of forward targets, and started shooting at the motorcycles behind him. The .308 in Esteban’s hands looked more like a toy rifle, but it whatever it hit, like the motorcycle gas tank carrying a biker with a shotgun, blew up, throwing the rider over the handlebars, on fire. Este’s shots were low and disciplined enough that any missed thunked into the berm, so there were no friendly-fire casualties from his shooting.

  As the first few bikes approached the gap between the walls, Greg fired his improvised claymores, by plugging in and cranking the hand-charger on the Red Cross Radio in his fighting position. He had spliced a USB cable into a flashlight bulb, was able to generate the power to ignite his primer. While probably not the use that the Red Cross had intended, the hand crank and solar charger kept it charged enough to start the explosion. Several pounds of nails and other scrap metal spewed from the front corner of both berms at an overlapping 45-degree angle. The effect was an instant shredding of a half-dozen motorcycles, and those riding them. The attackers were lifted backwards and flew in bloody chunks. Greg’s ears, as well as those in a large diameter around him were immediately ringing. He didn’t have ear plugs, and didn’t prepare for the overpressure, as trained. Luckily, the berm deflected much of the blast up and out towards the bad guys.

  “Damn, they worked!” yelled Greg with a relieved smile, even if he couldn’t hear himself. The relief was short-lived, as more bikers came through the gap. At the pre-arranged signal that was the big boom, Chet, who had the tractor fired up behind the meeting house, drove forward, pulling the telephone line that was scavenged at about chest-height across the gap, and anchored to a telephone pole on the other side. The next few bikers who hit the wire were removed from their machines, almost beheaded. The bikers behind them dropped their bikes, and got behind them, returning fire towards the shooting positions.

  Gunny low-walked to Greg, and yelled “Sorry about my Recon, there’s more than 40 in here now, but only about 20 left alive. Nice work! I guess they recruited more!”

  Greg looked over and saw Nellie rocking and rolling with her shot gun. Every time she pulled the trigger, a biker fell. She screamed, “You are NOT getting my baby, mother fuckers!” Then she’d pump the 12 Gauge, and down another one, reloading from the shooting bag she carried around her waist. At all of 120 lbs., he was surprised that the 12 Gauge wasn’t hurting her, but adrenaline is a powerful pain killer.
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  “Yeah, and I have to believe the big guns rocking and rolling out there on those trucks took out a few!”

  Greg watched Esteban take a hit to the upper body, and drop behind his log, out of the fight. There went their heaviest artillery – both the gun and the man. Chet came running around the corner of the house, shooting his revolver. He also brought more than a few of the pipe bombs that the Kitchen team cooked up. Demolitions, plan B. He was lighting them with his last cigar, saved for this event, and throwing them into clusters of bikers. After the booms, it looked like another 10 or so bikers were down, but so were at least 3 of the defenders, including the trooper to Greg’s left. He had a hole in his eye and was flat on his back. Greg picked up his M-4, and a few magazines from his cargo pockets. Greg emptied the M-4 over the berm and reloaded.

  Gunny yelled “We’re out-gunned, we have to fall back to the Alamo!”

  Greg agreed, and gave the signal to fall back. The remaining troopers new to the group were pulled from the wall and into the ditch back to the circle. Greg, Angel and Chet were holding the berm, but the bikers were advancing. There were too many. Greg yelled “You guys fall back, I’ll cover you as long as I can”, and asked Chet for the last of the pipe bombs.