by Steven Bird
“You know, it’s funny…”
“What?”
“All this time, wishing we could have good and steady electricity, now that we have it, we just want to turn it off,” said Nate with a chuckle as he laid his head back on his hands and closed his eyes.
“I just hope those bastards come back soon.”
“Why?” Nate opened his eyes and turned to Ed with a confused look.
“Because I’ve gotta see a man about a horse,” replied Ed.
“You’ve gotta what?”
“I’ve got business to take care of.”
Still confused, Nate said, “Huh?”
“For God’s sake, man! I’ve got to take a dump, and we don’t have a restroom.”
“Oh… Yeah, please don’t do that in here.”
“Trust me, I’ll try.”
Chapter Seven: Unavoidable Conflict
Crawling through the overgrown grass, Jason had to stop occasionally and peek his head up to get a view of his progress, as well as check the house for signs of activity. Only twenty more yards to go, he thought as he pressed on through the wet grass.
Keeping his eye on the front and east side of the house in order to provide cover for Jason if trouble were to arise, Evan found himself wishing he had a red-dot sight or a scope with an illuminated reticle. The black iron sights on the AK-74 were lacking for nighttime engagements beyond CQB (close quarters battle) distances.
Finally reaching the Humvee, while still lying in the grass on his stomach with his neck stretched back and his head up, Jason read the stenciled UN logo on the door and thought, United, my ass. Unwelcome Nazis is more like it.
The Humvee was parked at an angle to the house, helping to conceal his view as he got up on his knees, opened the door, and slipped inside. Leaning his rifle on the passenger front seat with the stock on the floor, he scanned the vehicle for things that he may find useful in dealing with its owners once they heard him drive away. His search rewarded him with a zip-up, olive-drab canvas bag containing at least ten AK-74 magazines loaded with steel-cased 5.45x39mm ammo. He tossed it on the passenger seat next to his rifle for easy access when his time for retreat arrived.
Continuing to search the rear cargo area, he found a Russian RG-6 grenade launcher, along with a case of 40mm grenades. Jackpot! he thought as a smile came across his face.
“Now, back to business,” he whispered, attempting to prepare himself for the shit that was guaranteed to hit the fan. Jason was familiar with the M998A1 configuration of the Humvee from his Army days. Quickly re-familiarizing himself with the controls, he rotated the rotary ignition switch to the RUN position, waited for the wait-to-start lamp to extinguish, and then held the switch in the start position while the diesel engine quickly shook itself to life. Releasing the switch back to the run position, he released the parking brake, threw it in gear, and tore out of the front yard like a madman before any weapons could be trained on him at such a close range.
Evan watched as two soldiers immediately ran out onto the front porch and began to yell inside the house, as if shouting orders.
Jason drove onto Fugate Road, jerked the wheel hard to the right, and sped away in Evan’s direction. Wanting to disable the vehicle, Jason then yanked the steering wheel to the left; the Humvee exited the pavement and crashed hard into the railroad tracks. The sharp impact nearly bounced Jason out of his seat as he continued toward the river, where he dropped off a three-foot high ledge, hi-centering the vehicle as its front tires dangled in the water.
Shaken by the impact of his body slamming into the steering wheel, Jason quickly regained his composure, grabbed his rifle, the canvas bag, and the RG-6, and then headed out the driver’s side door. As he leaped out of the vehicle, his foot slipped off of the ledge, raking his shin against the sharp and jagged rocks of the riverbank.
“Damn it,” he mumbled from the pain. Gathering his cumbersome load, he ran thirty yards over the uneven terrain beyond the truck and hunkered down behind a mound of rocks and brush. Unzipping the canvas bag to get his newfound extra magazines within an easy reach, he flipped his AK’s selector switch to the center position for fully automatic fire. Leaning the rifle against the rocks, he then removed the RG-6 launcher from its case, loaded six rounds into the cylinder, rotated it shut, and set it next to himself on the rocks.
Now all he could do was wait. Leaving the Humvee running to create a distraction and to cover the noise of his own movements, Jason could hear his heart pounding out of his chest over the noisy idle of the GM 6.5L diesel engine.
Evan watched as two other soldiers exited the farmhouse and joined their comrades. Now totaling four soldiers, they ran for the remaining Humvee. One of the men shouted orders to the others in what sounded like Russian, then they split up—two on foot and two inside the remaining Humvee.
Tracking the soldiers with the barrel of his rifle, Evan watched as the Humvee crept down the road toward Jason, one man on foot on each side of the vehicle. From his hidden position in the tree line, Evan cautiously awaited the proper time to initiate the fight, unaware if other threats remained in the house, which was moving into his six o’clock position as he turned to visually follow the immediate threat.
Reaching the crashed Humvee, the man in the passenger seat motioned for one of the soldiers on foot to move ahead and check it out. The soldier cautiously approached the noisily running vehicle; the last thing he saw was a flash of light further down the rocky river bank. The shot ended his life before he even heard the crack of the round’s report.
Witnessing Jason’s opening shot, Evan opened fire on the Humvee as it sped away in reverse, leaving the remaining foot soldier exposed as Jason’s fully automatic barrage of sixty-grain, high-speed 5.45mm projectiles riddled his body with holes, dropping him to the ground.
Evan continued his barrage of fire on the Humvee as Jason picked up the grenade launcher and lobbed a 40mm grenade toward the retreating Humvee. Coming up short, the round exploded three feet in front of the vehicle.
Evan was certain he had killed the soldier giving the orders in the passenger’s seat, yet maintained his fire to keep the vehicle on the defensive and to maintain the two-pronged attack that had caught them off-guard.
Jason fired another round, this time adjusting his trajectory and scoring a direct hit on the hood of the vehicle, sending aluminum sheet metal and fragments into the windshield of the Humvee. Jason fired another grenade as the driver, battered and bloodied, opened the door and fell onto the ground. The second grenade went directly inside, destroying any chances of survival for the remaining occupant.
Feeling a searing pain rip through his side, followed by small impacts off to his left, Evan rolled onto his back and returned fire toward the house. A fifth soldier was standing on the front porch, sending bullets randomly into the tree line where Evan remained concealed. Shit, shit, shit, Evan said to himself as he felt warm, wet blood run down his side. Still concealed from the shooter, Evan focused his eyes on his front sight as best he could with the available moonlight. He aimed a little low and fired a short fully automatic burst of four rounds at his attacker. As the recoil made his barrel rise, several of the rounds whizzed by the soldier; however, two of them were planted firmly into his torso, dropping him to the porch and taking him out of the fight.
As he focused on the house, Evan heard Jason shout, “Clear!”
Evan responded, feeling a sharp pain in his side as he shouted, “Covered!” He didn’t want to relay to Jason that the scene was “clear,” just in case another shooter remained inside.
Advancing toward the tree line, Jason arrived at Evan’s position and said, “Report.”
“A fifth man was in the house; he’s down. He sprayed the tree line with random suppressing fire and hit me.”
“Holy shit, where?” Jason asked.
“My left side. I felt around. I think it went straight. No organs. Just muscle and tissue. My love handles will never be the same.”
“Hel
l, you’ll be lucky if someday you can live life lazily enough to get your love handles back. So what’s with the house?”
“Other than him, I haven’t seen any activity. We’ll have to clear it and check on the woman. By the way, how the hell did you take out the Humvee like that? What did you use?”
“I found a gear bag full of prepared ’74 mags, as well as a cool six-shot RG-6 grenade launcher. I’ll get the house. You stay here and keep still in case that wound is worse than you think. You’ll just be a liability hurting and bleeding all over the place. I’ll come back and get you and we’ll check you out and dress the wound. Just cover me the best you can from here.”
“Roger that,” Evan said, wincing with pain as he held pressure on his side with his left hand.
Jason slipped through the tree line and carefully worked his way to the house. He kept his rifle at the ready and the safety/selector lever on semi-auto, as he didn’t want to let any rounds fly without complete accountability for each, knowing that innocent people could still be alive inside. He crept around the back of the house, up against the siding, slicing the pie as he went. Reaching the back of the house, he scanned the windows, which were just above his head due to the house’s tall block foundation. Seeing no apparent threats, he stepped onto the porch and took a knee by the back door, staying clear of any windows and the door itself. He then yelled inside, “This is the Blue Ridge Militia. The house is surrounded. Your comrades have been captured; make yourself known and exit the house, unarmed, with your hands above your head, and you will be spared. Resist and you will die.”
After a moment of silence, Jason heard a woman’s voice mutter, “Please… Please don’t hurt us.”
“No one is gonna hurt you, ma’am. Are there any more UN soldiers in the house?”
She sniffled and replied, “No, they all ran out when their truck drove away.”
“Do you know how many there were total?”
“Five, I think. I don’t know. I have no idea what just happened. They killed him. They killed my husband—they killed her father,” the woman said as she broke down into tears.
It was then that Jason heard the muffled sobs of a crying child. “Ma’am, we got them all. They can’t hurt you now. I’m coming in, but only to double-check your house and make sure it’s safe.”
“Okay,” she said with a strained voice.
Jason slowly stood up and peeked into the house. Seeing no threats, he stepped inside with his rifle safely pointed at the floor, but ready in case he needed it. Stepping into the living room, where a fire in the fireplace was lit, he saw the woman. The young mother, in her late twenties or early thirties, held her preschool-aged daughter tight. The young, terrified girl cried silently, with the only sound being her short, interrupted breaths as she nearly hyperventilated. The mother’s shirt had been torn open, her bra mostly exposed and her face red and swollen—clearly from abuse.
He continued through the small, two-bedroom house, clearing each room as he went. Once he was satisfied that the threat was gone, he returned to the living room. “Is that your husband?” he asked, pointing at the back of the house.
She wiped the sniffle from her nose and nodded. “Yes.” Once again, her eyes welled up with tears.
“This place isn’t safe right now. They may have friends on their way to help. Do you have somewhere nearby that we can take you? A safe place, with family, maybe?”
“My father’s place is only a mile from here,” she said, beginning to stand.
“Can we get there without using the main road?”
“Yes; well, not by car, but we can cut across the mountain,” she said, pointing at the mountain ridge behind her property. “We have a trail through the woods we use to get there. It’s quicker than driving around and no one can see us back there. It’s an old log home near the top of a hill all to itself. We have an ATV in the barn that we usually use to get over there.”
“Good. Get some things for your daughter and yourself. I’ll get your ATV and my friend. Are the keys in it?”
“The electric start hasn’t worked for years. My husband bypassed the key and just uses the pull starter on the side of the motor. It’s kind of a piece of junk, but it works for us. After you get it running, you have to rub the loose wire that’s taped to the handlebars against the metal to ground out the ignition to kill the motor. That, or shut the gas off, but it’s harder to get started back the next time if you do that.”
Jason stood there looking blank for a moment, caught off guard by the level of detail in her explanation.
She then asked, “Your friend? You mean there is only one other militia member with you?”
“We’re not really militia. We’ve got some newly acquired friends there now, though. My friend and I live in the hills just past Del Rio. We’re trying to get home while avoiding the new international presence in the area… not so successfully, I might add.”
“Are you…” she paused after starting to ask a question.
“Are we what?”
“Are you The Guardians?”
Pausing briefly, he said, “That’s just an urban legend. I’ll be right back. Get your stuff. We’ve got to get moving.”
Chapter Eight: Power and Persuasion
As the door opened, Nate flinched with the realization that he had finally fallen asleep; his heart raced for the moment it took to regain his situational awareness. He sat up as he heard Mr. Robbins say, “Gentlemen, I apologize. They were supposed to bring you some fresh bedding and some cots. I can’t believe you had to sleep on the cold, hard floor. I’ll have a talk with them about that.”
“You need to have a talk with them about a lot of stuff. Those bastards tormented us all night,” Nate said with a raised voice.
“Tormented? How?”
Ed stood up. “They banged on the door, played annoyingly horrible music at full volume, they had a dog scratching at the door and barking. They were intentionally screwing with us.”
“I’ll check on all of those things, gentlemen, and I do apologize. We aren’t here to harass and punish you. We just need to check you both out and get a little more information from you. Now, I know you’ve got to be hungry. These two security professionals behind me,” he said, motioning towards his UN escorts, “are going to accompany you gentlemen to the facilities to freshen up. They’ll then bring you to my office where we will chat and have lunch together. It’s almost noon; you must be starving.”
Ed and Nate looked at each other, not trusting a word Mr. Robbins was saying, but desperate for a meal and personal relief.
Mr. Robbins then said, “Okay, then, that’s the plan. I’ll see you gentlemen in a few.” He turned and walked out the door.
Ed helped Nate up to his good leg, put Nate’s arm around his shoulder, and followed their escorts out of the room and down the hall to the restroom.
~~~~
Mr. Robbins looked up from his desk as Ed and Nate were led into the room. “Gentlemen. So nice to see you again.”
Mr. Robbins nodded at their escorts, who then quickly left the room. They closed the door behind them, leaving Ed and Nate alone with Mr. Robbins.
“Here you go, gentlemen,” he said, as he retrieved a pizza box from behind his desk, opening it for Ed and Nate to see a sausage and pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and black olives.
Ed and Nate looked at each other in disbelief. They hadn’t seen a pizza delivery box in longer than they remembered.
Mr. Robbins, noticing their silence, said, “Oh, I forgot something. I’ll be right back.” He got up and left the room, leaving Ed and Nate alone.
“Dude, this is like a Twilight Zone episode. Freakin’ delivery pizza…”
“I know, man. I’m afraid to touch it. I’m starving, but I don’t believe it’s really sitting right here on the desk in front of me. I feel like I’m gonna wake up any minute with one of those damn guards banging on the door or something.”
“Yeah… me, too,” Nate replied as Mr. Robbins re
-entered the room.
Laying dinner plates and napkins in front of each of them, Mr. Robbins took a slice of pizza for himself and said, “I know it’s just pizza, but there is no reason not to be civilized. Dig in, gentlemen.”
Nate looked at Ed, shrugged his shoulders, and took a slice of pizza, devouring it almost instantly. Ed followed suit, both of them becoming lost in the bizarre moment.
“There is a pleasant little mom-and-pop pizza place just down the street from here. They make the best pizza and calzones,” Mr. Robbins said with a smile as he took another bite.
Looking at Nate with a raised eyebrow, Ed turned to Mr. Robbins and said, “You mean like a pizza business, with electricity and everything you need to operate?”
“Um… why, yes; the people here are quite pleased with the government's presence. Their lives have virtually returned to normal.”
“Virtually,” replied Ed with a skeptical tone.
“Yes, well… on a local basis at least. We make sure they have what they need and they take care of us in return.”
“I’m sure the Nazis got that same treatment from the local merchants everywhere they occupied, as well,” Ed replied with contempt.
With a rather unpleasant look on his face, Mr. Robbins paused before taking his next bite and said, “Excuse me?”
“Oh, nothing; I was just rambling. I’m just a history buff.”
Mr. Robbins brushed off the comment and got back on track. “So anyway, I checked up on things and the security officer for the facilities here assured me you would be getting proper bedding very soon. He asked that I extend to you an apology on his behalf. Also, as for the things you heard last night… I hate to downplay it, but it appears that perhaps the stress of the situation may have simply gotten to you both. He assured me no one was banging on the door on purpose. Perhaps one of the cleaning personnel bumped the door with their janitorial cart as they passed by. They do work the third shift. The dog you heard was probably just the explosives detection dog we have here on site. As for the music, our guys get a little lonely and bored and just let loose sometimes. You’ve got to keep in mind that they are away from their friends and families back home to help keep us safe and restore order here. They are making quite the sacrifice on our behalf. He assured me, however, that he would try to keep things quiet in the future.”
