Fire From the Sky: Brotherhood of Fire

by N. C. Reed

  As the women broke down the hand guns he walked the line again, watching. Watching for hesitation, weakness, ineptitude, anything that make the user a danger to themselves or to others. It appeared that his extensive safety work had paid dividends as everyone worked calmly and efficiently.

  “Mister Holloway?”

  Almost everyone.

  “Yes, Janice?” Greg made his way to her spot in the line.

  “This isn't my pistol, sir,” the teen told him.

  “What do you mean?” Greg frowned.

  “You issued us rifles and pistols at the same time that were to be ours, correct?” Janice verified.

  “Yes,” Greg nodded, wondering what this was-

  “This is not the pistol you issued me,” she told him simply.

  “How do you know?” he asked her. “They're all identical.”

  “This pistol has the wrong serial number to be mine,” the girl informed him. “And this nick on the grip isn't present on mine, either.”

  “Y . . . you memorized the serial number?” Holloway was shocked. He barely credited this girl with enough sense to get out of the rain.

  “Of course,” was the simple reply.

  “Everyone please hold up a minute,” Holloway ordered. “Listen carefully and check your weapon to see if you have it. Go ahead, Janice and recite your number, please.” He clearly didn't expect her to-

  “CF25546Z14,” Janice called the serial out calmly. “There is a rough spot mid-way up the barrel, just before the ejection port.”

  “I've got it,” Teri Hartwell, next to Janice in line, raised her hand. “I'm sorry,” she smiled weakly. “I had to have grabbed it thinking it was mine. That's my fault.”

  “Oh, that's okay!” Janice smiled brightly. “I just didn't want to get into trouble for losing the one they had assigned me.”

  “Well, go ahead and swap back then,” Holloway tried to avoid swallowing. There was no way, no way in hell that this girl-

  “Yes, she can,” the twins, just on the other side of Janice, seemed to read his mind.

  “Eidetic memory,” Leanne continued, softer.

  “She-” Holloway began.

  “Everything,” Leon nodded. “Every. Thing.”

  “Damn,” was all that Holloway could think of to say.

  “You said it,” the pair nodded in unison.

  -

  “Now that we've all had lunch it's time to move on,” Greg told the reassembled group. “You've learned the basics of rifle and handgun well, and tomorrow you 'll be on the range, shooting. For now, we're going to move on to talking about tactics.”

  “Remember that all you have in a firefight is your rifle, and the people around you. You need to watch their backs and need to be able to depend on them watching yours. All of you will be observed as you train the next day or two, and we will be placing you in squads with a squad leader in charge.”

  “How will you decide that?” Leanne asked curiously. “With us so spread out-”

  “We plan to take that into consideration as much as possible, but it will also depend on ability. Remember that you aren't intended to go off the farm in action of any kind, but in the event of an attack here, you need to be able to protect yourselves and others.”

  “For now, I'm going to divide you into groups of four and let you begin practicing sweeping and clearing a building as team. Each time you'll work a different position with your team and get an idea of what each position is responsible for. Remember that you aren't just working for you, you’re part of a team. Alright, here we go...”

  -

  “I should be over there,” Abigail muttered, seeing the four-woman teams working in and out of the building they were using for training. The children were inside the Troy house, most playing quietly.

  “What?” Samantha looked up from where she was playing with some of the younger kids.

  “I said I should be over there,” Abigail pointed out the window. “I know more about guns than any of them already. I could be helping!”

  “Why aren't you?” Christina Caudell asked from her seat. She had been forced to take a break due to the strain on her back.

  “Because Uncle Clay said I couldn't,” Abigail replied.

  “Did he say why?” Samantha asked quietly.

  “He said he couldn't trust me,” Abigail's shoulders slumped.

  “Because you went into town on your own,” Samantha finished for her. “That's it, isn't it?”

  “It's part of it,” Abigail nodded. “If he had done something-”

  “Don't,” Christina's voice sounded sharp as it traveled across the room. “Don't you dare finish that,” the other woman told her. “He had valid reasons for his decision. Don't even try to lay blame for what happened on him.”

  Abigail's face flushed but she made no retort, merely continued to look out the window.

  “I need to potty,” one little girl announced. Samantha looked up at Abigail.

  “Abby, can you do it? I've got my hands full.”

  “Fine,” Abigail snorted, pulling the child toward the washroom a little too fast.

  “Abby, stop it!” Samantha told her before Christina could say anything. “You're tearing her arm off!”

  Abigail's face turned even more red as she slowed her pace, allowing the little girl's feet to hit the floor more steadily.

  “You know, there are people here that would kill you if they saw you treat their child that way,” Christina reminded her gently. “You might want to think about that before you try taking your attitude out on these children.”

  -

  “How are we looking?” Clay asked as he sat with his group and Greg Holloway.

  “You know, better than I had imagined,” Holloway told him. “I don't think any of them are ready to be in charge of others, but it's coming. Several are showing real leadership skills already. If we have to defend this place I think they 'll do just fine.”

  “That's good news,” Clay nodded. One week had passed since Leon's speech. A lot had been accomplished, but much remained yet to do. Men were still out cutting wood for the coming winter. The weather was turning colder by the day as they moved into January.

  “Well, tomorrow is New Years so are we going to take a break and party a little?” Mitchell Nolan asked.

  “What is there to party over?” Clay asked him.

  “I didn't know we needed a reason to party,” Nolan feigned shock. “No one told me!”

  “I don't think we 'll see a shindig like Christmas, but I'm reasonably sure something will be going on,” Clay shook his head, chuckling. “So, we 'll have both cupolas manned, two on duty at the new camp, and one at the farm,” he ordered. “Depending on who is standing watch and how bad the weather is, no more than two hours on patrol outside. We 'll have to really examine what we do when true winter sets in,” he told them.

  “It don't get too bad around here does it?” Tandi Maseo asked. “Nothing like up north, right?”

  “Where they get snow, we get ice,” Gordy told the medic. “Freezing rain and sleet. They wrap around every tree in sight, casing them in ice. Soon they start falling.”

  “Oh,” Maseo looked at him. “Well, that sounds bad.”

  “It is,” Gordy assured him. “We've cut away most anything that might impact the houses or barns directly, but that just means the ice piles onto the road,” he shrugged. “You can't win.”

  “Roads will likely be blocked in an ice storm, too,” Tully threw her hat in. “Trees don't just fall on houses. Power lines will become so heavy that the poles snap, too. All of that will serve to block roads and prevent ease of movement.”

  “That might not be a bad thing,” Jose Juarez mused after a minute of consideration. “Depending on what vehicles any potential troublemakers have running, having trees across the road would at least deny them that.”

  “So long a the fields are muddy or they don't have a monster four-by, they'd have to walk, ride horses, or any working ATV's,” G
ordy nodded. “Has to help.”

  “Tandi, have you been practicing with those drones?” Clay asked.

  “Yeah, but honestly Deuce is better,” Maseo admitted. “When it tops out, you can see for miles. All you have to do is rotate the drone to move the camera. The range is good, too.”

  “Start using them to make three checks per day,” Clay ordered. “Just after full light, sometime around mid-day, and an hour before dusk. Any of them have night-vision ability?”

  “No,” Maseo shook his head.

  “Well, it was a thought,” Clay shrugged. “All right then. Greg, you can stand your class down the next two days for New Years. After that you can decide if you want to keep drilling the first class or start the second.”

  “Truth be told, we need to do both,” Greg told him. “I can start the next bunch through while someone else takes the first and keeps it moving. It's getting where I can't keep up with them,” he tapped his leg. “Another month or two maybe, but not now.”

  “Good point,” Clay nodded. “Tully, you think you're up for that? Taking over for Greg?”

  “Yes sir,” the woman replied at once. “I'd like to observe one day while he takes them through what they've learned already so I 'll know where they are.”

  “Done,” Clay nodded. “Make that happen then. If you need someone else to help, let me know. Same for you Greg,” he added to his friend. “It's a lot for one person to do. Meanwhile, we all got work to do. Those on watch go ahead and relieve the posts while the rest of us go cut down trees and chop firewood,” he grinned.

  “Hey, it's a good workout,” Gordy pointed out.

  “So, it is,” Clay nodded. “You're getting your own workout though.”

  “No kidding,” the teen mumbled.

  -

  “Move, move, move!”

  The words weren't yelled or screamed. More like hissed. Gordy and his friends were running a sort of obstacle course under the watchful eyes of Tandi Maseo and Jody Thompson. Each teen had a rifle on his back, unloaded, as he negotiated the course.

  Run one hundred yards.

  Climb a seven-log high wall and clear the top.

  Drop to the ground and crawl beneath several strands of barbed wire.

  Rope swing over the creek behind.

  Through the woods following only the faintest of trails and avoiding traps set by the more experienced men, making a U-shaped track.

  Back to the other side of the creek by running along another log set over the water.

  Maneuver through a maze of pits, dug by the 'recruits' of course, and then a final fifty-yard sprint.

  At which point they assume one of several firing stances and positions, load their rifles and fire.

  Over and over and over again they ran this course. Every day their tormen . . . trainers, made minuscule changes to the trail. Not enough to be evident, but enough to make the youngsters sorry they missed them.

  Then it was inside to a semi-classroom setting where various weapons systems were explained to them, new tactics were taught and practiced, equipment was demonstrated and then they were trained to use it themselves.

  Then lunch and immediately back to the course. Twice around the course and it was to the rifle range. There, small caliber .22 rifles were used to teach the teens the finer points of shooting. All were familiar with rifles, being hunters to one degree or another, but here they learned the difference between simply being a good shot and being a marksman.

  “Don't waste rounds,” Jody preached. “Aim carefully, squeeze the trigger, and hit with every shot,” he told them again and again.

  “There is a time for rock-n-roll,” Maseo would tell them. “There are times when you need to put a lot of lead down range in a hurry. You might want to make someone duck for cover, interrupt something they're trying to do, make them miss a shot, the list is pretty much as long as your imagination. But you only do that when you absolutely have to.”

  “Nothing is more frightening to an enemy than accurate, controlled fire,” Thompson's voice was so soft they had to strain to hear it. “Nothing. Your enemy is spraying the world around them with uncontrolled fire, and you're returning one round for their thirty, scoring a hit each time. Nothing demoralizes even a zealot like seeing his comrades fall, knowing he could be next, and knowing as well that there's not a damn thing he can do about it.”

  Later on, the boys would discuss what they had learned.

  “I don't think I've heard Jody say so much at once since he's been here,” Gordy mused as he toweled off after a tepid shower.

  “He is intense, man,” Titus Terry agreed. “That is the last dude I'd want coming after me.”

  “I know that's right,” Zachary Willis nodded emphatically. “I want to be just like him when I grow up!” he added with a grin.

  “Have to learn to shoot, first,” Gordy jeered at him and the others laughed.

  “Yeah, man. That Jody is scary.”

  -

  New Years was actually a more somber event than Christmas had been. By the time to ring out the old and ring in the new had come around, the full impact of everything that had happened had begun to settle onto people's minds.

  It wasn't pleasant to say the least.

  Thoughts of family they would likely not see again due to distance. Worries for those who had been taking regular medications for whatever ailment they suffered from. The loss of every modern convenience that had made life comfortable and living enjoyable.

  What was left was hard work, worry, and more work. Times like a holiday were the only days when most things could go undone, but even then the fact that the next day held nothing more than the day before weighed heavily on most.

  Minor arguments were expected if not welcome, most caused by bitterness over the loss of so much. Some had even wanted to murmur against the Sanders for having saved what they had.

  “Stop that foolishness,” Joshua Webb told them flatly. “Without them we'd all be in a far worse world o' hurt than we are now,” he reminded them. “As it is, we need to be thankful that they did manage to save what they did, and that they're willing to share it with us. Wasn't for them, my boy Seth would have lost his leg and maybe his life.”

  “My little girl,” one woman agreed.

  “He's right,” a man near the back of the small gathering added. “I'm ashamed I ever felt ungrateful.”

  “Me, too,” the words were echoed through the small group.

  “Well then, what say we pick up these plates and head on over,” Josh nodded in acceptance that his point was made. “Don't know about you folks, but I feel lucky this evening,” he rubbed his hands together. “Not that luck plays any part in a good Rook game,” he added.

  Hoots and cat calls accompanied that statement as the group started for the building where all such gatherings seemed to take place.

  -

  “Things being like this almost makes it possible to forget how bad things are,” Angela remarked softly as she watched people playing cards or board games as the clock they had displayed counted down toward the New Year.

  “One day someone will just declare it must be past midnight and say that it's New Years Day,” Patricia laughed.

  “Probably,” Angela nodded. “Abigail didn't come?” She hadn't seen her oldest grand-daughter all night.

  “Said she doesn't feel welcome,” Patricia sighed. “Samantha stayed with her. I swear, I don't know what has gotten into her Angela,” Patricia admitted suddenly. “If she was on medicines of some kind I'd blame that but. . .she's always been so level headed. I don't get it.”

  “All this can't really be because Clayton didn't go out with the Walters girl can it?” Angela asked.

  “They are close,” Patricia noted, “but I can't see that as reason enough for how she behaves. She's angry that Clay doesn't trust her anymore, but. . .I hate to say it Angela but I can't blame him. And that's before I take into consideration that she was directly responsible for his friend's death.”

&
nbsp; “I know,” Angela nodded. “Well, we will just have to hope she grows out of it. Unless her behavior improves she can forget getting back on Clayton's good side. Her current behavior isn't going to win her any points.”

  “Try telling her that,” Patricia snorted.

  “I think that's a lesson she 'll need to learn the hard way,” Angela said after a moment's thought. “It will stick with her longer that way.”

  -

  “Lieutenant, how many of those have you had?”

  Clay looked up to see Jody Thompson standing over him. He raised the glass in his hand and tossed back the clear liquid inside before answering.

  “That makes. . .ah, hell, I don't know,” he waved off the irrelevancy. “Want one?”

  “You know I can't consume alcohol like that, sir,” Thompson reminded him. “Thank you just the same.”

  “Sorry,” Clay apologized. “I forget sometimes. Don't mean to.”

  “I know,” Jody nodded. “Sir, maybe you shouldn't be drinking to excess in this setting?” he tried again. “This is not a good place for you to be. . .indisposed.”

  “I'm not gonna to fly off the handle, Jody,” Clay promised. “I just need to sleep a little. I'm hoping this does the trick.”

  “Then I 'll sit with you while you test it,” Thompson was unrelenting, taking the seat nearby and pulling it forward to have a seat.

  “I don't need a babysitter, Jody,” Clay declared, though not unkindly. “You should be having a good time. Several good looking young ladies running around here, you know,” he gave the younger man a playful leer.

  “I've seen them,” Jody's voice was neutral. “I'm at an impasse for now,” he added. It was uncharacteristic of him to share anything like that and it got Clay's undivided attention.

  “Abigail,” Clay said after a minute of pondering. Thompson said nothing for a moment then nodded once. He said nothing.

  “I know you two were growing close before all that,” Clay sighed, losing interest in his drinking. “Wanna talk about it?”

  Jody sat there silent for so long that Clay had decided that the sniper did not, in fact, want to talk about when the reply came.

  “I believe my judgment is impaired,” he said quietly. “I am usually an excellent judge of character, Lieutenant. I'm rarely wrong. So rarely that I don't consider it,” he shrugged. “So where was I wrong?”