Switched On

by Franklin Horton

  “If that’s how you want to do it,” Jim said.

  Hugh and Bird nodded.

  “Then let’s get with it. Hugh, you get your lines in place. There’s a red duffel with climbing gear in the back of the truck.”

  “I brought some too,” Hugh said, jogging off to the truck.

  “So, how do you want this all dropped down to you?” Jim asked.

  “Weatherman and I welded a steel basket together. It has a hinged lid. It almost looks like a rescue basket for helicopter rescues. Once we get this winch line in place and protected so it won’t fray on these rocks, we should be able to lower a couple of hundred pounds at a time. We have to be careful though. A winch isn’t a hoist. We don’t want to push our luck.”

  “Got it,” Jim said.

  “What can we do?” Weatherman asked.

  “I guess the rest of us can start carrying all of the stuff in the truck to this point where we’re standing,” Jim replied. “Like the man said, past this point you’ll have to be clipped to the rope for safety.”

  Jim helped Bird rig a steel cable between two stout trees on the edge of the cliff. They brought a snatch block, a pulley with a hook on it, and hung it over the line. The pulley would give the winch a straighter pull and maybe keep the winch line from fraying so much. Working from the fixed line, Jim pulled the winch cable, fed it through the snatch block, and clipped it to the metal basket.

  Hugh already had his ropes and belay anchor in place. “Rappelling!” he called out, then dropped over the edge. The man climbed with a fearless confidence that told Jim Hugh definitely had more climbing experience than he did.

  Bird clipped into a harness and Jim tied him off with a figure eight knot. He fed the rope through a locking carabiner on the anchor and then through a belay device that was anchored to a different tree. The devices all multiplied the force that Jim exerted on the rope, allowing him to easily lower Bird to the ledge below. Hugh had already set an anchor inside the cave and had two safety lines for he and Bird to clip into.

  “How far back does it go?” Jim called.

  “We can walk back about fifty feet,” Hugh said. “It looks like you could go a lot farther if you’re willing to crawl.”

  “Fifty should be good, shouldn’t it?”

  Hugh shrugged. “I hope so.”

  Jim double-checked the connection of the winch to the basket, the snatch block to the cable, and the cable to the trees. He found that there were dozens of plastic bags of explosive powder and various other items waiting on him. He put three bags of the manufactured ANFO mixture in the basket and signaled Weatherman to hit the winch.

  Weatherman was standing by the bumper with a remote. He hit a button and the winch started whining, the cable taking up the weight of the basket and its contents so Jim could swing it out over the edge. The winch slowed a little as it began to labor. The anchor trees Jim had affixed the steel cable to bowed inward slightly. The cable went taut and sang with tension. It slipped along the bark under the power of the winch, startling everyone for a split second, but nothing fell.

  Jim let out a breath, not realizing he’d been holding it. He pushed out on the cable with his foot, trying to keep the basket from snagging as it dropped.

  “Keep an eye out,” he warned. “It may bring rocks down.”

  Hugh and Bird took the warning to heart, pulling their heads back in the cave until the basket was at eye level. The pair rolled the bags out of the basket and signaled for it to be raised while they carried their load back into the recesses of the cave. It seemed to take forever for the basket to make it back up, but when it did, Jim pulled it back as far as he could and immediately loaded it with four bags this time, over two hundred pounds of ANFO powder.

  They repeated the process exactly as before, and everything went smoothly. Seeing that their system was working, Jim moved to some of the heavier items, sending down the diesel fuel, then starting on the bagged fertilizer. He wanted to get the heaviest stuff down first since things were going smoothly. If all else failed, he could rope stuff down with the belay as a last resort. He certainly didn’t want to have to lower every single bag of fertilizer and ANFO powder down by that method.

  “Hold up,” Hugh called as Jim was starting to load the basket again.

  Jim peered over the edge. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve been checking out the base of this cliff between loads,” Hugh said. “It looks like it may be undercut enough that we should put a charge down there.”

  “I thought there was no point in that.”

  “There is if the base is undercut enough,” Hugh replied. “Especially since we’ve got all this additional explosive we didn’t expect to have.”

  Jim wasn’t able to see the base of the cliff from his position. “What do you want to do?”

  “I’ve got enough line to rappel down,” Hugh said. “I want to go down and check it out. If it looks promising, Bird will start rigging this charge and you can start sending loads down to me.”

  Jim examined his setup. “We may have to reset up here so we miss the ledge.”

  “Then you look for a spot where you can see the base while I’m headed down,” Hugh said. “Just don’t dislodge anything on my head.”

  “I’d feel better if you were wearing a helmet,” Jim said.

  “Well all I’ve got is a hard head with a soft mind,” Hugh said. “I’ll have to work with it.”

  Jim left the partially filled basket sitting, retied his safety line, and checked the top of the cliff for a better spot to set up the winch. He found one about forty feet away. It was not a straight shot with the winch and would require running the cable through a maze of trees and brush. There were no anchor trees for using a snatch block, so Jim would have to use a log to protect the winch cable from abrading against rock.

  He double-checked that his safety line was secure and looked over the edge, again fighting the vertigo that threatened to drop him to his knees. Hugh was moving around among large boulders.

  “How’s it look?” he called down.

  Hugh gave him a thumbs-up. “Perfect. Start’em coming.”

  Jim let out a sigh. Easier said than done. He returned to the ledge and sent Bird the last of the materials he would need to rig his charge.

  “Give a yell when you’re ready to come back up.”

  Jim got Weatherman to help him move the winch cable and re-rig the basket. He had some doubts about the path of the cable through the woods. There were several dead trees the cable would be riding against. He hoped they could stand up to the pressure.

  With everything set, Jim started the next basket on its way. He went light since this was a new route. Even so, it dislodged a rock from the top of the cliff on its way down.

  “Hugh!” he shouted. “Heads up!”

  Hugh was able to dodge out of the way. Fortunately, the winch cable was long enough for the job. They lowered over six hundred pounds of material before the winch started smoking.

  “Fuck!” Weatherman said.

  “What is it?” Jim asked.

  “Damn winch burned up,” he said. “I guess we exceeded the duty cycle.”

  Jim groaned and went to the back of the truck. They had off-loaded all of the manufactured ANFO explosive but still had some fertilizer, diesel, dynamite, and a few other items they’d picked up at the quarry.

  “Let me talk to Hugh and see what he thinks,” Jim said.

  He went to the edge and conferred with his friend. Hugh felt that they had enough material to go ahead and rig the charge. They were directly on the riverbank, so the hope was that everything they dropped would roll right into the river. Jim sent down a sack with the remainder of the items Hugh needed for setting his charge.

  While Hugh was busy, Jim and Weatherman raised Bird to the surface as he unspooled wire behind him. When they got a safe distance from the edge, Bird began putting together his detonator assembly. Jim and Weatherman took down the lines and rigging from their operation.

/>   “I’ll walk the base of the cliff and meet you on the road about a half mile back,” Hugh told them.

  Jim called everyone together back at the trucks.

  “This is the calm before the storm,” he said. “Everything gets crazy from here on out. Just remember that your safety is paramount. None of you are replaceable.”

  “This where shit gets mushy?” Weatherman cracked.

  Jim looked at him. “Okay, maybe one of you is replaceable.”

  That got a small laugh from the nervous group.

  “From here, we go back to the main road and we’ll unload the trailer. Randi, Pete, and Charlie, head out on horseback to warn the folks in the communities along the road. Tell them to spread the word themselves. Do not approach the houses. Set off the horn and give them the message if they come out. Don’t tell them to leave because they might think it’s a trap. Just tell them to be alert for rising water.”

  “Got it,” Randi said.

  “Gary, we get you in place on the hill across from the plant. Your primary job is to keep the chopper from taking off.”

  Gary nodded.

  “Bird, we drop you and Hugh off with Gary. The three of you work your way in together. When Gary finds his hide, you two head for the bridge into the plant. The plant is built on the isolated side of the river. There are no roads in and out except for that old steel bridge. Take the legs out from under it and we trap them there.”

  “Got it,” Bird said.

  Jim looked around at the blue-gray sky then checked his watch. “It’s 5:35 PM now. We blow everything at 9. Both the bridge and this whole fucking mountain. Got it?”

  There were nods around the darkening circle.

  “I don’t think they’ll suspect we’ve dammed the river until the water starts coming up,” Jim said. “They’ll hear the explosions, but if we keep them busy enough they won’t be able to do anything about it.”

  Jim looked around at the faces of his friends and family. His team. “Then I want everyone to eat and drink. I’m not sure when you’ll have another chance and I don’t want you distracted by hunger.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Scott asked.

  The group wandered off to choke down MREs and rehydrate.

  “Pete and Charlie!” Jim called. “You guys stick around a second.”

  The boys were nervous and made more so by being singled out. After everyone left them alone, Jim put an arm on each boy’s shoulder.

  “I’m proud of you guys. I want you to listen to Randi. Do everything she says, regardless of what you think about it. She’s good at this and she’ll keep you alive. Don’t try to do anything brave and don’t do anything stupid. I’ve got ARs and pistols for both of you. More than anything, I want you to both come home at the end of the trip. You got it?”

  They looked sheepish, as boys that age are prone to when things get intense.

  “I’m serious,” Jim said. “I love you guys and I can’t go home without you. You understand?”

  They nodded this time and Jim hugged both of them. While he wasn’t a hugger, it was what needed to happen at that moment. He didn’t want to miss an opportunity in case the worst befell them.

  29

  At approximately 8:30 PM, two hastily painted kayaks slipped under the bridge at the power plant. The kayaks were a “donation” from an abandoned house along the river. Despite having power and outside lighting, there was no one watching the water and no one watching the bridge. The kayakers used the ambient light from the plant to drag their boats out of the water as quietly as possible. With their cargo of explosives sealed in the dry hatches of the boats, Bird and Hugh efficiently assembled charges. They had discussed this, piecing together their two sets of knowledge to come up with a plan of how best to demolish the bridge. Many lives depended on their success.

  While they were assembling their charges, two small stones flew from the night and plunked into the dark waters. It was a signal they were expecting. A signal not to shoot the men about to cross the bridge. Hugh and Bird continued about their business, listening as four sets of feet crossed above them. If nothing had changed, those feet would belong to Jim, Kyle, Weatherman, and Ford. They were to cross the bridge, take cover, and remain in hiding until after the fireworks.

  The men under the bridge made quick work of their assignments, not wanting to prolong their exposure any longer than required. They installed wireless detonators, tested and double-checked everything, then relaunched their kayaks into the powerful current. Each floated without paddling, only steering, carefully watching for rocks and sentries with equal vigilance before beaching their boats. The water was cold and despite both of them wearing water-resistant hiking boots, neither was wearing appropriate footwear for wet-entries in a river frigid with snow runoff.

  The riverbank near the plant was covered in rip-rap, an erosion inhibiting stone, to prevent the edges of the road from washing out. Each man struggled his way up the bank, trying to find a spot where he could see the bridge but low enough that he maintained some cover in case sentries were monitoring the road.

  With one minute remaining, each man turned on his detonator switch and watched as the wireless components shook hands with each other, connecting the remotes in their hands to the receivers under the bridge. When the units paired, Bird and Hugh flipped the safety covers out of place and waited for 9 PM, counting down the seconds. At the same exact moment, each man triggered his explosive.

  Despite the seriousness of the moment, each found it impossible not to be awestruck at the power of the charges. Neither had enough experience to know what to expect. If Hugh did, he wasn’t admitting it. The old steel bridge blew loose from its mooring at the roadside, twisted, then leaned into the water with a shuddering groan. When it encountered the strong current, the waters tugged on the bridge, pulling it further askew.

  The camp erupted into life with several men streaming from connex sleeping quarters. Generator-powered light towers burst to life and the shouts of men could be heard as they tried to figure out what had taken place. In the midst of all this chaos, the very earth shook under their feet from a massive two-pronged explosion further downstream. It was followed by a low rumbling that continued to shake the ground as chunks of ancient limestone the size of cars tumbled into the narrow valley and closed it off to a height of nearly forty feet.

  Hugh and Bird now knew that their charges back at the cliff had detonated but had no idea if they’d achieved the desired effect of blocking the course of the river. They should know soon. Southwest Virginia was not like Mississippi where floodwaters could spread for tens of thousands of acres. The Clinch River valley was nothing more than a narrow rut between ridges. Once blocked off, the water would rise quickly. If their explosives had dammed the river, they might see water rising very soon.

  “Showtime,” Jim said into his radio, breaking silence for the first time that night.

  Bird and Hugh moved to the top of the riverbank, looking over at the road. They’d stashed their detonators in pockets, exchanging them for rifles. In seconds, they heard the roar of an approaching engine. Blinding headlights came around the corner and the men closed their eyes to preserve their night vision. The vehicle locked up its brakes when it found the bridge it was aiming for was no longer there.

  It was the white Otokar Cobra II with the UN markings. The drivers were silhouetted in the headlights as they stared over the river at the camp.

  “Left,” Hugh said.

  “Roger that,” Bird replied.

  The men shot within a fraction of a second of each other and their targets fell into the river. Whether they were peacekeepers or an invading force depended on your perspective. To the armed men crouched on the roadside, they were the first drops of a torrent intent on extinguishing the fires of liberty.

  Beyond the blown bridge, Jim and his team crouched in a sea of spare transformers, easily camouflaged in the shadows and irregular shapes. A steel door flew open and a half-dozen men streamed out,
rifles in hand and pulling on gear as they ran. They were headed for the chopper.

  Jim pulled out his radio. “Heads up, Gary. It’s your show.”

  The group had no intelligence on how many men were at the camp. Jim had assumed they were spread thin since units were assigned to so many different plants around the country. He’d been hoping that was what he would find. So far his best estimate was that there were less than two dozen men here with half or more being foreign troops. They were running all over the place, jabbering at each other in their native languages.

  The chopper doors were opened and the men scrambled inside. Jim wasn’t certain if they were intent on getting an overhead view of what was taking place or if the intent was to flee. Neither was happening.

  “What the fuck is taking him so long?” Ford asked.

  “Quit checking your data,” Weatherman mumbled. “Just shoot the damn thing.”

  A whine erupted from the chopper as they engines started. Seconds later, the first loud boom from the .338 Lapua rang out, echoing through the valley like thunder. The folks in the chopper didn’t move, uncertain as to what was happening. The engines were still going.

  Boom!

  The second shot hit something vital and the sound of the engine changed. It began to wind down erratically. The chopper doors opened back up and men spilled out. The .338 barked again and the pilot’s head vaporized into jelly.

  “Oh, now he’s just showing off,” Weatherman said.

  “No, he’s dialed in,” Jim said.

  The men who were hurriedly disembarking discovered a new urgency with the sniper focusing from mechanical to human targets. They scrambled in all directions, seeking cover where they could find it.

  “That’s him!” Kyle said, pointing at a man in jeans. He wore tactical gear over a dark hoodie and carried a stubby rifle. “That’s the bastard that killed my men.”