Most people stationed at the airport are a member of the Guard or Reserves, but not as one cohesive unit. The VRC is their day job, their unit may be as far flung as Altoona or DuBois. After shouldering his empty rifle, he starts searching out his workmates. With no communications, the scene is chaotic. Focus on your mission, secure the south end of the airport corridor, he thinks. He smiles a bit, knowing God is telling him to focus on what he can do.
He rallies eight men and two women from his own work crew and has them all draw weapons while he tries to formulate a plan.
"I got me a two thousand dollar club Zach, now what do I do?" one of his men chides, as he returns from the armory.
"We're going to secure the south end of Airport Road, that's what! Let’s start scrounging around for something that runs or that we can fix. We need a way to move vehicles to make a roadblock."
An older propane powered forklift is found to still run and they head out to their assigned area with a vehicle in tow. A half mile south of the terminal is a choke point. Zach has the up-armored hummer they towed with the forklift dropped sideways in the middle of the road. He leaves four of his men there and returns to the VRC for another piece for his roadblock. On the way, he stops at his own vehicle and grabs his personal 9mm from under the seat and the two spare clips from the glove box. One of his other men retrieves their handgun as well. They head back to their roadblock with another dead hummer.
"Great! Two pistols and fifty rounds to man a road block!" he snarls. "So we are to look mean with our M16's! What if someone actually shoots at us? Throw stones at them? Assholes don’t trust the people who are supposed to protect their country with ammunition."
"Anyone else here have a personal weapon in your car?" A woman steps up, Carly, she has a competition semi-automatic shotgun in her trunk. She had shot at a competition in Maryland over the weekend. She has over a hundred rounds of ammo too, but it is all skeet shot. She goes back with the forklift to get her gun. Over the next two hours, they piece together their roadblock.
* * *
Zach and his crew of now twelve are working at making their roadblock more secure. A runner comes up to them on foot from behind.
"This is for your position," he states breathlessly, handing Zach a briefcase sized radio. "You'll need to hook it up to the battery of one of these trucks. Channel 23 will put you on line with the major."
They hook up the old radio and hear from their "HQ" for the first time in two hours. After a quick com check, Zach is told to bring four men to the airport receiving area. They begin the half mile walk as a C160 roars overhead, banking for the main runway. They have seen transport helicopters coming and going, this is the first fixed wing aircraft they have seen all day.
"It's got to be bad if those VIPs are going to have to ride in that flying elephant." Remarks one of Zach's soldiers. Fifteen minutes later, Zach's crew is helping to unload cases of ammunition.
"How do we rate this much ammunition?" one soldier asks.
Another answers, "Probably some protocol from when Murtha was still in office. Don't complain, our M16's just turned into real weapons." The plane delivered everything from 5.56 ammunition for the M16’s to a few cases of old LAW rockets. Zach’s crew is allotted two thousand rounds for their personal weapons, and another two thousand rounds for a Squad Automatic Weapon, SAW, that they are assigned. He finds a dolly and they wheel their ammunition back to the roadblock, while one member heads off to draw a hundred clips and the SAW.
Back at the roadblock, cheers go up as they are now truly soldiers. Nothing bad has happened so far. Only a few vehicles have turned their way, and some pedestrians, all have been turned back. With no firepower, Zach had kept his crew close to the roadblock. Now he feels confident enough to set up two flanking positions to better secure the southern approach to the airport. A few reservists and guard members show up, and are allowed in, a few more people come to help swell his ranks. By nightfall he has twenty people at his position.
* * *
Eating an MRE and hashing over what has happened, Zach and a few of his crew watch as darkness settles over Johnstown; complete darkness. No lights. The valley below them and the surrounding hilltops, are usually filled with lights. The major shopping mall only a mile away cannot be seen. There are no car headlights traveling the roads. No street lights. Nothing. Almost complete darkness. Only the bright stars and moon from the clear night sky illuminate the contours of the land. And dim glow on the horizon, from the fires burning in the area. The thick plumes of smoke that they had seen earlier in the day are replaced by a dull orange glow.
The group of soldiers goes quiet as they listen to the complete silence. Complete silence of mankind, that is. The sounds of nature are amplified; crickets, peepers, hoot owls, even a lone coyote, all make their presence known.
Then, three distinct gunshots are heard coming from the Galleria. All heads turn in the direction of the shots. The ten men and women on the guard watch tense up. Two more shots are heard, a different gun to Zach's trained ear. Eight more shots are heard in rapid succession, a short gunfight. Then all goes quiet again.
Zach sighs, "Welcome to the new world, worse than the old world. That was over a mile away, but that may end up on our gate. Four alert on the roadblock all night and two in each outpost. Greggers, you take charge of first watch. Wake me at two, I'll run second watch. I'm heading to the airport to find the Major, see if I can get any more information."
* * *
Two days later, Zach's people have complete control of the southern entrance to the airport. But things have turned tense as people show up expecting help from FEMA.
Zach barks into his radio. "Tell the major we got about a hundred people out here now, saying that FEMA should be up here with food and water and a way out of town. We also got a dozen people here who claim they have private planes on the grounds that they want access to. The people looking for FEMA are setting up a makeshift camp a hundred meters down the road. Some of them claim to be big shots from DC and are demanding answers. The plane owners are right at our gate demanding access to their planes. What do you want me to do?"
"Wait a minute sergeant," is the reply he gets.
Zach looks over what he sees and hears; major plumes of smoke rising from three different areas, sporadic gunfire, much of it closer than he likes. His crew now numbers thirty. They cover the road and over two hundred yards to either side of the road. He feels he is doing his job. At least the job Uncle Sam has assigned him. He worries for his wife and family. Is he doing that job well? They are at Mountain Side, safe. He helped make that place safe, so hopefully that suffices as being a good dad and husband. His heart aches that he is not there with them. His self-reflection is interrupted by the crackle of the vintage radio.
"Turn away those wanting help, we are not, repeat, NOT a refuge center. Those claiming to have a plane, explain that their planes won't fly. If they insist on coming through, they must give you the wing number. Once confirmed, they will be let in."
“What about these DC fat-cats demanding answers?”
“I’ll be down to talk with them. I’ll there at eleven hundreds hours.”
At eleven o’clock several dozen people approach Zach’s roadblock. They are a group of fairly distinguished looking men and women. At least they would have been three days ago in their fine suits, dresses, and high end casual clothes. Now their designer label clothing is dirty, wrinkled and torn. In some instances even bloody. Normally perfectly groomed hair is greasy and matted. After three days of walking, sleeping on the ground, scrounging for food, begging for handouts, their bodies are starting to show the stress they have been under. Most of those present are from the Flight 93 Memorial, but some are local politicians and government leaders.
The major climbs up on the tailgate of a hummer to address the small crowd. “I understand you all have questions, and that you have come here hoping to find aid and hopefully transportation out of Johnstown. Many of you may not know what
has happened to our country. I will try and explain as best I can and answer your questions as well.
“First of all, communications have been very erratic and disjointed, so we have had to try and piece together our own overview of the situation. America was attacked by several EMP devices that knocked out our electrical grid, communications and transportation systems. We have a hardened radio in the tower which we have been able to use to talk with Fort Indiantown Gap and we had a few communications with Mount Weather where protocol dictates the emergency federal government will be established. We have also been taking in information from HAM radio transmissions and aviation frequencies.
“Washington D. C., New York City, and Los Angeles have all been hit with nuclear blasts. The president was in New York and is confirmed dead. The Vice President was in D. C. and is confirmed dead as are most representatives, senators and cabinet officers. Our federal government is essentially gone.
“I am not sure, but the highest ranking federal official might have been the Secretary of DHS that was flown out of here three days ago. The flights from here to the memorial were not part of my jurisdiction nor were the flights out of here with those they rescued. I don’t know who they pulled off or where they went to.
“I have tried to contact any federal authority that might give me direction as what to do. But, we are a small airport in a small town. Once they got the big wigs they needed out of here, we no longer mattered.
“I did receive orders from General Meyers in Fort Indiantown Gap. She is the commanding general of the 28th division, Pennsylvania Army National Guard. She ordered me to secure this airport and surrounding facilities for future operations. Communications since then have been sporadic at best and I have no indication of what is meant by future operations, but I assume they will try and bring in relief flights. I don’t know when that might occur or where they might come from, as there is no airport at Fort Indiantown Gap. Maybe Harrisburg or Pittsburgh. But I am sure those areas are under serious duress.
“Additionally, you need to know whoever pulled of these attacks, pulled them off worldwide. Europe, Russia, China, Japan, South America and the Middle East have all been attacked by both high altitude EMPs and nuclear bombs. What we speculate is that Iran, North Korea, ISIS and Al Qaeda, managed to pull this off.
“Finally, we are not a FEMA outpost. We do not have stock piles of food and supplies. I have not heard that supplies will be sent to us. I have barely enough food to take care of the men and women stationed here. We are following the orders of General Meyers in the hope that if we keep the airport secure, when relief efforts start up, we will be in a position to receive the aid flights.”
The small crowd before him stands silently, some begin to cry. They knew things where bad, but to have the situation laid openly before them is a shock to their system. These are men and woman of power and prestige. That world is now gone. Now they are really beggars and homeless.
“Isn’t there some way you can fly us out of here?” a man asks.
“The helicopters and transport planes they brought in here on day one all left. If you weren’t important enough for them to fly out of here then, I doubt they are going to come back and get you now.” The major’s blunt answer is met with blank stares of disbelief.
“What about food, can you provide us with some food?” A woman asks.
“No, we are not a relief station. If we gave you food, a thousand people will be here tomorrow. Our orders are to keep the airport secure. We are not a relief station.”
“Can you get us some vehicles so we can head out of here on our own?” another man asks.
“The few operational vehicles I have are being used for the security of this airport. I know there are a lot of old farm trucks and classic cars around, that would be your best bet along those lines.”
A large man raises his voice. “This is bullshit! How much do you want, major? Let’s start with food. I’ll give you $100.00 per meal to feed us. And I give $10,000.00 for one of these old farm trucks or classic cars, more if it’s needed.”
The major is caught a bit off guard, but he recovers quickly. “Do you have cash, sir? He asks.
“Do I have cash? Shit major, I buy and sell generals and senators. I can buy an old farm truck out of pocket change.”
“But do you have cash sir, hundred dollar bills?” The major responds.
“I have hundreds of millions at my disposal. Hell, my company made several million building the Flight 93 Memorial. You all owe me for that project anyway, we issued out some pretty good contracts to some local people.”
“But you do not have any cash on hand, not that it will be worth anything to people around here.”
“Get me in touch with the right people and I will make it happen that’s what I do. I grease the wheels and make things happen.”
The major sighs. He actually feels sorry for this man. But his world is gone. He offers the man a bit of advice. “There is a vintage car club in Windber. Head over there and maybe you can make a deal, find your ride home.”
The major answers a few more questions before shutting down the forum. Many in the group, along with their followers begin to disperse. Some contemplate stirring up a crowd to take the airport, knowing there is food and supplies there. They move off and discuss their plans in hushed whispers.
Chapter 31, Road Patrol
Route 219
September 17th
For three more days Zach and his crew maintain their watch over the airport. They see fires burning, but less than before. They hear the gunfire of small battles as people try to protect what they have. More reservists and guard show up, some with their families. They are all welcomed into the well-defended area. No one seriously threatens them. Their ranks swell from about one hundred soldiers when the lights went out to over three hundred on the duty roster, plus family members.
A Lieutenant has reported for duty and takes charge of the southern approach, taking a load off Zach's hands. But, as a combat veteran of road patrols in Iraq, he is tasked with establishing patrols between Johnstown and Somerset, as well as a side run to the Flight 93 Memorial.
For his patrol mission he is allotted an old Hummer, a Deuce-and-a-half truck, and an old Suburban scavenged from the airport parking lot. Zach convinces the major that he should also have several dozen cases of MREs and cases of water so they can provide aid when needed.
He takes the northern exit from the airport area and swings past Rocco and Katie's house, his wife's parents, before heading to the highway. Rocco and Katie are well armed and keeping a low profile. They have his sister-in-law with them, along with her three kids and husband. Rocco reiterates his sentiment to stick it out unless things get bad. Zach leaves some MREs and water with them, along with instructions on how to get his weapons from his house, just up the street.
Twenty minutes later his patrol is merging onto Route 219 South and they confront a serious roadblock. Realizing his mishmash of vehicles does not readily proclaim him as US Army, he stops and hails the roadblock, waving an American flag. After a brief discussion by the men and women at the control point, they are waved forward.
Zach steps out of the passenger side of the big deuce and is met warmly by a half dozen of the make shift militia. A police officer steps up and greats him.
"Man are we glad to see you! It's about time the military stepped up and started protecting us."
Zach shakes his hand and introduces himself. "So what do y'all have going on here with this control point?" Zach asks.
"We decided 219 would be our dividing line," states the officer. "It is a natural barrier that we can defend. We have to keep out the marauding gangs, so this is where we are making or stand. On the east side of the road we have been able to keep the peace, to the west, it's chaos. So do you have men and weapons to help us?"
"Actually, no. This is a small patrol that is to reconnoiter to Somerset and back. I'll let you know what we find out when we return. Have you sent anyone to the airpo
rt area to coordinate with us?"
"All I have heard is that the airport road is shut off and no refugees are being taken there. We assumed the federal government was setting up a relief site and it would open up when you were ready. That's not happening is it?" responds the officer frankly.
"The airport corridor has been closed down and is secured by Federal troops,” Zach states. "We have no mandate to set up a refugee site. I suggest you send people there to coordinate with us. But I don’t know if we can help you out. We were just told to keep the airport secure."
Zach hears gunfire to his left, close by. He turns in time to see a family try to run across the highway. The four children and two adults are gunned down before they make it across. Zach's eyes open wide.
"More looters," says the police officer. "We can only feed those who are already here. We are not allowing anyone to cross in. So is the Army finally going to start martial law? Bring some stability to this town?"
"I don't know," Zach responds, still dumbfounded at seeing the family of 'looters' being killed. "You need to talk to Major Kerns. I'm going to continue on towards Somerset, okay?"
The officer nods and the roadblock opens, his convoy continues its mission, heading south. Every hundred yards or so are clusters of men and women, keeping a watchful eye to the west. Some are overlooking residential areas, some are watching wooded areas. Looking to the west, towards Johnstown, he sees many plumes of smoke from large fires burning. Passing over the Scalp Avenue bridge, he notices several hundred people huddled in a parking lot. They are stuck there, fleeing the chaos of the city to the west, and facing the barricade to the east. A foul mood seems to hang in the air. His mission is to get to Somerset and back, so they roll along, down the long road to the high bridge that crosses the Stoneycreek River.
As they travel south on 219, they encounter people who have avoided the Richland roadblock by circling south, and accessed the highway though the heavily wooded area not covered by the Richland roadblocks. Most of these people are heading south, as he is. These are not violent people. Just people trying to flee the chaos, trying to find a way to survive. There are not many of them, a few hundred at most over the five-mile stretch of road before they come to another road block.
Righteous Bloodshed: Righteous Survival EMP Saga, Book 2 Page 21
