Millie giggled. “I understand and will respect the right way of doing things from now on.”
“That’s all we can ask of you,” Jim said. “Now, you better go have a talk with your dad, too.”
“I’ll go right now.”
“Do I need to keep an eye on you?” Jim asked Mary with a grin as they watched Millie leave.
“Not as long as you keep me happy,” Mary winked.
Jim shook his head at his wife and continued with his daily rounds when the radio came to life.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked.
There were too many people trying to talk at once, but he was able to make out two words, “In trouble.”
“The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.”
—Thomas Paine
Chapter Twenty
Spring posed new threats for the people on the mountain. With the snow melting under the hot sun as the days grew longer, there were mudslides in the area and water flowing under piles of snow, oftentimes, discovered unexpectedly by people on patrols. Hypothermia and frostbite were now commonplace for the Doc to administer care for.
“What happened?” Jim wanted to know as he pushed his way through the crowd.
“She fell through the ice while her and her team made their way across a lake,” a soaked Danny told him. “We heard the distress call and ran over to assist. She drowned before she could get any of her gear off.”
“I want all of you who were exposed to the elements for too long to go to the infirmary and get checked out. Matt, can you make sure she’s taken care of?”
“Will do,” Matt told him.
New security and safety measures had to be added from time to time. Some of them were added after accidents like these so they could be avoided in the future.
March 22nd
Now the enemy is nature herself. The fighting has been stagnant for some time, and a number of people are getting restless. With the Marines here with us and supplies still at a good level, patrols have been scaled back. This could potentially make it worse for the community’s boredom, but safer in the long run. We have it good right now and hopefully it continues.
With the might of the U.S. forces stretched so thin, civilians were called up and trained on a regular basis by recon elements sent to their locale. McGee had been impressed by this militia shortly after his boots hit the ground, but he and his men assisted wherever they were needed.
“I want your men to help camouflage the winter fighting positions better,” the captain told his senior NCOs in a meeting Jim attended. I want them in top shape also. The weather’s getting better, so I want patrols to increase.”
“Unless your mission dictates otherwise, feel free to keep incorporating the militia,” Jim added. “Coordinate with Rick to make it happen.”
McGee nodded.
As the months passed by, the snow continued to melt. The compound could be seen in full swing preparing for the coming summer. Plans were set in motion for getting outside and enjoying longer days and warmer weather. Full patrols were watching the perimeter as it warmed up. They had more people than ever now. The community had grown to about one hundred people, including the Marines.
Two school teachers had been teaching the kids throughout the winter. One of them was Diane, the woman they had come across with the two men near the airdrop. Said she hadn’t taught in years, but did a great job with the kids. She turned out to be an Alaska state senator.
The future was uncertain, but they attempted to live as normally as possible.
The lines had pretty much stabilized, and not much fighting occurred in the immediate locale. The area around Anchorage and north was still considered hostile territory. Much of the state was now under the control of the U.S. military, but a few cities still belonged to the U.N.
Not becoming deficient in the vitamins and minerals needed to fend off ailments had been a main concern, and the people of the compound had to travel greater distances to get the nourishment needed to survive. They were accompanied by militia and Marines when they did. There was plenty to trade with after a long winter of trapping. Doc had given instructions on the proper types of food everyone needed to stay in good health.
“Even though you’re not on a boat, doesn’t mean you can’t get scurvy,” he told them on a regular basis. “You need fruit as well as meat,” he would say when he saw a moose being cut up.
The summer’s arrival gave more opportunity for everyone to get a little distance from one another. With the fighting at a standstill for the moment, people felt as if they could begin to relax more.
A mixed militia and Marine patrol walked up through the perimeter early one afternoon carrying a man on a make-shift litter made from branches and poles. The sentry at the bottom of the mountain alerted Jim on the radio.
“I’m on my way,” Jim said as he turned and left to get McGee, who’d already made his way over.
“I’ve heard,” McGee said. “Do you know what happened?”
“Not yet,” he said.
“What happened out there?” McGee asked when the patrol got closer. They recognized the wounded man as Roger.
“He was shot in the leg by a young civilian with a .22 rifle, who thought we were U.N. troops,” a Marine responded.
“We captured the boy and questioned him before letting him go,” Danny said. “He was just scared and was trying to protect his grandfather’s land.”
“I should have listened to Peter and Diana,” Roger whined, obviously in pain.
“Get him to the infirmary and get him patched up,” Jim told them while shaking his head.
“Your wound’s going to take months to heal,” McGee said, “Then you can get back out there.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” Roger said as they took him away.
July 16th
The nice summer weather is great, but with so many more people outside it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep track of them. Without an enemy to fight right now, we are dealing with broken bones and cuts from accidents that should have been avoided. Roger has been the only real causality in many months and that was due to a young boy thinking he was protecting his family’s land. Mary wants to let the kids go over and play with the others in the main cave. Many of us still believe that the less people who know about this side, the better. We know it’s only a matter of time until more find out, but that’s more time the people here in the cabin will be safe from the war.
The summer passed slowly and not much else happened. Each visit to town by the patrols brought back more rumors about life getting back to normal across the globe. However, the reports McGee received from his command contradicted what they heard locally.
“We would like to believe it’s getting back to normal,” McGee told them one day during a meeting. “But the truth is, the war is still raging. We’re lucky to have the food and shelter we have here.”
By the end of August, salmon which had swum up the local rivers had been harvested. The Sockeye, coho and pink salmon were taken from the streams which flowed out of the lakes in the mountains where they spawned each year. The winter food stores of canned and smoked fish looked good.
Berry picking had been something they had done from the beginning, but with more people, more berries could be picked and processed. This made for an abundance of blueberries, salmonberries, cranberries, lingonberries and raspberries for pies, jams and several other recipes, adding fresh fruit to everyone’s diets.
Following the instructions of Doc, several people were taking advantage of the wild berries that the region had to offer. Having years of experience picking berries, most of the locals were able to identify edible berries and steer clear of those they knew to be poisonous. After a Marine had fallen ill and died several days later, it was determined to have been caused not by the consumption of the poisonous baneberry, but by the toxin entering his bloodstream through a cut on his hand. Jim recruited a few of the more knowledgeable locals to teach berr
y identification classes to all. Doc’s wife, Lisa, helped out immensely.
“We have an aircraft inbound,” a voice said on the radio one day.
“This is Cpt. McGee. That’s a scheduled supply drop.”
“How long can we expect these airdrops to continue?” Jim asked as they walked outside and saw the parachute deploy over the pallet.
“My command tells me the tide’s slowly turning in our favor, so hopefully they’ll continue until it’s time to go home.”
They had made progress on the entire cave system and perimeter. With the Marines’ help and their tactical knowledge, the perimeter and the FOB were built better than they could have imagined. The tunnels connecting the guard posts would help protect them in the winter and help conceal their position from above year-round.
The cave system construction moved faster with the extra help. McGee wanted to keep his troops in shape, so it worked out nicely for everyone involved. The war wasn’t over, and everyone knew it, whether they wanted to believe it or not.
One day in early September, a Marine came running into the main cave, desperately looking for Cpt. McGee.
“Sir,” he said after locating Jim and the captain “I just heard over our secure net the U.N. has launched a new global offensive. We’ve been ordered to Anchorage.”
“How about it?” McGee asked Jim. “Would you and your people like some more payback? We could use as much help as we can get.”
“Let me talk to the men and women of the militia, but I’m sure you can count us in.”
This wouldn’t even be a question for most of them. This is what they had been waiting for. It wasn’t simply about waiting it out, now they would fight back. For some this would be a first, and for others, it would be back in the saddle again.
“Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death!”
—Patrick Henry
Chapter Twenty-One
“Let your people know to expect a plane to drop more supplies in the morning,” McGee told Jim that night.
“We just got one. I’m not complaining, but why are we getting another so soon?”
“This one’s a special request from me. Your people need uniforms and body armor. More weapons and ammo, along with the latest-night vision goggles, scopes and thermal imaging devices will be among the drop, as well. How many have decided to join us?”
“Sixteen men and two women volunteered. The rest will stay behind to help defend the mountain. Who are you leaving here?”
“Sgt. Collins, as well as Pvt. Sanderson, the short stocky Cajun from Shreveport. He’s been a favorite among the younger kids. I hear they enjoy listening to him talk.”
Jim shook Cpt. McGee’s hand. “We had better get some rest, I have a feeling it might be the last we get for awhile.”
The following day, after a Marine popped orange smoke, two CH-53 Super Stallion helicopters approached and landed right outside the perimeter by FOB Talladega. The men and women said their goodbyes to their loved ones, loaded onto the helicopters and departed for the city. They were to join more Marine forces in a staging area right outside of Anchorage’s city center. The forward operating base was protected by artillery and air support from several fixed-wing and rotary aircraft. The U.N. forces in the AO were said to be scattered and not overly formidable, but no one would let their guard down.
On the way north, Jim and the others could see the towns like Clam Gulch, Kasilof and Kenai, which looked as if they had been through an Earthquake, but they knew it had been from the fighting. Buildings had been partially destroyed, roofs sagged and building and trash debris littered the neighborhoods. Smoke could be seen rising in certain areas, probably from camps holding survivors. A good number people had been displaced after the initial influx of U.N. forces. Shanty towns, similar to FEMA tent camps had been set up to help the locals, or simply to keep track of them. The camps had been liberated by friendly forces when they entered the area the previous year, but so far, not much had changed.
“Unfortunately, the push from friendly forces damaged some of the structures in the process,” McGee said to Jim over the internal comms of the helicopter as most of the passengers looked at the devastation below through the oval windows skirting the skin of the aircraft.
About an hour after taking off, the militia landed on what looked like an old football field on the outskirts of Anchorage. The men and women quickly made their way off the birds and into the staging area nearby.
They had the same uniforms as the Marines except they had donned red armbands to show they were militia. As they walked through the platoons of Marines, they heard some of them commenting about how the militia shouldn’t be wearing their uniforms. Some of the Marines were whistling at the two women in the militia. The cat calls were ignored initially, but not long after, Jim approached a few Marines who were pointing and laughing.
“What’s the problem Lance Corporal?” Jim asked a Marine.
“Nothing much pops, I just don’t agree you and the seven dwarfs belong here.”
Jim put his left hand on the Marine’s shoulder and knocked him on his ass with a single punch to his gut. Marines and militia immediately started yelling and shoving each other. The commotion was stopped by a Marine major.
Jim picked the young Marine up and asked, “How old are you son?”
“I’m 19,” he said, forcing the words out while trying to catch his breath.
“Listen up. I’m Sgt. Jim Stanton, Echo Company, Second Battalion, Fifth Marines. I’ve been off active duty for some time, but I haven’t forgotten my place. This great nation needs us, all of us.” Jim stared at the young Marine. “We are here to help fight for all our freedom. Many of us are prior military, and others have been properly trained. Don’t ever underestimate the will to be free, boy.”
They caught up with the Recon Marines, and the major who had broken the disagreement up came over to apologize for the young lance corporal.
“No need to, sir,” Jim said. “I have kids about his age and know how to deal with them.”
“We’re glad to have you here, Devil Dog.”
“Glad to be here, sir.”
“You were in 2/5 huh? How long ago?”
“About 20 years now,” Jim told him.
A commotion behind them ended their conversation.
“A-Teeen-HUH!” boomed a loud voice.
“At ease!” said another. “For those of you, who don’t know me, I’m General Taft, and we’re here today to take another American city back from the enemy!”
The Marines roared.
“We have little time before the attack commences, so get with your unit leaders for your tasking.”
The Marines formed into groups to find out what areas of the city they would go.
The militia and Recon Marines they flew up with obtained their briefing from Cpt. McGee. “Listen up, our objective is at the port. We’re going to fast rope in and secure the area while a designated team moves into position to get the intel we’re looking for. Militia members you’re going to be separated into teams with Marines. It is imperative you stay where I put you. Listen to the commands of the senior man in your assigned group and all of you will make it back alive. Are there any questions?”
“Speak up now,” Jim said loudly. “Alright, I guess we’re good to go.”
Their group loaded onto two CH-46 Sea Knight dual-rotor Marine transports and mentally prepared for their mission. A few Marines and militia sat perfectly still with scared, uneasy looks on their faces. Some of them hadn’t seen much combat yet, if any, but were assured by the veterans around them their training would kick in and they would be fine.
The turboshaft engines of the numerous helicopters were starting up around them, and they quickly found it virtually impossible to talk. The aircrafts took off and headed toward their separate objectives.
The helicopter pilots headed low and fast toward the landing zone. The aircraft flew just above the water near the coast to try and avoid enemy fire, but it was usel
ess. The door gunner on the right side would fire the mounted .50-caliber machine gun in his window from time to time at targets below, and the occasional bullet would strike the aircraft in retaliation.
Two snipers were dropped in separately on a nearby building as one of the aircraft hovered slightly above the roof so they could provide overwatch for the assault teams.
Once reaching their objective, they stopped and hovered while the troops stood up and were ready to deploy. The rear ramp lowered, a large rope tossed down and the men moved with purpose. Two teams fast-roped in on either side of the docks to provide support for each other. Once each team landed on the ground, the helicopters headed back to base and a pair of Bell AH-1 Super Cobra’s took their place, taking out targets around the teams with 20mm M197 3-barreled Gatling nose cannons and Hydra 70 rockets.
The cargo office turned out to be the objective. They searched each building on the way to the target. They encountered a small amount of resistance between each building search. Sniper cover eliminated most of the threats before the teams reached them. Once inside the buildings they were on their own, but the snipers would continue to provide exterior coverage while they were inside.
The correct building was finally located and a perimeter was established for extra security so one team could enter. They made their way upstairs, clearing each room as they advanced. No one was encountered inside as they made their way through the building. After reaching the cargo office, the Marines went to work looking through the files.
“What, exactly, are we looking for?” asked Jim.
“Bills of lading,” said a Marine.
“For what?” Jim inquired with a strange look on his face.
“Please cover us as we do our job, sir,” he said.
Something was wrong. The hairs on Jim’s neck stood up. He had a bad feeling that was soon confirmed. Gunfire erupted outside and the windows by the file cabinets came apart as bullets hit them. Shards of glass blew into the room that now looked like a shooting gallery at a state fair as bullets knocked down clocks, computer screens, pictures and lamps. One Marine was hit in the initial onslaught, and a Navy corpsman tended to him right away.
Uncertain Times: A Story of Survival Page 11
