by Finley, Zack
We needed to get humping to get our forces in place by full dark.
Zeke and his team of 12 would target enemy scouts, provide a distraction, and keep the militia from retreating into our convoy area. Zeke would get to play the Ma Deuce chorus as the distraction element of the assault, before withdrawing to the perimeter.
Joel and six Gammas remained behind to guard the convoy from everything else. Considering the bloodbath, we already dished out, I doubted the militia would send a new group to attack the convoy. Joel and his team should thwart any flanking attack, but if attacked in force, they could hold their own until help arrived.
That still left the four scouts plus 20 more for the main assault. We followed Pete on his circuitous route back to the Port Royal camp across the broken terrain, fence line ditches, and tangled forest. It was less than half a mile and took us about 15 minutes, delayed only because we wanted to arrive without warning.
We wanted all of our targets inside our operating field. I was particularly concerned about interference from the mansion. Avoiding blue-on-blue was another major consideration.
I trusted Zeke to aim the Ma Deuce, where we'd agreed. We assigned team leaders to keep their charges to the agreed-upon sectors of fire and to advance by the numbers. The test of that muzzle discipline would come once the bullets started flying, and our enemy reacted. Grenades, even with limited use, would increase the chaos.
Once everyone was in place, I radioed Zeke to begin his antics. Zeke's team was to begin the distraction by racing the Humvee engines, firing weapons, and shouting over the loudspeaker. We wanted everyone looking in his direction. This released his people to locate and burn any enemy scouts.
I became alarmed when the distinctive sound of an AK-47 ripped through the night. "Sorry, that was us improvising," someone radioed. "It makes more noise than our M-4."
While that was going on, several two-man fireteams ghosted along the top of both ridges, using their silenced pistols to cull the enemy forces. This would give us the high ground, and the militia the barrel.
"Humvees to Boss."
"Go for Boss."
"Neutralized two enemy scouts. Should I continue my act?"
"Boss to Humvee, roar around the curve. Stop. Fire the deuce right then left. Then back up until you are out of sight. We want to consolidate our positions."
"Roger, dangle like bait. Fire right, Fire left. Retreat. Humvee, out."
"Boss to Royal Force, report when we have the rim. Then take out any leaders and those with radios." This was the main reason I embedded the Royal Scouts in with my other people, hoping it might bear fruit.
A series of squelches followed. I belly-crawled to look down on the battlefield. We owned the west side rim where I was. The wait for the all-clear from the east side seemed interminable. A lot of targets glowed on infrared, giving me itchy fingers.
Combat time was why I used my watch. Sometimes minutes acted like hours, and others time flew by at light speed. If everything else failed, you could use your heartbeat as a measure, but even that was flaky. Taking deep breaths helped the waiting.
"East Rim clear."
"Humvee, making the turn." Its arrival was accompanied by AK-47 fire from behind it.
"Boss to Royal Force, start taking your shots."
The militia started shooting the moment the Humvee cleared the turn, shifting our targeting priority. By the time the Humvee shot twice, this group had proved it was smarter than the last three, they burrowed deep and kept their heads down.
"Boss to Humvee."
"Go for Humvee."
"Give them a chance to surrender. Royal Force hold your fire unless a Tango fires a weapon."
"Surrender or you will die," boomed out over the loudspeaker. "Put down your weapons, raise your hands, and sit down on the pavement in front of the roadblock."
Some idiot fired his rifle, only to be shot by at least four of my men. That turned the tide, prompting shouts of "I surrender" and a mad scramble to get down to the road surface. The whole process was made more difficult by the darkness and because they couldn't use their hands.
"Humvee to Boss."
"Go for Boss."
"How do you want to handle this?"
"I don't want any of our people down there with them. Have them walk one at a time to a clearing station to be searched and zipped. Probably should bring up the other Humvee and hit them with both sets of lights. Once they are all searched, send the last few to retrieve any wounded."
We would still need to move the trucks blocking the roadway, verify there were no lurkers, and collect whatever weapons we could find.
I listened to the squad leaders giving orders to make this all happen. We needed a body and a prisoner count to confirm we had everyone. I didn’t intend to go through all of this just to have some yahoo shoot one of mine. Diligence remained the watchword for the day. I would have been much happier if we had a hard count for the other force.
Tom dragged Mike, Scott, and Allie off to assist him with the wounded. He also ordered Joel to take a nap. Buzzer took charge of the prisoners. Pete and Matt led the teams counting the dead, tagging each with a dab of reflective tape to avoid double counts. With only 32 accounted for, we suspected some had escaped. Moving the trucks actually blocking the road was anticlimactic.
Eric led the expanded search along both sides of the road, looking for enemy scouts and snipers. We wanted clear that corridor before we bringing the convoy through.
We didn't notice until we brought in our screening forces to reform the convoy that Grady and his three men were missing. Fearing enemy action, we initiated an extensive search. The enemy surrender was the last time anyone recalled seeing any of the four. This established a timeline. Eric swore that his scouts might have missed a bunny rabbit, but they had not missed an enemy group large enough to take four prisoners.
Then we found four radios and three NVGs on the floorboards of the last pickup. This brought the situation into bright focus. Assigned to different sectors, the four men should have been on opposite sides of the battlefield. Nor could we believe that the militia we just routed was capable of capturing all four wily veterans. It was hard enough to imagine someone getting the drop on one man, but never all of them.
I began to hear the quiet mutterings about desertion. The same word echoed in my heart.
I had Dwayne disarmed and brought to me. Assigned to the Port Royal scouts, Dwayne had an alibi for the last two days. He was also not a member of Grady's original cadre. That might be the reason he was left behind, but could I rely on that to protect my unit?
Dwayne wasn't bound, but much of his gear was missing, including his NVGs and radio. I wanted to see his face clearly during my questioning, so I shined a high powered beam in his face.
"What do you know about Grady's disappearance?" I asked, trying to approximate a casual conversational tone, despite my clenched teeth. And the blinding light.
"Not a damn thing, I can't believe they pulled something dumb like this. I thought we found a home. I don't know why they would risk that. It makes no sense," Dwayne was nearly crying. I didn't think he could fake this level of emotion.
"When was the last time you spoke with any of them?"
"I probably said something when we pulled into Port Royal Park before I got my scouting assignment. But I don't really recall. I talked with several of the guys about the chow and hoping we didn't have to fill the trailers using buckets. Then, I went on my solitary patrol. I didn't talk with anyone except the other three Port Royal Scouts, until you guys showed up." Dwayne had steadied, and everything about his demeanor telegraphed the same sense of bewilderment and betrayal I felt.
"What did they say about the Valley?"
"That is what makes no sense. On the road, hell happened every day. Someone died or got wounded, suffered, and then died anyway. Even Bear died. No one believed Andy that someone gave a shit, much less was coming to our rescue. Hell, even my family tried to kill us all. Grady acted like
he still had hope, but that was just an act. Lois kept me from eating my gun. That gave me hope, hope that the next road warrior would kill me. That was the only hope I had left.
"Then we got to the Valley, and I kept looking for a catch. Suddenly, we had regular meals, a warm, safe place to sleep, even hot showers. The babies didn't whimper at night, and they started playing. I didn't believe places like that still existed, and neither did the other soldiers. We started to relax, to believe. So no, I cannot comprehend what caused them to trade in paradise for a return trip to hell. Torture me or kill me, I know nothing about this." The raw emotion in Dwayne's voice caused those gathered around him to cringe.
I believed this man. Grady left him behind, but Dwayne was no Judas. Punishing Dwayne would gain nothing. I turned out the bright light.
"If you think of something that might shed some light on what happened, let someone know. Get your gear and rejoin your unit," I said, signaling Eric to help him. Looking for a scapegoat would not help us move past this.
Betrayal. The bonds of trust, broken. We brought Grady in and handed him the keys. With his knowledge, he could break us. He and his men kept Jules and Andy's family alive for months, en route to the Valley. If someone like that could betray us, who would be next? Was this treachery Grady's plan from the beginning? Did he stay with us on the journey back from the Mississippi River just to learn more about us? I knew Sean and Dwayne would suffer from Grady's perfidy.
There was nothing I could do about this now, except get my convoy home.
"Boss to Convoy, let's hit the
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Author’s Notes
Thank you for reading “Betrayal from Within.” Your support is much appreciated.
Writers spend months in solitary labor, hoping the final product is good enough for people to read. Every book is a window into the author’s psyche, and publishing is an enormous leap of faith. Reviews help make the creative risk worthwhile and encourage us to continue writing. Reviews also help others find their way to a new author or a series.
Profound thanks in advance for everyone who takes the time to share a few words on Amazon or Goodreads about any of my works. Especially if they are kind words.
I began writing this series in late 2018 after reading another author’s interpretation of life post-coronal mass ejection. Until that time, I had never heard of a CME. My research revealed that everyone from congressional panels to Lloyds of London considered CME a valid threat and had recommended significant preparations to avert a major disaster. I was dismayed that despite the potentially catastrophic consequences, nothing was being done to harden our electrical grid to mitigate the risk. Regulators and power companies know what needs to be done but lack the motivation to do it.
World War II and its aftermath changed America in fundamental ways. Before that time, for much of rural America, electricity was still a luxury. Nearly all products and raw materials were either produced locally or transported by rail or boat. Once upon a time, motor vehicles were limited to transporting the goods from a transport hub to the consumer. Because deliveries were dependent upon the whims of rail, local retailers carried extensive inventories. People ate local seasonal crops and bought white flour, dried beans, sugar, and lard in bulk. Commercially canned foods were costly and treated as luxury items like oranges or bananas.
The mass migration mobilized for the war effort changed the demographics. The jobs were in urban centers. The national roadbuilding boom inspired by the German autobahns had to be paid for. This spawned a new industry, interstate trucking. While rails were maintained and built by private industry, taxpayers footed the bill for the new roads. With cheap, plentiful fuel, and newly-minted freeways, the trucking industry enjoyed an artificial competitive edge against the railroads.
While this was happening, another revolution quietly took off, hybrid seeds. Setting aside the best of the current crop to provide seeds for the next has been part of farming since the beginning. Until the last century. In 2017 the number of planted acres harvested in the US was slightly less than in 1919. While overall acreage has remained stagnant, yields increased by three- to six-fold.
A large portion of that increase came from hybrid seeds, with irrigation and chemical applications (fertilizer, herbicide, insecticide, fungicide) providing most of the rest. Farmers who attempted to follow traditional practices could not compete against huge corporate farms that adopted higher yielding practices. In 1935 only one percent of the US corn crop was hybrid. By 1940 this had increased to 30 percent, and by 1960 it reached 96 percent.
Hybrid seed is produced on special farms through cross-pollination between two genetically dissimilar plant strains. Hybrids are engineered to increase yield, to standardize harvest time, for insect or herbicide resistance, size, appearance, or other desirable characteristics. Plants grown from hybrid seed do not breed true. The second-generation seeds may be sterile or produce plants that fail to produce anything resembling the desired crop. This means few farmers will have access to next year’s seeds if the SHTF.
Taxpayer subsidized trucking revolutionized nearly all aspects of American life. The number of farms plummeted while their size ballooned. No need for twenty family-owned dairies when you can have one mega-dairy. Fast and cheap transportation encouraged consolidation. Local retailers dropped inventories.
The American car industry took this to an extreme, making just-in-time delivery a commercial mantra. That spread to the rest of our manufacturing infrastructure.
These changes paralleled the rise of corporate America. Businesses needed to be larger and ever-growing to compete in this climate of consolidation. This meant larger and larger portions of America’s economy focused solely on near term profits and acquisitions. Local factories and manufacturers closed to feed the corporate drive for more. Why pay workers a living wage when someone in a third world country worked for pennies?
But, utilities can’t be outsourced to China. In the corporate drive for more, maintenance became secondary to expansion. Deferring maintenance turns an expense into a profit center. Clever people who manipulate the system get promoted. All the while, the rest of America relies more and more on the grid.
Imagine your life without electricity, not just the direct but the indirect effects. Direct impacts are those you suffer immediately. No light. Your refrigerator dies. Your central heating dies because the fan isn’t working. But you probably have water, and your natural gas stovetop still works. Within two weeks in a wide-scale outage, other systems fail. Municipal water and sewage. Hospitals go dark. Refineries and natural gas pipelines shut down. And then the cascade tumbles more and more out of control.
The Surviving the Black series has been criticized by some because no preppers are ever that prepared. Sadly, I agree. In my opinion, hiding in a bunker might get you through the first year die-off, but then what? A family unit may physically grow the crops needed to sustain themselves, given seeds, soil, and rain. But can they do that and defend it, too? What happens when someone gets injured. Small groups will not thrive on their own. My assessment suggests you need a large group with sustainable demographics to have a chance. Small scattered groups of rugged individuals will probably not find that synergy. You need a tribe. That is how humans bootstrapped themselves to create civilizations. There is no real modern equivalent. In “Breckinridge Valley,” I imagined such a tribe, based on family and military shared service.
Do you need everything I imagined in the Valley? Of course not. But if preparations were spread over generations, it also is not totally farfetched. Even if the shit never hits the fan, it isn’t a bad lifestyle. And many of our veterans struggle to find a home when they return from the wars.
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Check out my other titles on Amazon:
Breckinridge Valley; Surviving the Black--Book 1 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MY95YV8/
To the Rescue; Surviving the Black--Book 2 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07QC29N63/
Bittersweek Homecoming
; Surviving the Black--Book 2 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TTSCTKC/
Dire Prophecy https://amzn.to/2stvyDg
Mad Toffad's Keep https://amzn.to/2FwGis8
Duchy Unleashed https://amzn.to/2D8qdaj
Mayhem in Mendocino https://amzn.to/2M96lXI
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List of Characters and Places
From Surviving the Black-Books 1-3
Breckinridge Family
Jeremy Breckenridge, main storyteller. Father to Jennifer and Melissa. Major in Rangers before the death of wife, Irene. Age 42 when Book 4 begins. Civil engineer. Wife Irene died days before the start of "Breckinridge Valley." Daughters Jennifer (13); Melissa (10).
Aaron and Claire Breckinridge are the parents of Jeremy, Steve, and Alice Mason. Claire is an expert in computers, investing, local food folklore. Aaron (67) served in the Vietnam War and loves farming.
