by Reed, N. C.
“Entitlement mindset,” Clay shrugged. “We helped them, too much, and now that means, in their minds, that we have to keep doing it. For too many it will lead to us being subordinate or even subservient to them. It's what usually happens.”
“Why did we help them, then?” Leon asked, confusion clear on his face.
“We gambled,” Clay admitted. “We hoped it wouldn't be that way and that if we helped them get on their feet, we could be friends. You see how well that worked out.”
“What a bunch of losers,” Leon muttered.
“It's not all of them,” Clay was shaking his head. “At least I hope not. It's just a few who are in charge or have influence. Some who are loud. I'd be willing to be the majority aren't like that, unless those who hate us so much have been lying to them.”
“What's the hate about, anyway?” Millie was new here. Maybe this was something from before the Storm.
“No idea,” Clay lifted his arms, hands out, in a gesture of helplessness. “I tried, twice, to get Pickett to tell us, tell me anyway, what it was we had done, but he just kept spluttering about our 'job' and our 'responsibilities' and so forth. I finally gave up.”
“Are we gonna be okay?” Leon wanted to know.
“Yes,” Clay replied firmly. “We're going to get hurt, in all likelihood, so you may as well accept that now. But we will win out. That I promise you. Now, you two have a lot of work to do. Very important work.”
“We're on it.”
-
Clay was sweating the small stuff. They might have thirty minutes or they could have thirty days, and there was no way at all to know which. He once more cursed Pickett and Dawson for being so resistant to the idea of the farm recruiting just a handful of hardy souls from among their number. Just those few hands extra could have made a great difference. All would have had a minimum of three weeks solid training and maybe more, making them at least as well trained as the non-soldier defenders of the farm proper.
But no. They had to do things the hard way. Now Clay had to face whatever was coming with what he had. Twenty-three trained and experienced soldiers and roughly the same number of trained civilians, many of which did have experience but limited experience. They also had a large amount of ground to cover and would essentially be responsible for holding the farm areas while the soldier fought off the attack. That was a lot of pressure on both groups.
Nothing for it now, however. It was what it was. A damn mess. Not only did he have to expect and plan for an attack by a military force, or at least a force with military gear and vehicles, he also would have to plan on and expect retaliation from Jordan for not coming to save them at the drop of a hat. Clay would have the right to honestly claim they'd had an operation in the field at the time that prevented them from coming to Jordan's aid, something he had warned them might happen. True, the group pulling the ties had gotten home before the fight was over, but that was neither here nor there. Bottom line was that too many people were off the farm for them to send any more.
Not that he owed Pickett or anyone else an explanation, anyway. The desire to prevent all-out war between the farm and Jordan did not include bowing and scraping to men that were themselves bowing and scraping just two months ago. Not going to happen.
“Boss, do you want to try and berm the vehicles?” Mitchell called and Clay turned his mind back to business. He could worry about Pickett later.
-
'Captain' Wayne Garfield guided his command, what remained of it, into the parking lot of a truck stop along the interstate. He watched as they pulled in and dispersed, covering all angles of approach. It was obvious as he looked around that there was nothing here worth taking, but ordered an inspection of the buildings and a check of the fuel tanks just the same. It would give the men something to do. Something to take their minds off things.
Garfield had walked into a hornet's nest with the latest town and he knew it. So far, he and his men had had things their own way everywhere they went. Using equipment stolen from various National Guard armories, Garfield and several other former service members had begun 'foraging', claiming to be under government orders to do so. Encountering forces out of Nashville who were interested in certain goods, Garfield had agreed to try and provide those goods, primarily young, attractive women, in exchange for better equipment and resupply. He had started with nine Hummers, four of which were the armored variant. He had lost three in the initial operations he'd conducted; one being blown apart while two others had disappeared on patrol.
His benefactors had made those losses good and also gifted him with a pair of MRAP vehicles as well. Garfield had been using an idea from Vietnam, converting five two-and-a-half-ton or 'deuce-and-a-half' supply trucks into 'gun wagons', using steel plate to armor the vehicles and then arm them with heavy weapons. They had worked so well that he had maintained them even with the new additions.
He was leading three gun trucks, six Hummers and both MRAPs on a patrol for food and other valuables, which had led him to a map dot called 'Jordan'. It may as well have been Mayberry from the look of it, but that lasted all of thirty seconds, tops. Rifles had come from every nook and cranny of the little town and some from out of the ground as his men had been taken under fire from every possible angle. The few already on the ground had been cut to pieces as soon as the firing started and there was nothing he could do about it.
He had ordered his heavy machine guns and his one Mk19 to return fire, leveling anything that was firing at them. Much easier ordered than accomplished he learned as the first RPG round slammed into a gun truck, blowing both truck and crew high into the air. Realizing that somehow this small town was much more prepared than he had imagined, Garfield had immediately started working on a way out. He soon discovered that the only way out was through, the road behind thoroughly blocked by burning wreckage.
Fighting his way through a town full of hornets wasn't easy, but his outfit was not exactly helpless themselves. Their surprise gone, his men began returning fire and doing it accurately, more so than their opponents, and the tide began to even out if not turn completely. A number of the town's weapons positions began to fall silent, whether from lack of ammunition or battle damage Garfield wasn't sure, but he would take it.
Just as he thought they were clear, another RPG hit one of his MRAPs. True to its advertising the vehicle survived and even continued running, though it looked horrible. Seconds later one final RPG round eliminated his rear Hummer, killing all aboard and firmly blocking any hope of escape back the way they had come.
Rifles and machine guns firing from every port and window, Garfield and his men plowed through Jordan, running over anything and everything that got in their way. While they had escaped without further damage, the damage they had already suffered was plenty.
Sitting in the parking lot of the abandoned truck stop, Garfield took stock of his situation and his command. He had lost twelve men killed or assumed KIA, with five wounded, one of whom was likely to die despite all the medic could do. Two others were in serious condition while the final two would recover and be able to fight again as soon as their minor wounds were seen to.
He had lost a gun truck, along with the entire crew and all the weapons and ammo aboard, a hard blow. He had lost an armored Hummer, which would be difficult if not impossible to replace, along with three men aboard and a heavy machine gun.
Finally, one of his new MRAPs had taken a direct hit from an RPG that no one in that dumpy little town should have had. While the vehicle had continued to move under its own power and followed them to the parking lot they currently sat in, it was clear that it was damaged. Windows broken, armor cracked and the front left wheel apparently warped or at least damaged to some extent. Two of the five men inside were among the injured, all from shock damage. The vehicle had done a fine job protecting his men, but that was all the good news he had on that front. The MRAP would need extensive work before it was one hundred percent again.
Trying to put those issu
es out of his mind, Garfield opened his map, studying the lay of the land around him. He had expected to return to Peabody after raiding Jordan, intending to make the near ghost town his new headquarters while his command ransacked the entire county. While he could still do that using the interstate, he had nothing to show for his losses thus far. He had intended to 'requisition' food supplies and acquire new 'goods' for his benefactors to the north in Nashville with this operation, neither of which had happened. While his men had been thus far obedient and in good order, he knew that a disaster like today could change that. They were growing hungry, and for more than just food unfortunately. He needed to produce for them if he wanted to remain in command.
“Captain.”
Garfield turned to see his chief NCO coming toward him, yanking a woman by the arm. It was apparent her hands were secured behind her and that she was still addled from whatever had hit her.
“This here is one of the town constables, sir,” the NCO told him with a snort. “She likely knows the layout.”
“Is that so?” Garfield felt his spirits rising. “And who might you be, Miss?”
“Talia Gray,” the woman replied shakily, eyes unfocused.
“And do you know the local area here well, Miss Gray?” Garfield asked with feigned politeness. He was giving her the once over as he spoke, and decided she would do nicely for their friends in Nashville.
“What if I do?” the woman was starting to come to her senses, earning her a rifle butt to the abdomen from the sergeant.
“Mind that mouth if you know what's good for you,” the NCO warned.
“So if I followed this road we're on now, Gray, where would it lead me to?” Garfield asked her, smirking.
“Highway ends here,” she gasped as the sergeant jerked her upright. “Where it hits the interstate.”
“And this secondary road?” Garfield pointed to the map. “Across the interstate?”
“Just farm land,” Gray told him. “Log woods. There's no other town or community along that road.”
“None, hm?” Garfield mused. “But there are farms, you said?”
“Farm land, and pulp woods,” Gray nodded. “Only farmer I knew personally that actually lived there died year before last. Land sold to someone up in Nashville, but he doesn't live there that I know of. Just owns the land.”
“So, we might find a few people down that way with food, then,” Garfield murmured, almost to himself.
“Might, I suppose,” Gray agreed. “I don't know. Haven't been down this road in years.”
“Secure her in one of the Hummers,” Garfield told the NCO. “She'll do well for us I believe. Make sure nothing happens to her.”
“Sir, the men will-,”
“Make sure nothing happens to her,” Garfield's voice took on an edge. “She's worth a great deal more if she is well cared for, and you know that. When we find someone with less worth to us, they can party to their hearts desire, but not with those we can use. Make sure everyone knows the penalty for crossing that line.”
“Sir,” the sergeant nodded curtly and began pulling the woman away. Garfield spent less than five minutes making his decision before folding his map and signaling his second, a young lieutenant with a wide mean streak. Garfield had to keep an eye on the little bastard, but for now he was an excellent second.
“Sir,” the man's voice was on the edge of insolence.
“There's a farm down this road a few miles,” Garfield pointed. “Our prisoner believes at least one farm is still in operation. We're going to find out. Assuming there are people down there, we might find some valuable trading goods there as well. That will make up for our losses today. Strip the MRAP for now and leave it here. Spread the crew among the remaining gun trucks. We'll tow it home with us when we come back through. I'm sure it can be repaired. How many effectives do we still muster?”
“Thirty-seven, including you and myself,” the younger officer replied at once. “The medic is all but finished treating the injured.”
“That should be sufficient,” Garfield nodded. “We'll see what we can dig up down this road, then return to Peabody by interstate. We'll deal with that town later on, with our full strength.” They both knew this was more for show than anything, since most of their 'full strength' was here already. Picking up the rest would barely make good their losses.
“Yes sir,” the lieutenant nodded. “Orders, sir?”
“Get us in line and prepare to move,” Garfield ordered. “Allow the medic to finish underway.”
“Sir.”
-
“Everyone is on post for the most part,” Jose reported.
“For the most part?” Clay looked at him. “Who's not where they should be?”
“I placed Xavier across the road with Stacy, Kurtis, Kade and Zach,” Jose noted. “All with stun grenades and suppressed rifles. We'll try and get them to focus on us. If there is an engagement, they're going to try and use the flash-bangs on the closest vehicles to them after picking off whoever is in the turret. It's a good way to capture more vehicles if we can.”
“It's also a good way to get people killed,” Clay growled.
“Clay, if this bunch could get through Jordan, as heavily armed as they were, and still be viable, then we're probably going to lose someone today no matter what we do,” Jose's face and voice were grim. “You know that as well as I do. We were talking about it not long ago.”
“Do they have any AT weaponry over there?” Clay decided it was too late to argue.
“X and Edge both have LAWs,” Jose confirmed. “Sam is in the tower with Heath. Gary is on the tower up on the hill along with Vee, who has the M240. Brick took his big bore and went to the back cupola on Building Two to watch our flanks, plus he can still see most of the road from there. Arrow and Tee are on the ground up on the hill. All the civies are in their posts and all non-combatants are in the shelters.”
“Jody is reporting engine sounds!” Leon came running up. “Moving this way. Multiple engines, some heavy he thinks. No count, but more than three.”
“Get to cover,” Clay nodded. They hadn't been able to cover Building Two with railway ties in the time they had, but quick working teen labor had managed to erect a partial tie wall that would add a layer of protection to the radio room and the clinic behind it. It wasn't perfect, not was it enough to give anyone a sense of safety, but it was all they had time for at the moment. It was at least better than nothing.
Three clicks on his radio alerted Clay that Jody could see movement.
“Well, let’s get this done, I guess,” he sighed. “Post in Building Two,” he ordered Jose. “You'll have to take command if something happens to me. Who's in the bunker?”
“Thug, Scope, Doc, Gordy and Kandi,” Jose reported. “Greg and Sienna are out front, and Shane is on the east side of the house with Corey. We're covered here and the civies know not to engage except in self-defense. They're not supposed to fire on the vehicles without orders, since we're going to try and capture some of them.”
“That is just asking for blue fire and other problems,” Clay shook his head. “Too late to do anything about it now, though. Get going. I need to head out to meet the neighbors.”
“You gonna try and talk them into leaving?” Jose asked.
“I wanted to, but this is too good an opportunity to eliminate them,” Clay sighed. “Did anyone put the dogs up?”
“Terri and Dee,” Jose nodded, turning to leave as he did so. “Horses are all moved back as well. We covered our bases fairly well, Boss.”
“We'll see,” Clay said to himself as Jose took off. “We'll see.”
-
“Buildings ahead, sir,” the man in the turret of his Hummer told Garfield, quite unnecessarily as he could see them for himself. They might be in luck, since this looked like a solid operation.
“We may score well, here,” he told his driver, a burly man wearing the two stripes of a corporal.
“Yes sir,” the man nodded, watchi
ng the road.
“Take us up to that drive,” Garfield pointed to the small road past the first group of buildings. “We'll see if anyone is at home. Remember we're friendly until it's time not to be friendly, so smile.”
“Yes sir,” the man nodded, forcing the corners of his mouth up slightly.
“I suppose that will have to do,” Garfield sighed dramatically as the big man brought the vehicle to a stop. Garfield opened the door and stepped down, eyeing the place in front of him and then looking at the one visible figure in the yard.
“You!” Garfield pointed to the man. “Are you the owner here?”
-
Clay fought to maintain his cool as he looked at the vehicles coming down the road. Hummers he expected, and in his deepest fears he had expected an MRAP like theirs. But he hadn't even considered something like an old gun truck from the Vietnam era. He was torn between hating to see them and wishing he'd thought of it himself. The convoy slowed and a man got out of the lead vehicle. As if following his lead, one or two men exited each Hummer and oddly, one from each gun truck.
Perfect.
“You!” the man from the lead vehicle pointed at Clay. “Are you the owner here?”
“I am indeed,” Clay called back. “You fellas lost? Long way from anywhere, back here!”
“We're collecting supplies for redistribution at the orders of the government!” the man called back. “We'll expect your cooperation while we search your farm! And under the terms of martial law, firearms are forbidden. I'm afraid we'll be confiscating that rifle!”
“Yeah?” Clay tilted his head a little. “You think so?”
-
“You think so?”
Garfield was beginning to feel a tendril of unease. This man was very self-assured for one man standing alone, in the open, against their entire outfit. Even as he watched, the man raised an empty hand to his neck and spoke.
-
“Do it now,” Clay said softly as he keyed his radio.
Three M240 machine guns opened up from hidden locations within the kill zone as large caliber rifles began to boom across the yard. Clay took advantage of the noise and distraction to dive behind the bunker where Greg and Sienna were located, crawling inside before getting to his feet.
