War Dogs Trilogy: Wounded Warriors of the Apocalypse

by AJ Newman

  I faked tears. “You called me stupid. I guess the honeymoon is over.”

  They ignored me, so I said, “Okay, I agree. Now put together a list of everyone who will fight on the attacking team and who will be the home team protecting the farm.”

  Maria asked a great question. “Couldn’t Miller assign a couple of Humvees with twin SAWs to help protect us since we’re now part of their team?”

  My face turned hot and probably red as hell for missing the obvious.

  ***

  “That’s a great idea. I’ll post two squads of soldiers with six Humvees to your command. You were a staff sergeant, weren’t you?”

  I was shocked by Miller’s generosity. “Thank you very much. That’ll help to keep everyone safe while my team is out attacking the raiders. Yes, I was a staff sergeant.”

  “Good, our squads are eleven troops and a buck sergeant. The two I pick will take orders and work well with you.”

  I said, “I hate to push you, but could you let me have two of the sergeants who worked with me when we overthrew the fake FEMA leaders. The only name I remember is Sergeant Brown, but he’ll know the other sergeant.”

  Miller said, “Done. It’s always good to work with people you know. Major Tidwell will help us all he can, but don’t count on much more without Griggs getting his panties in a wad.”

  I snapped to attention, “The same Major Tidwell from the camp?”

  “Why, yes. Do you know him?”

  “Hell, yes. He led the team that killed most of the bad FEMA officers while my team killed the enlisted traitors. Why in the world did Long keep him around? He’s one of the good guys.”

  “Remember, I joined up after the FEMA disaster, so I don’t know. I’d heard the rumors that Tidwell had led the revolt but, couldn’t believe it since Long values his opinion. I’ll sniff around a bit,” Miller replied.

  I brought up a couple of concerns. “We’ll need the ability to inflict mass chaos and casualties but only have M4s and Sigs. We’ll need to make some explosives and some kind of firebombs.”

  Miller’s faced scrunched up a bit, and then he said, “We have one ex-Navy SEAL who is some kind of unconventional war expert. I’ll loan him to you for a couple of weeks. Next?”

  “Our thinking is to avoid directly engaging any large enemy force. We’ll hit them quick, retreat, and then ambush them when they follow us. That’s where the bombs will come in handy. We have to kill them all, or our strategy will spread to all of the raiders. We need bombs and reliable transportation. The Humvees will cover most of that, but do you have any running motorcycles?”

  Miller smiled and said, “I can beat that. One of our scavenging teams found several metal overseas shipping containers filled with ATVs. They can speed along at fifty miles per hour or better. They’re fast enough to escape the enemy, or break your neck escaping.”

  I was happy. “Good, we can find a couple of trailers to haul them with, and we will have solved the transportation issue.”

  Miller said, “We’ll bring them here on trailers, just leave them on. Keep them after the fight is over.”

  I said, “I guess you don’t have any hand grenades, howitzers, or mortars, do you?”

  “Sorry, we only have a few hand grenades and about a dozen LAWs. We’re saving them for an emergency.”

  “Darn, we need a way to kill a bunch of them in one explosion. I guess our original thoughts on trapping the bastards and pouring gas on them is the best idea,” I said.

  “Check with our explosives expert when he arrives in the morning. He’s Charlie Walters. He was a SEAL for fifteen years and then performed black ops for another three. If anyone can increase your killing power, he can.”

  ☆

  Chapter 19

  The Walker farm - Walter Hill, Tennessee

  I tried to sleep after a bathroom trip at four in the morning. I snuggled up to Kat and tried to sleep, but her hair smelled so good, and her body felt …”

  Then my thoughts of romance were killed by a sound coming from the barn, “Put…put…put…put” filled the air.

  Kat rubbed her eyes. “What in the world is that sound.? Are we under attack?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Grab your weapons, let’s go!”

  I jumped into my pants, grabbed my M4, and snuck out the kitchen door to see a crowd around the front of the barn. The noise came from the other side of the group. It got louder as I threaded my way through the people. Then I saw Father James and Alex with big grins and some kind of contraption making the noise while it turned a shaft that had a belt driving a generator. Father James flipped a switch, and the inside of the barn lit up like daylight.

  Mom saw me and said, “Jason, what are you doing out here, half-dressed? Go get some clothes on.” She saw Kat and added, “You too, Kat.”

  Kat asked, “What kind of engine is that?”

  Father James replied, “We found these old hit and miss engines, and Alex helped me get them running. Your dad had a small one in the shop to run the power saws and other equipment. That gave us the idea to search for more. These things were all over the countryside before the rural electrification project in the early part of the 1930s. They can run on any fuel that can be atomized. Some need to be started on gasoline and then switched to the other fuel. These things will run forever. This large one is a 1917 Fairbanks Morse Z 6HP hit and miss engine, and I’m running it on old stale gas. The others range from one horsepower to four and a half. I’ll get them all running.”

  Father James hardly took a breath as he explained his new toys. I’d forgotten about my dad’s small hit and miss engine and had never thought about it powering generators. I interrupted the Father, “I guess we can drain the gas from any of the old junk cars and trucks sitting around the farms and junkyards to use in these engines.”

  “Yes, but keep the gas separate until I check it out. I want to train everyone to check farms, fairgrounds, and museums for engines like these. They’ll be a big part of our recovery and future. I also want any old gasoline and diesel engines. We need engines to help power our recovery,” said Father James.

  Kat and I went into the house and finished dressing before joining the others for breakfast. I was pleasantly surprised to see Billie, her son Mark, Chrissy, and Missy already sitting at the table. Mom passed the scrambled eggs and gravy, and everyone started stuffing their faces.

  Missy said, “Mark, did you set a new record with the slingshot?”

  My ears perked up. I was worried they might hurt themselves.

  Mark finished chewing. “Yes, the weight cleared the back fence. I think if I add some more of those stretchy bands, it will shoot much farther. I also need a way to know how far it will shoot per number of turns.”

  The talk stirred my interest. “Mark, is this a handheld slingshot?”

  All three laughed. Mark said, “No, it’s a big one I mounted on an old cargo trailer.”

  “Mark, how big is it, and where are you shooting from to clear the back fence?”

  “The uprights are four feet tall, and the gap between them is about three feet. Jason, we’re not doing anything wrong, are we?” Mark asked.

  “No… not at all. How heavy is the projectile?”

  Mark grinned, “A gallon milk jug full of water. You should see the explosion of water when it comes down.”

  “Wait a cotton picking minute. You didn’t say where it’s located when you clear the back fence.”

  “Sorry, it’s just behind the barn. Father James wanted it out of the way.”

  I opened my mouth before thinking. “You’re shitting me. Where…?”

  Mom slapped my hand with a spoon. “Language, son. There are children present.”

  “Sorry, Mom. Mark, that must be about a hundred yards. I can’t believe that.”

  Missy said, “We measured it, and it was exactly three hundred and seventeen feet. Father James helped us move an old VW Bus back there, and Mark can hit it most of the time.”
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  My mind swirled with the possibilities. “Let’s go take a look at it after breakfast. Billie, is this the project you wanted me to help Mark with?”

  “Yes, that one and the crossbow project. He’d heard you talking about needing more firepower but didn’t have explosives and wanted to help,” Billie said.

  “We studied ancient warfare in my seventh-grade history class, and I really liked the catapults, trebuchets, and giant crossbows,” Mark said.

  I scooped the last of my eggs into my mouth and rushed Mark out the door to the barn. I was a bit overwhelmed by the number of catapults, trebuchets, and giant crossbows shoved up into a pile against the barn. I stopped and marveled at each one.

  Mark watched me with interest. “Those are the failures. We found out early in our project that catapults and trebuchets had to be enormous in size to throw anything very far. The crossbows worked much better to deliver a kinetic impact, and we kept improving them until we made the one over there. It’s pretty much the same as the one you hold in your hands but has leaf springs from an old sports car for the bow springs. It’ll hurl a ten-pound spear or ten smaller bolts about six hundred feet.”

  “Mark, why didn’t I know about your projects?”

  His mom said, “You were busy working with the other communities and making the world safe for us. Mark has been working with Father James and Rick on the projects. Missy and Chrissy were the rest of the team. I’ve been the safety coordinator. It scares me to see them shoot large arrows two football fields in length that could go through ten men.”

  I walked over to the slingshot and checked it out for a few minutes. “Mark, this is fantastic. Where did you get the large rubber tubes and flat rubber sheets?”

  Mark beamed at my interest. “The tubes are surgical rubber Ross found in a warehouse. The bright colored rubber sheets were found at a physical therapy building. They had patients that used the rubber strips to help increase the patient’s strength and flexibility.”

  The device to pull the leather pocket, which would hold the rock or jug, was made from a boat trailer’s winch. The winch pulled the pocket back, and then Mark had a tether to pull a lynchpin out, letting the slingshot propel the projectile downrange.

  I walked around the device several times and said, “Missy, please go into Dad’s shop and look behind the door. There are a bunch of those wooden yardsticks. Bring one here, please. Also, bring us Dad’s carpenter toolbox. Mark, please go to the shed and fetch three two by fours about four feet long. I think we can solve the ‘reproducibility issue.’”

  They were only gone for a few minutes, and then I only took about thirty minutes to nail a two by four to the side closest to the path of the projectile. I secured one of the yardsticks to the two by four and said, “Mark, shoot the same bullet three times by pulling the lynchpin back to the ten-inch mark. We can calibrate the slingshot by repeating this process for every four inches on the yardstick.”

  Mark shot the projectile, which was actually a big eight-pound rock three times, and to our surprise, the rock landed within a ten-foot circle every time. It went only one hundred and eighty feet, which was disappointing. I moved the yardstick, so it started at zero where the ten-inch mark had been. I didn’t think we would use it for any shots much closer than that.

  I had him pull the lynchpin back to the new ten-inch mark, and the rocks hit the ground at four hundred and twenty feet, which was quite a bit past the fence. The last group was at thirty inches of pull, and the rock soared over the fence at over a hundred feet in the air and landed seven hundred and forty feet downrange. I could see the two uprights needed to be strengthened if we wanted to shoot rocks any farther.

  Billie was bored with our effort and had left about midway through the exercise. I patted Mark and the girls on the back and said, “We have to finish calibration and find about a thousand of those milk jugs, so we can practice with them.”

  Mark asked, “Why use the milk jugs? Rocks or chunks of metal would hurt more.”

  “Don’t be upset with what I’m about to say. We need the ability to drop gasoline and napalm on these raider’s heads. We’re outnumbered and need an edge to wipe them out.”

  Chrissy’s face turned red, and her eyes glared. “Kill them all. They took my mom. I’ll help burn the bastards.”

  She broke down and cried in my arms. Missy patted me on the back and said, “Jason, either we kill all of them, or they’ll make slaves out of us. I can guess what Chrissy and I would be used for.”

  I drew Missy close and said, “Over my dead body. You two are like my own daughters, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Chrissy said, “Jason, I know you mean that, but even you couldn’t keep Mom safe. We have to be able to protect ourselves.”

  “I’m glad you two are on board with my plan. I’m going to fetch Father James to see about him making a steel version of this fine weapon. I don’t want to count on two by fours in a battle. You two gather some milk jugs and fill them while I get the priest.”

  Father James knew about Mark’s project but hadn’t taken it seriously until he saw a water filled milk jug sail through the air and crash down six-hundred feet downrange in the pasture. He sent for Rick and Ross to join us to pick their brains for improvements. They joined us a few minutes later, while Mark and the girls continued to launch jugs.

  They swarmed over the slingshot while making copious notes. Father James said, “This is a fantastic machine but will disintegrate after a dozen more shots. Mark, you did a great job. Now I can have Rick and Ross weld up a steel model that’ll take much more force. I’ll add some elevation and windage adjustors, along with some type of aiming device.”

  I shook Mark, Chrissy, and Missy’s hands, and we all thanked them profusely for their work. The men left us to go build the next generation of slingshots while Mark and the girls showed me their crossbow. The crossbow was mounted on a picnic table and aimed out into the woods. I asked Missy to get some help to move the livestock to the west pasture so we would have a much longer range to place targets.

  While the livestock was being moved, we shoved the VW bus to a spot about three hundred feet away. I then made some man-size targets from some old barn wood and placed them around the bus. Mark drew the bowstring back and placed his large homemade bolt into the slide. He made sure the bolt was nocked and then aimed the crossbow at the bus.

  Mark said, “As you can see, I use a boat trailer winch to draw the string back. The locking latch on the winch holds the string back, and the string is released when we trip the homemade trigger. It should hit the bus.”

  I examined the weapon and saw the springs were only drawn back about a fourth of their possible travel. Mark waved at me to move to safety and then tugged on the trigger lanyard. The springs snapped the bolt forward, the whole picnic table bucked, and we saw the bolt sail a couple of feet over the bus.

  “Mark, that was fantastic. How many bolts do you have?”

  Mark pointed to an old ammo can and said, “We only have three of the larger ten-pound ones made from steel rods and six small ones made from big spikes. I used your dad’s tools to solder fins on the back and to sharpen the points.”

  I said, “Mark, I’d like you to shoot all of the big bolts at the man-sized targets one at a time, and then we’ll see how far we can shoot them.”

  We quickly found out the crossbow wasn’t that accurate but delivered a devastating blow when it did hit the targets. The one-pound bolts quickly passed eight-hundred feet and buried themselves into the ground. I changed the targets back to the original direction and made a canister to hold ten pounds of the large nails. We aimed the crossbow upward and found we could rain nails down on targets from above.

  I thanked Mark, Missy, and Chrissy and went to see how much Father James had progressed. He had retrieved one of our steel landscaping trailers and used it as a base for the supersized slingshot. They still had much work to do, but I could see where they were heading. Ross showed me the slin
gshot frame was made from four-inch diameter thick wall steel tubing and mounted on a platform that could swivel about ninety degrees. Rick showed me a simple slide like device that could hold ten of the milk jugs and feed them down the rails to the slide they were launched from. Father James had sketched out the aiming device and elevation and windage controls.

  I was amazed at their progress. “I might be wrong, but this looks like the automatic gun version of the old slingshot.”

  Father James chuckled and said, “Yes, but wait until you see the electric motor driven winch to draw the sling back. This can be a one-man operation without wearing the guy out. We’re also adding plenty of ammunition racks, so the loader can replenish the auto feed.”

  I said, “Now, I just need some help in figuring out what kind of bombs and explosives we can launch at our enemies.”

  Before Father James could say anything, Kat brought a stranger into the barn. “This is Charlie Walters. Miller sent him.”

  I shook his hand and introduced everyone. “Charlie, we could sure use your explosive expertise. As Sergeant Miller probably told you, we only have M4s and pistols. We need to be able to kill more thugs much faster. We’re making delivery devices, but need some sting when our bombs land on the enemy. The best we can come up with is hurling jugs of gasoline and igniting them.”

  Charlie frowned as he watched the guys work on the slingshot. “I can show you how to make bombs and even better napalm bombs, but I doubt if a big slingshot will do more than drop the bomb at your feet.”

  I said, “Kat, round up Mark and the girls. Tell them to be ready to demonstrate the first slingshot with the jugs.”

  Kat saluted me and said, “Aye, aye, my captain.”

  Charlie watched her walk away. “I could use some soldiers like that.”

  I said, “Sorry, but that’s my wife, and she’ll cut your nuts off if you try anything.”