Posts
59
Sunday, December Third
3:20 p.m.
Hamilton, Illinois
The backed up
single-file traffic on Second Street, which led to the bridge over the
Mississippi probably meant that the S.A. was searching vehicles or at least had
some sort of checkpoint in place.
Doug was behind
the wheel for the return trip, Peter in the passenger seat, and their wives in
the back rows of the Suburban with Sergeant Case and two of his men joining him
in the remaining seats—dressed in civilian clothing, but ready with their weapons
if needed. The rest of the U.S.
recon unit had positioned themselves in the twenty-four foot trailer, making
the hasty trip west before the S.A. could react…or so they thought. Case communicated with the rest of his
men via a small, short-range headset radio.
“Can’t see
anything ahead, Sergeant. Too many
trees until we’re nearly to the bridge approach,” Peter told Case. “Snow’s not
helping things, either.”
“Smoke up ahead.
Look over to the side there,” Doug said, pointing over the grey trees.
The row of
vehicles moved slowly, no more than a few miles per hour, creeping ahead to the
southwest. As they crept ahead, they stopped briefly on railroad tracks, which
also passed over the Mississippi.
Case was the first to notice the source of the smoke.
“Look to your
right—down track. There’s your
smoke,” he said.
Doug looked left
briefly, seeing the glow of numerous rail cars burning and derailed, as the
traffic urged him on. No emergency lights or response crews were visible.
“You think they derailed,
or is the bridge gone?” Peter asked.
“Traffic wouldn’t
be moving if our bridge was out, but no telling on the rail bridge…for a couple
more minutes anyway,” Doug replied.
They gradually
made their way to the bridge approach, seeing another reason for the traffic
slowdown: A tractor-trailer had wrecked, partly rolling over on side, crushing
the bed of a pickup. Again, no emergency vehicles had responded, but several
other vehicles had stopped to help.
“What happened to
that truck? The road is straight here,” Molly asked innocently.
“Look at the
trailers. Look at those holes!” Peter said as they drew closer. The cargo
trailers were peppered with large-diameter holes…running the length of both
trailers and exiting out the exposed side, now facing the sky. Case didn’t say anything as they passed
the truck. A wall of windblown smoke from the derailed train blocked the view
ahead. Peter wisely shut off the
heater and defroster, so as not to bring the smoke inside the Suburban.
“You might want to
let the cars ahead clear, and get through that smoke quickly,” Case said. “We
don’t know what’s in it.”
Doug realized the
smoke could be toxic, with unknown chemicals from the burning rail cars.
“Gotcha,” he
replied, double-checking the air vents on the dash. The traffic ahead continued
to move slowly, disappearing through the smoke. Doug waited a few more seconds, and goosed the accelerator,
causing the four-wheel drive to break loose on the icy bridge approach. They passed through the wall of smoke
without incident, seeing the carnage to the right as they cleared the oily
smoke on the other side of the bridge.
“Good God,” Peter
said, the first to speak. The
derailed train hung from the wreckage of the rail bridge. Large sections of the
bridge were missing, and those that remained were heavily damaged by the
accordion reaction of the rail cars as they piled up.
“Air Force was
busy today, looks as if,” Gunner Case replied.
“We bombed our own
bridge?” Molly asked incredulously.
“No, the United
States Air Force bombed a railroad bridge being used by the enemy to transport
goods, troops and materiel to the front,” Case answered. “And about damned
time.”
As they
rubbernecked the scene, Doug nearly didn’t notice the cluster of S.A. troops at
the far end of the bridge, who were also gawking at the wreckage. Several were leaning on the bridge
rails, AK-47’s slung over their back and hanging behind them. The Suburban and
trailer passed unchallenged and unnoticed.
“OK, I can breathe
now,” Doug said, flipping on the defroster as the S.A. trucks and men
disappeared behind them.
Downtown Keokuk
was gloomy with no electric lights showing, snow drifted over the curbs and
filling doorways of the closed shops.
Traffic thinned out as the bridge traffic dispersed. Doug and Peter debated taking the side
roads rather than the highways, and the chances of ‘issues’ with the trailer in
the snow. They elected to take U.S.
Sixty One north at first, and work west, staying on some of the larger County
roads. With luck, they’d be back at the Farm in another hour.
One hour pushed
into two, as the roads grew increasingly icy and the wind picked up, the
Suburban and trailer both sliding dangerously. Finally, nearing six p.m., they
pulled into the main entry to the Farm.
By then, Case had been filled in on the operations of the Farm,
security, and patterns of S.A. movements locally. Roeland met them at the gate, naturally surprised by the
towed trailer.
“What’s going on?”
he asked through the drivers’ window.
“We have some
guests. United States Army,” Peter replied. Roeland stepped back in shock.
“And welcome they
are. Drive all the way into the
equipment shed, trailer and all. I’ll signal ahead.”
“Will do,” Doug
replied.
He drove ahead
through the heavy snow, steering into the cavernous and dark equipment shed,
where Maria met him and guided him all the way into the building. The huge sliding door closed behind
them, and the lights snicked on as they exited the Chevy.
“Maria, we have
some guests,” Peter said, introducing Sergeant Case. The remaining men piled out of the travel trailer, fanning
out to cover the room.
“We will need more
seats for dinner,” she replied dryly. “Welcome to you all,” she said, nodding
her head slightly. “You ladies head into the house. You both look green.”
“Lunch isn’t
sitting well,” Molly replied.
“That, and a touch
of car-sickness,” Julie said. “And my back hurts.”
“Ian managed to
sleep all the way back, so I’m sure that means I’ll be up most of the night,”
Molly said, taking Ian, car seat and all, from the Chevy.
“Go have some tea.
Dinner is ready and on the stove,” Maria said. “Quietly, though. Arie is sick.”
“Is it serious?”
Peter asked.
“It is a cold at
the moment. I pray it does not get worse. He is an uncooperative patient, as he
has always been.”
“Maria, we need to
meet with the Weerstand. I’m sure you understand why,” Doug said.
“It has been an
eventful day. I will have Roeland contact Jakob. Peter, I will need some help
in the kitchen. Do you mind? Douglas, see to the comforts of our guests. It may be best to keep them in the shed
for the time being,” Maria said. “There have been a number of small aircraft
passing over today. Jakob doesn’t know if they are watching us.”
“Drones, Ma’am?”
Case asked, and introduced himself.
“Jakob believes
so. Several jet aircraft as well, again.
Jakob did not recognize them, however.”
“Thank you,
ma’am,” Case replied, turning to his men and speaking to them in a conversation
to quiet to hear. Several went
into action immediately, retrieving equipment, and began to set up the
gear. Maria and Peter headed
to the house.
“Sergeant, you
might not get much of a signal in here. It’s been set up as a pretty large
Faraday cage,” Doug stated.
“Our gear should
be able to receive signals in here, sir,” one of the men replied quite
confidently.
“Good luck,” Doug
said. “The guy who designed it used to work for the NSA. I’m pretty sure that
his defense is better than your offense,” he said, looking at the soldier setting
up a laptop, connected to a non-descript flat box with a flip up antenna. Doug
waited for the expected outcome, and was not disappointed.
“Sarge, uh, we’ve
got nothing. Not minimal, nothing,” the soldier stated.
“We used this room
to analyze S.A. bugs planted in my old Jeep, as well as in captured S.A.
equipment. We couldn’t really do that if there was a snowball’s chance in Hell
of a signal getting out,” Doug said.
“Also, if that’s a passive receiver, you’re probably OK to use it. If
it’s a transmitter, it puts the Farm at risk.”
“It’s not a
transmitter like anything out in the wild, sir,” the soldier said. “There are
six of these in the world. No way the S.A. could crack it.”
“Where were the
components made?” Doug asked calmly.
“What?” Case and
the soldier answered.
“Jake found
signals emanating from what appeared to be an average circuit board. A circuit
board. Nothing even soldered to it…just a
printed circuit. It was light and heat activated. Where was it made? China,” Doug said, pausing. “So are you sure that you know that thing isn’t a great big flare in
the dark?”
Both looked at
Doug for a moment, and then at the box and the laptop.
“Maybe let Jake
crack that open and take a look before you fire it up out in the field,” Doug
said. “Meanwhile, there’s a restroom and shower through that door, and the door
to the bunkhouse is over to the right. Probably need to leave the door open to
get some heat in there, though. No hot water without heating up the woodstove
over there,” he said, pointing to a modern woodstove and boiler.
“Sarge, we’re
ready for patrol. Tired of sitting around,” one of the men said from across the
shop.
“Rothe, shut the
Hell up,” Case barked. “They’ve been running LP/OP’s longer than you’ve been
out of Basic,” he said, referring to the numerous observation posts on the Farm
and throughout the extended area.
“And that grandmother can probably outshoot your sorry ass.”
Doug held back a
smile, knowing that in her younger days, Maria’s hobby had been a local version
of biathlon, but used thirty-ought sixes at a minimum distance of five hundred
yards, rather than twenty-two caliber rifles at a hundred-sixty.
Several of Case’s
men checked out the bunkhouse, laughing that they’d be sleeping in ‘Air
Force quarters’ as the beds were so nice.
The men enjoyed
and praised the Segher’s hospitality as Maria and Peter had served numerous
quarts of hot, home-canned beef stew, and the majority of the freshly baked
bread for the week was consumed in a single meal. Molly took a quick nap as Julie baby-sat Ian.
The restless Army
squad wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer regarding night watch and security
rotation. Roeland and Jake briefed
the men on the locations of the observation posts, signals procedures, expected
weather, and recent events on other allied farms. Several of the men had to be
taught on how to use the ancient, hard-wired Army-issue field telephones,
unused by the military for decades, but perfectly serviceable for the task at
hand on the Farm. Four of the men would take the eight p.m. to midnight shift;
the other the midnight to six shift.
Roeland explained that the S.A. activity after two a.m. usually dropped
off to undetectable levels—on more than one occasion, the Weerstand had found
S.A. asleep on their assigned patrol locations…and occasionally killed them for
their inattention. The farms
usually ratcheted down guard duties during that time as well, getting ready for
the coming work day, as much as that might be possible. The pattern was well established, and
there was no reason to think that the S.A. would change, especially in ‘farm
country.’
Jake carefully
cracked open both the laptop and the mysterious black box carried by the
communications specialist in Case’s squad, under watchful eyes of numerous soldiers.
As suspected, the
raw circuit boards were indeed sourced from China, but Jake could not find any
evidence of surreptitious tracking or transmitting ability. He reassembled both
units, clearing Specialist Chris Evans to contact U.S. Army command. Despite
numerous attempts to make contact, Evans was unsuccessful in raising anyone in
other patrols or anyone on the designated satellite frequencies, all the way up
the food chain to San Antonio.
Case’s squad
members were armed with suppressed M4 rifles, in addition to their
standard-issue side arms. Roeland
opened up two cases of ammunition for the squad to reload their depleted
inventories and each of the men took a few magazines, ‘just because’. The night
however, passed uneventfully with another five inches of snow falling
overnight. Snow had benefits as
well as liabilities: Tracks in the snow easily showed out-of-place foot traffic
(this night, there was none); and any surviving game in the area could be
tracked for harvest. The liabilities were obvious—no party in force could
camouflage their passage on foot without leaving an obvious trail, a fact not
lost on the U.S. Army.
Monday, December Fourth
4:00 a.m.
The Segher Farm
Doug had managed
five uninterrupted hours of sleep before Julie rose, the baby causing her
discomfort. The remainder of her
night was restless, but sleep was impossible for Doug at that point. He quietly dressed at four a.m., went into
the kitchen, where he found Case already up, looking over a map of southern
Iowa.
“Any idea on where
you’re heading?”
“Not until we’re
in touch with upstairs.”
“Still nothing on
your radio?”
“Picked up some
distant stuff from Nebraska…Grand Island. We’ve apparently got troops there
moving east. Nothing though within
our communications tree.”
“I’m sure you can
stay here as long as you need,” Doug said, feeding the firebox in the woodstove
for tea.
“We appreciate
that, but we do have an extraction point established. We’re just a couple hundred miles behind schedule,” Case
said.
“Can’t help much
with that, unfortunately. Pretty tough to move at all right now beyond the farm
and the local towns. I think were damned lucky yesterday, getting you out of
Illinois.”
“Why risk it? You,
your wife, family…”
“Had a chance. It
worked. Probably….perhaps certainly, wouldn’t work today or tomorrow, depending
on how the S.A. is pumping the war today,” Doug said. “We’ve done a few things
over the past couple weeks that would’ve gotten us shot in a public square, had
we been caught. Yesterday wasn’t much different.”
“Such as?” Case
asked.
“The most
interesting was probably taking down the surveillance cameras in three towns
simultaneously. That was a challenge,” Doug said.
“What cameras?”
“Every Federal
building, whether it’s post office, agriculture office, unemployment, HHS,
whatever, along with every police station, fire station, hospital, county
seat…they all have a nice surveillance camera hanging over the street right in
front of the building…and cameras on the buildings and parking lots of
course. The street cameras were
the first target, later the others as opportunities came about. Took all the street cameras out at the
same minute, in all three towns.
Surprising how effective a little electricity can be at frying
electronics.”
“How did you do
it?” Case asked with a little smile.
“Farm trucks with
portable welders,” Doug explained.
“The poles they’d installed the cameras on all had a wire path that was
in a specific location within the metal pole. Tagging that one spot for thirty seconds with a decent sized
arc welder cooked the cameras and probably the computers they were feeding.”
“Didn’t the S.A.
respond?”
“Tough for them to
get out of the buildings that were hit.
We had other teams that either blocked the doors with trucks and then
left them there—the doors most of the time opened outward—or four guys carried
three-quarter inch thick sheets of plywood and portable nail guns and just
boarded up the doors,” Doug said. “It was really just a one time opportunity. After that, they had armed guards
standing watch outside every building…until a couple weeks ago. Somehow or
other, their guards keep getting shot in the head or chest. Single shots. Long
range, no one heard the report. The S.A. apparently hasn’t been all that successful
at collecting all the firearms out there,” he chuckled.
“So, what about
the other cameras?”
“When electricity
became less than reliable, Jake found the weak link in the facilities’ camera
installation, too. The lenses are
armored glass. The coax cables
weren’t shielded as well. A few good quality air rifles, and most of them were
out of commission. The air rifles are pretty handy for harassing S.A. loyalists
wherever they are.”
“Dangerous,” Case
said.
“Yeah, but when
they force the locals into their service, there comes a point you have to stand
up. We reached that point some weeks ago.”
“So what are you
doing to, as you say, harass?”
“If the S.A.
loyals come ‘shopping’, goods are found that are fitting for them, meaning,
rotting. Service that they might
need is delayed due to ‘lack of parts’ or ‘lack of knowledgeable service
people’; the heat in their hotel rooms is generally inoperative—you do know
that they use the hotels for barracks, right?” Doug asked without waiting for
an answer. “The air rifles are put
to use shooting holes in the windows of their rooms. There isn’t replacement glass, or tape to cover them. So,
their rooms get cold. There isn’t plywood to cover them, so the rooms become
abandoned. Without dependable electricity, the boilers running the heating
systems fail. Pipes freeze. Hotels become uninhabitable.”
“Grinding them
down,” Case stated.
“It’s one way. It
won’t be the only way,” Doug said.
“What about this
food issue? Is what you say on the up and up?”
“Yes,” Doug said
unequivocally. “If your troops were to consume the combinations of food fed to
the S.A. troops and their gangs, you’d find that you could order them to do absolutely
anything, and they’d likely execute those
orders without question, remorse or conscience. Think about that for a minute.”
Case’s eyes
narrowed as he contemplated what Doug had said.
“My former
employer had a contract to make MRE’s for the U.S. military. They did so with the RNEW formula
slipped into it, and they distributed it heavily in the Northeast and some
other urban areas when things started to come apart. They timed the
distribution to coincide with the economic collapse…which I suspect that they
helped facilitate. When I learned what the stuff was, I helped get word out on
what the RNEW products were and could do, and during a stint in Denver, I
worked for the Food and Drug Administration. I managed to derail numerous attempts to ship those MRE’s to
the Western U.S., without my former employer catching on. I sent information to your
superiors in Texas that would’ve resulted in me being shot in the head and
dumped in a slit trench. With some help, I disappeared from the Federal
Government and from my former employer.
I suspect that if either knew I was here, and certainly if they knew of
my current activities, I’d be dead. So would everyone on this farm.”
Case didn’t say
anything, but considered Doug’s statement.
“Where are you
from, Sergeant?”
“Little town.
Ashton, Idaho. Population twelve-hundred and five.”
“Sorry, never
heard of it,” Doug replied.
“Not many have…and
that’s perfectly okay.”
“You’d take these
risks too, if this were Ashton, Idaho,” Doug said. “How long have you served?”
“Seven years.
Iraq, Afghanistan, several other places that were never official deployments
and of course we never officially killed anyone,” Case replied as one of his
men entered the kitchen.
“Sarge, got
Command in San Antonio. Comms are routed through an AWACS south of here. Entire
satellite network is fried, they say. Better hustle, not sure how long our
uplink will last.”
“Good luck,” Doug
said, filling the old teapot. “Give the United States our regards.”
