Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy, page 40
“Since we don’t all have radios, do we all need to know this?” Emily Roberts asked.
“Yes,” Jerry said flatly. “You may need to take over for someone injured. Any others?”
Jerry had done a thorough job explaining which groups would use which frequencies and how some radios would be using both. He also explained where Gary and Skinny’s groups would be positioned and how to trigger their assistance, if needed. They would be monitoring from a central location that had decent line-of-sight for the antennas, about fifteen miles away and ready to come to assist. There were no follow-on questions.
Good, Josh thought. Everyone is serious and paying attention. They all know what this means. “Phil? Final thoughts?”
The silent group looked at Phil as he used his crutches to assist getting out of the lawn chair. He slowly settled into a standing position and scanned the crowd. “It’s a good plan,” he affirmed, recognizing the worry on the faces. “Surprise is of the essence, if we want to overwhelm them and not lose any of our own. And we’ll maintain the surprise by everyone knowing their jobs. I know it’s a lot to ask. I had an old mentor who used to say this —slow is smooth and smooth is fast. I can’t say it enough—you’ll be amped on adrenaline. You need to control your actions, not the other way around.” He looked back at Josh. “You’ve done good, young man. You have my every confidence in this operation.” Phil sat back down.
Josh could see a hand go up just a bit, like the person wasn’t sure if they wanted to ask a question. “Yes?” he asked the man whose name he didn’t remember.
“I’m still wondering why I’m going and not the doctor,” newly arrived chiropractor Thadeus Werner said open-endedly. “I want to be clear—I’m happy to go, and I’m not trying to make him go. I’m just curious about the logic of it.”
This caused Phil to scramble back out of his chair as Josh started to answer. “I get it, Doc,” Josh told the man. “I hate to say it like this, everyone,” he said looking around, “but we’re not risking the surgeon on this.” He could see a few faces get wrinkled. “And remember, he’s kind of a guest here. He hasn’t actually asked for residency.” Yet, Josh told himself.
“Your role will be to assist Tony and Sheila with field trauma,” he said, pointing toward the Manners couple. They would be staged a few hundred yards away from the assaulting force, prepping any wounded for transport via pick-up truck. A total of four young men and women would act as a team of stretcher-bearers if they needed to move any wounded assaulters back to the triage station. Tony would be ready to drive them back to Schwartz and Alice at the range.
Thad Werner and his wife had arrived at the range as part of Lonnie Everly’s group just a few hours earlier. She was a physical therapist, so their combined skills would prove to be quite valuable to the group. “Got it,” he said.
Phil reined in the rest of the skeptics. “I’d like everyone to think about this perspective. We lost Fred. We have a baby on the way, and there will be others of both. And if you think a flood of disaster-related illnesses isn’t on the way, you’re fooling yourselves. I said it once, and I’ll say it again—political correctness died with the volcano. Despite how any of us feel about it, some people’s skills are more valuable than others, and doctors and nurses are near the top of that list.” Most everyone started to do the slow, small head nod in agreement.
“Friends,” Phil continued, “I need to make sure everyone gets just how serious this is. Some of you may not make it back.” He looked around and saw at least a couple of hypothetical lightbulbs coming on. “Combat is life changing, even if you get through it unscathed. Taking life is something you need to start squaring away in your souls, now, ahead of time…” He studied the faces. “This is the last chance. If you don’t understand why we need to respond with an overwhelming show of force, then just head on up to Fred’s grave and get reminded.” The group was deadly quiet and attentive. Phil slowly sat back down and nodded to Josh to indicate he was done.
After ensuring there were no other questions, Josh ended the meeting with an order for everyone to go rest before the 2330 assembly time. As people were filtering out of the rifle line area, he and Phil cornered Jerry. “Remember, you’re in charge here while we’re all gone. Is the CP going to be functioning if some other crisis pops up?”
“J.R. and James can handle it,” Jerry said confidently. In actuality, he’d started training more people than he could remember. Communications training had suddenly become something everyone wanted to know.
“Good,” Phil said, looking at Josh and then back to Jerry. “What about the mods to the drone? And the Gotennas?”
“All A-Okay,” Jerry affirmed.
“And our little experiment?” Josh asked.
“It’ll work. They’ll all work. Just remember—timing is key. The fuses aren’t guaranteed to be consistent.”
Tahoma’s Hammer Plus 20 Days.
The drone came back to hover over Jeff. It made sense to let the young man operate it—youth were just naturally better at using joysticks then the vast majority of the older men and women in the assault force. Once he was done with both halves of this task, he would become one of the stretcher-bearers.
He’s a natural, Phil thought. Hmmm—this is twice that I’ve been glad this kid played video games. What’s that mean? The device’s little green and red lights had been disabled, so Phil had to squint to see it, finally catching sight when it was a mere thirty feet up. It was 0300, and the assault teams were making their way to various positions around the Matthews’ clan main homestead. Jeff landed the expensive asset on the ground in the clearing 120 meters northeast of the objective structure.
Planning the operations—primarily Josh’s task—was the easier thing to do. Phil and the other board members had the tougher task—developing their rules of engagement and desired mission statement. People were no longer in denial—it had been nearly three weeks since the events, and it was more apparent with each passing day that society was shifting. In many ways, the Dark Ages had returned to the 21st Century. Everyone had mixed emotions about entering a facility as the attacker. We aren’t, Phil reminded them. We’re defending ourselves from attacks, both past and future. Still, though, there was the temptation to round up the one’s that gave up and drive them down to Bartlett. That will only result in our arrests, Phil reminded.
After the meeting had broken the night prior, Tony had made one grim suggestion to Phil. “Brothuh, it pains me to say this, but there is one solution…”
He was extremely hesitant. “Go on,” Phil prodded, not patient for bush-beating anymore.
“Well…we could hang ‘em,” Tony suggested, not able to conceal the disgusted look at even muttering those words. “Cut the head off the snake, so to speak.”
“You mean, like…’Judge Roy Bean’ hang ‘em?” Phil asked, shocked.
“I’m not crazy ‘bout it, neither,” Tony said, just as shocked. “But you said yourself they’ll come arrest us all.”
Phil was silent for a bit. “I know the world’s gone sideways, but…wow. Are we really talking about hanging them like horse thieves?” Phil couldn’t believe the conversation—and the fact he was taking it seriously.
“Well, I never studied the Wild West or nothin’,” Tony started, “but…uh-huh. I guess so. I mean, think about it. They did that back then because stealing people’s horses and cattle was basically threatening their lives an’ livelihood.”
“That’s a line we can’t uncross,” Phil replied. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, by the way. But…as long as there’s an elected sheriff, I’m going to have to rely on the law that was.”
It was enough of a seed, though, and Phil took the idea to the board. They knew there was still a functioning government down in Bartlett. They deliberated half the night before concluding that any of the opposition not killed in the raid would be arrested and dropped off close to town. Knowing that survivors may be revenge seekers in the future, the group was still having a hard time coming to terms with the rules of the New World—that there were no more rules. For better or worse, the group decided to maintain an old-world view of murder and take their chances with possible arrest.
Phil watched Jeff and two others remove the camera from the bottom of the drone and go to work attaching the makeshift device to the bottom. A solenoid from a radio-controlled airplane was being mounted under the drone. When commanded from a different controller, the little electric gizmo would rotate, opening a claw. Jeff knew from the recon flights what direction he needed to fly at max speed and for how many seconds. Timing is key, Phil caught himself repeating Jerry in his mind.
Minutes earlier, Phil had radioed the assault teams in the positions of the sleeping guards on the north and east sides of the property. If there were any on the west or south, he hadn’t seen them. The target property was a run-down horse ranch in the extreme west end of Slaughter County, close to the Hood Canal. There were three fairly open acres in the middle with a large home and shop in the northwest corner and a barn south of that. The teams would be approaching from the east and north, cutting through other properties, the majority of which were wooded and undeveloped.
Many of the assaulters were now using a variety of night vision optics on their rifles or helmets, courtesy of many of the older range members who had acquired them over the years. Each four-person team—six, in all—had at least one radio operator and one person equipped with a suppressed rifle or pistol. Two teams each would attack from the north and east, taking down the house and shop under Josh’s command. One would clear the barn. The last team—Phil’s—was the commanding squad, ready to surge if the plan turned to garbage. Murphy. He undoubtedly will show up at some point, Phil thought.
Phil looked to Jeff and the rest of the stretcher team for one last confirmation. When he got it, he led the command squad through the last stretch of trees and brush to their overwatch position. “All units, this is Six,” he said into the microphone. “Status of the sleeping guards.”
“Sleeping permanently,” he heard Josh report back. The suppressors worked well, Phil thought.
“Copy. Stand by.”
“Light ‘em,” he told Charlotte, Lonnie Everly’s wife. Charlotte and her brother Bob started lighting several homemade smoke canisters albeit several seconds apart. Jerry had made them using a mixture of potassium nitrate, sugar, and baking soda. He put the mixture into cardboard tubes topped with the heads of several matches and a fuse. All of this was stuffed into a soda can and taped up to contain everything but the fuse.
Phil switched to a special AR-15 that had been repurposed with a device he’d purchased just for this kind of reason. The “can-cannon” operated on blank cartridges—they had no bullet, just gas—and would launch any soda can or tennis ball sized item out of a tube that served as a barrel. He dropped the first lit smoke device into the cannon, aimed up about fifteen degrees, and squeezed the trigger. Whoompf! The can launched as predicted, leaving a slowly increasing trail of smoke. It landed twenty meters from the house. “Fred. Fred. Fred,” he said into the radio, letting everyone know the operation was commencing.
Upon hearing that, back in the clearing, Jeff lit a fuse of his own. It was a sixty-second fuse, and Jerry had spent a lot of time making sure it was accurate to within a second or two. The drone took off, trailing a lit, one-pound sparkler bomb with it. One of the members had discovered some sparklers in their travel trailer, leftover from an Independence Day campout. While not intended to do any real damage, it would put off a noise and flash that was sure to wake and confuse the dead. A small servo, receiver, and battery from a radio-controlled plane had been placed under the drone, along with a modified piece of hardware. With a separate radio-control, one of Jeff’s team would release the sparkler bomb on the west side of the house.
Whoompf! Whoompf! Phil had continued to launch the dozen smoke grenades as fast as he could, in a variety of angles and distances. Within forty-five seconds, the area around the house and shop was starting to fill up decently with smoke. Five assault teams started to run in fast and stage themselves around the entrances to the structures. At sixty-four seconds after calling out the signal, the sparkler bomb exploded—Ka-Boom!—and twenty men and women entered the three buildings.
Here goes nothing, Phil worried. Most of the assaulting force were experienced, amateur practical shooting competitors. Most had also taken at least a couple of the tactical training courses the range offered over the years. Josh and those few that were combat veterans spent the day running everyone through “no-shooting” movement drills. They had built an assortment of rooms with the shooting props so everyone would get refresher training in muzzle control around other people. Avoiding friendly fire in close quarters was Josh and Phil’s biggest concern.
Ka-Ka-Krow! Phil and the command squad kept a close ear on the radio and eye on the action. He started to raise his rifle when he saw an armed scumbag crawl out a bedroom window of the house, only to lower it back to low ready when three shots rang out, causing the fleeing drug dealer to go limp in the window frame. Pop-Pop! Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-Krow! Phil could hear a variety of shots ringing out in all the directions. It occurred to him he should probably take a slightly better position behind a tree before a stray round found its way to him. He stood behind a tree, impatiently waiting for a clear signal from each squad leader.
Over the next few minutes, he did indeed get each of his status reports. Bob Huddlesten had received a bite wound, of all things, when he was jumped from behind by a tweeker-chick. One other member reported a sprained ankle during the run-in on the house, and two reported that the scumbags managed to get off some pistol shots, but they missed their marks.
The smoke cleared from the property while Phil and his squad started to light several oil tiki-torches they had brought with them. It cast an odd, orange glow that contrasted with the lingering smoke and smell of gun powder. His stretcher-bearers came forward to pull guard duty when it became obvious that they had received no casualties.
Phil was headed toward the house to make his own check on the enemy KIA when he heard some radio traffic. “Six, this is Squad Five. We found something in the woods on the far side of the property you need to see ASAP.”
“Holy…” Phil murmured, at a loss for what this meant. He was staring at a semi-trailer full of goodies. Mostly it was a huge cache of fireworks. There were some more weapons, mostly pistols and an assortment of rifles that had most assuredly been stolen. He even saw a few customized semi-auto shotguns in the pile. There was a bunch of ammo, too. While there were lots of two and three-inch mortars, the fireworks were mostly the professional grade six and eight-inch shells.
“Where do you think it came from?” Josh asked.
“Wellll…if I had to guess, probably from…” Phil looked up, in his mind’s eye searching for the name. “Shoot, I don’t recall the name, but there’s this company around here based out of West Slaughter. He’s the guy that does all the big fireworks shows for several of the smaller cities here in West Sound.” Phil thought for a moment longer. “Actually, I bet there’s more trailers than this.”
Phil decided he wanted to scramble up into the semi-trailer to take a closer look. He stepped up onto the bumper and placed his butt on the trailer’s floor. First he swung his good leg up, and as he tried to follow it with the prosthetic left leg, the heel of his boot caught a piece of the bumper’s structure and sent him reeling sideways to the ground. “Crraaappp!” Phil cried on the way down.
Josh scrambled over, trying to hide his grin. Phil’s left shoulder was buried in the soft mud and grass. He looked up at Josh’s face and started cracking up. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” This eased the tension for the others, who started chuckling, too. “Josh, the look on your face trying not to laugh was almost funnier…” Phil said as he slowly picked himself up. All the magazine and gear pouches on his battle belt and plate carrier were covered in mud. “Guess I didn’t need in there that badly,” he said, stretching his back and knocking mud off himself.
“If it matters now that you’ve been slimed, we’ve only found the one so far,” Josh told him.
“Hmmm,” Phil hummed. “Could be hidden anywhere on any of these properties.”
“Or some other up-and-coming crime-clans got ‘em,” Lonnie said as he walked up.
“Hey, Lonnie,” Phil called out, sticking his handout for a shake. “Glad your assault went smoothly.”
“Glad you think so,” Lonnie said, a little edgy as he shook Phil’s paw. “We made some mistakes. I think we got plain lucky.”
“I concur,” Josh said, looking back and forth between the two men. “But considering what we’re working with, this little victory will motivate everyone to improve, if we hot-wash the mistakes without sounding like we’re chewing butts. I think a good ‘After-Action Report’ is called for.”
Over the next hour, Phil and his Posse started their collateral duties. Everyone knew what they had to do, and time was of the essence. He wanted to be back on Salal Road and headed toward the range before the sun started to come up. At least we can take the road out.
His team acted as if they’d been doing this for years. Some gathered the dead from the opposition. Counting the two guards, they’d killed twelve and left none wounded, probably because Josh and Phil taught everyone that in combat, shoot your enemy three times to ensure you remove the threat, with five shots being even better. They found drugs everywhere, mostly crystal meth. It was so predominant, even with children in the house, that Phil second-guessed himself on the “no hanging” decision. Animals. He looked at the seven women and thirteen kids that were now their prisoners. Will I have to put you down, too, some day?
Eli fired up the semi they found in the barn and was able to hitch the trailer up. “We need to convoy this thing as if it is all the gold that used to be at Fort Knox,” Phil quipped to Josh. He thought about torching the structures but decided against it. He stood back, watching his team secure prisoners and pack vehicles with captured loot—much of it already stolen from its rightful owners, Phil was sure. At least we don’t have to hike back through the woods. With that, Phil said a little prayer of thanks, wondering if they would get so lucky next time.
