Willard
01-27-2007, 08:43 AM
Chapter 9 – Refugees
As Dave watched the road, traffic started to pass by him, almost all of it from the East,
moving away from the population center of Boston and its surrounding suburbs. He took
time to drink water and scarf down a can of beef stew. He took the binos and wrapped
them in his snipers face veil, a camouflaged net that would hide his lenses but not
obscure his vision appreciably. Under his little hooch he changed out of his green
Dockers and into his OG jungle pants. Like his shirt it was sprayed in light stripes with
black spray paint. He tied them off at his ankles, and made sure his hiking boots were tied
with the laces tucked away. Rooting around in one of the ammo pouches on his belt, he
removed an old section of Humvee mirror he had carried in the service. It had been cut
down and backed with green duct tape, “hundred mile an hour tape” in Army parlance.
Using tubes of green and brown camo crème he painted his face and neck, using the
lighter green on the dark areas of his face, and the dark brown on the high points. Making
sure he covered his ears well, he tried to slip into his “tactical’ mindset. This was the
most dangerous area he had to cross, and he was sure that after this he would be home
free.
Taking his wind up radio from his pack, he again scanned the AM bands. What he heard
only intensified his tactical animal.
“…..message repeats. Forces from the International Security Assistance Forces, ISAF,”
the announcer droned, pronouncing ISAF “issaf”, “are here to protect their individual
nations interests in the United States. They are also volunteering to assist the Department
of Homeland Security in protecting the American people from terrorists, both foreign and
domestic. Do not interfere with them as they go about their duties. Their presence here is
in compliance with United Nations Declaration 6664, and covered under the International
Agreement on Infrastructure Protection. President Billary has opened Americas doors to
our friends from Europe, who have stated that they wish to repay America for all that
America has done for the world. Compliance with the ISAF forces is mandated by special
legislation passed last night in an emergency joint session of Congress, and further
backed by a U.N. resolution passed this morning in New York City.
These cities in our broadcast area are currently under curfew-Boston and surrounding
suburbs, Providence and Rhode Island, Hartford and east, and the New York City
metropolitan area, to include western Connecticut. Anyone attempting to defect to areas
that are refusing to comply with the legal government of the United States are subject to
arrest and detainment. Any residents of the following states and areas who are now in the
safe areas-Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and northern New York state, and any other
state not mentioned, are to report to the closest US Post Office facility to register with the
department of Homeland Security. As you know by now, President Billary has declared
specific areas to be in open violation of many of the security measures passed in light of
the terrorism committed against the American people in the last two years. ISAF troops
will be moving into these areas to protect the assets committed to their respective
governments under the Debt Consolidation and Repatriation Act of this year. Persons are
directed by Executive Order 5712 to stay in their homes or places of work, unless
transiting from one to the other. Anyone on the road in violation of this order will be
subject to detainment for an unspecified length of time. Anyone found to be in possession
of prohibited items, including firearms, narcotics, food for more than a two day period,
gasoline over 15 gallons, any gasoline in separate container, and two way radios capable
of broadcasting on frequencies above 23 centimeters, will be subject to forfeiture of
property used to facilitate said crimes, and civil and criminal penalties not to exceed $1
million in fines and/or 25 years in federal detention.”
“We repeat-if you are traveling, return to your homes. If you are in possession of
prohibited items, turn them in to your local Homeland Security forces. If you have
knowledge of persons violating these terms, please contact your local Homeland Defense
forces. Rewards of up to $500 are now being offered for successful reports of antisocial
hoarding and activity.”
“In local news, a Moosup couple is dead after their son in law, currently wanted on
charges of antisocial behavior through non compliance with the Terrorist Control Act,
engaged police in a three hour standoff this week. Police have identified David McGrath,
43, of Lower Quinonapaug, as the shooter. The standoff ended with the house of Mr. and
Mrs. Ted Peterson being burned to the ground after the couple were killed execution style
by McGrath. Police reports indicate that McGrath, a decorated Army veteran and known
anti-government activist, used an accelerant to set the two story on fire, likely gasoline.
Three police officers were killed, and seven wounded in the shootout. McGraths remains
were not found in the charred rubble of the house, and he is presumed to be armed and
very dangerous. A manhunt is underway for him.”
“The Electrical Resource Allocation Board today announced new restrictions….”
Dave listened as the voice droned on. Well, he thought, I wonder where the bloodhounds
are. He thought about the implications of the news report and decided it didn’t change his
situation much. He was committing about 40 felonies as it was, two or three more
wouldn’t matter, especially since he hadn’t committed any acts of murder, and the laws
he was breaking were unconstitutional anyway.
The activity on the road increased. Dave watched in grim fascination the parade of cars
and trucks heading west. “Where do they think they are going?” he asked himself. “No
place to go, nothing to do when they get there.” Dave looked at the road below. It was the
second time in his life he had seen refuges.
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The African sun beat down on the men dressed in their brown body armor and Kevlar
helmets. The scout platoon and their attached snipers were in an overwatch position,
covering a roadblock manned by men from their battalions B Company. For this
deployment they were using armored Humvees, mounting either M-2 HB Browning .50
caliber MG’s or MK-19 40mm MG’s. Dave had his squad dismount their MK-19 and
mount it on its M-3 tripod to cover the main road. The second Humvees M-2 was
deployed on the top of the Humvee to provide flanking fire on the secondary road that
came in from their left. If needed the Humvee could rapidly move to one of three
preselected spots to provide covering fire for the grunts 300 Meters below them. The GI’s
manning the roadblock were in a tight spot. Their Rules of Engagement prevented them
from firing on anyone unless they themselves were fired upon. Manning a roadblock,
their job was to prevent people from reaching the capitol, which lay 20 some odd miles
behind them.
The mass of refuges was spurred into a panic by reports that the rebel forces were moving
towards them on a murderous, drug fueled spree of rapine and destruction. They were
rumored to practice a bizarre form of human sacrifice (the specifics of which were left to
the listeners imagination), and were known for their brutality to those not of their tribe.
As far as the Americans were concerned, they should be allowed to shoot everyone of
them they saw carrying a gun. Ironically, that is just what they were not allowed to do.
Several times they saw armed gangs of men assaulting members of the approaching
throng and drag them, screaming, into the tree line.
“Let me smoke them, Sergeant,” asked Specialist Ruiz, watching through his crosshairs
as yet another nubile young woman was dragged into the trees, her children left alone and
crying by the side of the road. The emotion in his voice was bordering on tears.
“No can do, Ruiz,” answered Dave, “I don’t like it either, but we have orders.”
“Well the orders suck,” spat the tall Cuban. Ruiz’s parents had risked their lives to take
their three small children on a perilous trip in a leaky boat, landing in the dead of night
near Miami. They had taught him about the evils of oppression form an early age.
Dave agreed, although he held his tongue. Surely the American government would see
what was happening and let them act with honor. Act as soldiers.
The soldiers manning the checkpoint had a harder time. Trying unsuccessfully to stem the
flow of wretched, half starved women and children, they saw the fear and desperation in
their eyes. Although ordered to not allow anyone passage towards the beleaguered capitol,
in practice they only presented token resistance to the refuges, who only had to step
around the roadblock to pass by. The Americans had been ordered to block the road, and
they did. Their orders did not tell them to block the shoulders of the road. The troops
manning the roadblock did what they could for the injured refuges. Sometimes it was
nothing more than retightening looses bandages or handing out aspirin. The faces devoid
of hope would be something they all would remember forever.
The refuge tide continued as the sun got higher in the sky. Typically, all activity slowed
or stopped from close to noon until after 2, due to the heat. As the crowd continued to
pulse forward like a living beast with a thousand legs, sounds of gunfire reached the ears
of the entrenched Americans. Gradually the sounds of motors could be heard between the
bursts of gunfire. The throng scattered as a murmur came up the line. People surged past
the Americans, seeking the safety of having the paratroopers between themselves and the
gunfire. Finally Ruiz and Günter, his spotter, reported to Dave.
“Sergeant McGrath, I’ve got three or more trucks coming up the road, big Mercedes
troop carriers with Russian 51’s on top. They look like they’re headed this way.”
“Roger that, Ruiz. Keep an eye on them and remember our ROE, even if it does suck.”
“Hooah, Sergeant,” answered Ruiz, settling the Remington M-24 into his shoulder.
McGrath was in the habit of carrying his own radio, and unclipped the handset to call a
report to Battalion.
“Sierra 5-3, sierra 5-3, this is Lima 2-niner, come in, over.”
Static hissed from the handset.
“Lima 2-niner, this is Sierra 5-3, go ahead, over.”
“5-3, we’ve got at least three troop trucks…” Ruiz waved a hand, “…break”
“I’ve got four trucks with troops and three technicals.”
“5-3, that’s four troop trucks with heavy weapons and three technicals approaching our
location. They are attacking the civilians, break.”…..”we request permission, again, to
engage them, over.”
A pause, as if the puzzle palace were discussing the merits of that.
“Negative, 2-niner, negative. The ROE stands, You are only to fire to protect the lives of
US Forces and US citizens, do you copy, over?”
Dave sounded as dejected as he felt, “Roger, 5-3, I understand. Lima 2-niner, OUT.”
“Listen up,” Said Dave into his privately purchased Marine VHF radio, “If these
t*rdburglars so much as point a weapon at you, light them up. Got it?”
“Roger”
“Hooah”
“It’s about time” came the replies from the other Humvee and the troops at the roadblock.
Dave had given the NCO in charge at the roadblock the extra handheld radio that
operated above the frequency of their heavy GI Issue ones. In Africa, they weren’t
worried about what the FCC would say.
The trucks pulled up to the roadblock in a cloud of dry, red dust. From the lead truck a
gaudily clad man leapt down, his movements quick and jerky.
A voice came over the VHF “Looks like he’s hopped up.”
They watched through binos and riflescopes as the man approached the roadblock and
began screaming at the American soldiers.
“Recon,” said the voice of the B Company NCO, “keep your eyes on these dudes, they’re
demanding we give them our weapons and vehicles and clear the roadblock, as they
represent the sovereign government of this rat infested sewer.”
“Roger, we gotcher back, Sgt. Gooch.”
The wildly gesticulating “sovereign government representative” turned to the vehicles,
waving at the men to come down. Dave saw the B Company Platoon Leader in charge
leave the cover of his Humvee and approach the “leader”. As he called out, the convoy
leader whirled, pointing his AK at the Lieutenant ever so briefly.
“Take’em,” said Dave. Ruiz fired, and the man started doing another dance as most of his
head disappeared in a pink cloud. The Lt. stood there open-mouthed as the nearly
headless corpse ran around the road, blood spurting from the remains of his throat. Before
the echo of Ruiz’ shot had died another shot rang out. The driver of the lead truck had
just shot the stunned Lt. The Lt. dropped heavily onto the macadam. Almost immediately
a cacophony of gunfire rang out. The .50’s on the Humvees, two at the roadblock and the
one to Dave’s left, opened up. The two Mk-19’s were in action, pumping 40mm high
velocity grenades into the troop compartments and engine areas of the trucks. The troops
at the roadblock were keeping up a steady fire, the M-4’s, M-203’s, SAWs, and the
platoons two M-240’s were raking the technicals and trucks. Dave saw that the two Mk-
19’s were alternating fire to keep a constant rain of 40mm HE on target.
Dave immediately keyed his radio, “Sierra 5-3, this is Lima 2-niner, we are in contact,
repeat, we are in contact, we need immediate fire support at preregistration point
Budweiser, say again, Budweiser, we have seven vehicles full of armed hostiles engaging
US Troops. We have one Line 2, over.”
“Copy 2-niner, one line 2. Negative on fire support, the ambassador sent them packing,
said they were too offensive, break…”
“…we are moving up the reaction force, they should be there in 20 mikes, over.”
“Roger, 5-3. We will give you a Sitrep in five, 2-niner out.” Releasing his headset, he
dropped from kneeling to prone and flipped the covers off of his ACOG scope.
Looking over to Randt, one of two M-203 gunners on the hill. “Randt, take James and
Hansen and cover the left flank, I don’t want to get surrounded.”
“Hooah that, Sergeant,” Randt replied, getting up and tearing off down the line.
Reacquiring his reticule, Dave saw that most of the rebels were dead. Apparently one
technical had gotten away. He drew a bead on a man firing an RPD in a long burst over
the heads of the B Company men at the roadblock, and slowly squeezed the trigger. Dave
felt the relatively soft recoil of the M-4, and when he reacquired his sights, the man was
laying on his back, the RPD silent. Dave heard the steady fire from Ruiz’ bolt gun as he
engaged several more rebel troops. Finally, he saw no more movement.
“Cease fire, cease fire,” he called, hearing the command get picked up and down down
the line.
“Only shoot the live ones… heavies, take turns reloading.”
Dave got on the VHF as firing faded at the roadblock. “Gooch, how’s the LT?” Silence.
Then a voice, “He’s OK, got hit in the plate, no penetration. He figured playing possum
was safer than John Wayneing it between his p*ssed off men and our new 50 meter
qualification range.”
Dave laughed. “I’m gonna have my sniper and shooters make sure those toads are dead.
Reaction force should be here in fifteen.”
“Yeah, we’re on with Battalion right now on our push. Thanks for the cover, that was
some shot, I thought the L.T. was a goner for sure.”
“Thanks, I’ll let Ruiz know.”
Ruiz looked over at him with a question on his face. “Sgt Gooch says good shot, Ruiz.”
Ruiz shot him back a grin. “Now show me headshots on any of them that look like they
have the strength to pull a trigger.”
Ruiz nodded, “My pleasure,” he said, and set about his task with a grim smile on his face.
Dave called out, “All my ACOG’ers, make sure those POS’s are dead. The rest of you, I
want casualty and ammo check, now.” Dave walked the perimeter as the infrequent shot
rang out from Ruiz’s position. Checking on his men, he found no wounded, no shortage
of ammo (having Humvees to hump ammo sure helps, mused Dave), and good spirits all
around.
“About time we did something proactive,” said Barnes.
“Hey Sergeant, we hit any collaterals?” asked Weissman, his junior RTO.
“None that I could see. Those people boogied before that last truck stopped moving.”
Charlie Company showed up in the backs of several Humvees and Medium trucks, and
secured the area. After policing up the battlefield, they had 67 confirmed dead tangoes,
two American flesh wounds, and about one thousand cheering refuges.
After this incident the troops from Daves brigade were relegated to a role on the coast of
the country where they were less likely to encounter armed hostiles. The Ambassador
wanted them gone, saying that people had a way of dying around paratroopers. Daves
men nodded their assent. “Bad people die around us,” said Weissman. Coming as it did
from a pimply 18 year old just out of basic, his sentiment was well received by the
company.
Dave crawled back into his hooch and leaned back to think for a few minutes while
listening to the AM band for any intel. As he looked at the space blanket hanging above
him, he paused. If he was going to be here all day, he didn’t want to create more of a
thermal signature than he had to. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out his lightweight
poncho and a few bungees, and strung it up a few inches under the space blanket to
provide a heat barrier between his body and the silver blanket. Feeling better, he turned
on his Yaesu. Noon was approaching. Being further north and on higher ground, plus
being in such tight quarters, he decided against stringing up his 292 antenna. Instead he
connected it to the little radio and strung it around his hide. Hopefully it would do its job.
Sure enough, at noon, he heard the carrier wave on todays frequency. Motley Crue’s song
‘Home Sweet Home’ came over the earpiece. Dave smiled. His friends certainly had their
sense of humor intact. As the song ended Sandy’s voice came on the air. “Hurry home”
she said. The signal went off. Dave smiled. I am hurrying, he thought. But speed could
kill. Better to get home safe than to ‘Go home’ to the camp fire in the sky. He still had
things to do.
A stead throbbing sound broke him from his reverie. Helicopters. Big ones, maybe
Chinooks. He crawled to the lip of his hide and scanned the road and sky.
To the right, towards Boston, the road went up another rise and turned from sight. At the
lower edge of the rise, he saw eight figures, four from each side of the road, run out. All
were dressed in woodland BDU’s and carried rifles. Some dragged freshly cut trees,
others donned fluorescent vests. Signaling for the cars on the road to stop, and reinforcing
that signal with rifles at the shoulder, they dragged the trees across the road to make a
crude roadblock. As they did, Dave saw two men, one carrying an ALICE pack with a
long whip antenna poking up from it. The man with him took the proffered handset and
spoke into it. The sound of the helos grew louder, the ground beginning to vibrate so that
Dave could feel it, his whole body thrumming. Coming in over the highway, from the
little valley to the north east, came two huge birds, which banked and turned towards
Dave. He recognized them as Sea Stallions or a variant, CH-53’s. These bore a green and
dark brown camouflage pattern Dave recalled as being German. Viewing them with his
binos, Dave saw the distinctive Maltese cross on the nose of the closest one, with a white
rectangle below which bore in black letters ‘ISAF’. The helos quickly set down on the
highway, on each side, the one on Daves side closer by a hundred meters or so. He saw
crew chiefs scramble from the rear of the big birds as two Apache attack helicopters
swept over them, a hundred feet from the tree tops.
As Dave watched, he could see activity at the rear of the CH-53’s. Suddenly from the rear
of one, then the other, camouflaged jeeps of a kind Dave only recognized as being
European sped from the rear of each bird. One sped towards the blocking crew, the other
headed past Dave to stop just past the overpass to the left of the hide. Turning his focus
back to the Stallions, Daves mouth dropped open as a small armored vehicle rolled off
the back ramp. Hardly taller then the crew chief, it sported a tiny turret with what looked
like a 20mm cannon sticking out from it. “Weasels” said Dave. He certainly never
expected to see German Fallshirmjaeger armor in New England in the Fall. Like the scout
cars, one Weasel headed for the overpass and one for the crude roadblock. Then troops
began pouring from the Stallions, about 30 in all. They carried rolls of wire, steel pickets,
and other items. They fell in and started towards the overpass. As they cleared the
helicopters, the big birds engines changed in pitch, and they took off one at a time,
heading West. Dave watched the troops set up a better roadblock with triple strand
concertina wire, engineer pickets, and a growing sandbagged emplacement near the
bridge abutments. What the heck was going on, he wondered?
Chapter 10 – Redemption
While Dave was observing all of the activity taking place below his lair, he heard the
familiar whine of turbo diesel engines. Looking left, he saw three State Police cruisers
and a line of Army 2 ½ ton trucks, known as ‘Deuce and a Halfs’, along with several
Humvees coming from the West. Since the active duty forces had changed their vehicles
to a new cab over style in the late ‘90’s and early 21st Century, Dave supposed they were
National Guard vehicles. Tailgates thunked with their distinctive hinge creak and metallic
slam, and the area under the bridge and beyond was quickly turned into a roadblock with
a large enclosed area, and a smaller holding area next to a green canvas GP Large tent.
Hearing car engines, he looked right. The team at the far end had removed their crude
roadblock and were waving cars though. Dave now understood what was happening. The
roadblock was to stop the exodus from the city. This was a natural chokepoint-the high
walls of the highway cut prevented escape, as did the steep embankments of the highway
over the swamp. Cars had no escape, and people on foot would be spotted if they tried to
escape. Dave watched as the first line of cars pulled up to the checkpoint. Standard stuff,
papers checked, some cars were searched. There was an unpaved area between the two
sides of the highway, marked with the “official use only” signs seen all over America.
Most of the cars were reversing direction by crossing there, and headed back east towards
Boston and the suburbs. A growing number of cars and small trucks were directed into
the larger fenced area, where the people in them were handcuffed and forced to sit as
their vehicles were searched for contraband. Dave saw only one or two vehicles that were
allowed to leave this area. After the search, the bound people were escorted to the smaller
pen, and brought, one at a time, into the large tent. Dave eventually saw a line leaving the
tent. Those people, hands still bound, were led up a small steel tailgate ladder and loaded
into the back of waiting deuces.
After several hours of this, the traffic died to a trickle. Dave imagined the ISAF forces,
who Dave had started referring to the “as if” forces, had set up several of these
checkpoints along the Interstate. While he watched, the last of the travelers were led to
the waiting Deuces, which drove East themselves. The remaining troops tore down the
wire enclosures, and loaded them into the backs of Humvees and Deuce and a Half’s, and
packed up the large tent. A detail of men was tearing down the large wire enclosure while
another went around siphoning all of the parked cars of fuel. Just as the men finished, two
tow trucks pulled up. A German troop in mottle Flectarn camo spoke to them for a few
minutes, gesturing towards the large parking lot. Dave could see the drivers nodding in
response. They then each hooked into a car and drove off, chains rattling. The little
Weasel tanks, which had served as quite an intimidator during the roadblock operation,
rolled east, escorted by the German scout cars and the three State Police Cruisers.
Soon all that was left was a lot of empty cars and SUV’s, and one two and a half ton
truck. A small detail of Flectarn clad troops carrying G-36’s was sweeping the area for
anything left behind. Soon they completed their police call, loaded the truck, and drove
off. Silence returned to the little valley. Dave was impressed with the speed and
efficiency of the operation. They came in quick, set up fast, and maintained a constant
presence up and down the line of waiting cars, and then were gone, on to the next mission.
“Fighting these clowns might be harder than we think,” Dave mused. While the soldiers
had taken in the roadblock, Dave had paid special attention to the crew and the far end of
the valley. As they had come out of the tree line, Dave didn’t know whether they had
walked in from the next valley over or had been laying up, watching the road. Dave had
seen no other troops in the wooded areas, and hoped that some type of patrol unit wasn’t
keeping the valley under constant observation. He remained vigilant for any sign of
enemy activity
As afternoon turned into evening clouds swept in from the south west. Dave grunted to
himself. ‘At least it will be warmer tonight, if it doesn’t rain’ he noted. Dave reapplied
his camouflage face paint in the fading light, and then started taking down his hooch.
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The last thing Dave took down, just before he left, was the space blanket. It was now
pitch black. Where before a cloudy night had provided ambient light by reflected back to
earth the illumination of millions of electric lights, the cloud cover now merely prevented
starlight from reaching the ground. Dave took comfort in the dark. Although he didn't
have any night vision with him, even the most advanced light amplification tubes would
be barely functional in such dark without using artificial light, usually in integral infra red
illuminator. That would severely restrict their operating range, and provide Dave with an
edge. Securing his pack, Dave crawled away from his hide. When he was what he judged
a safe distance away from the edge, he stood and began patrolling east, towards the little
valley. He veered away from the highway, and went deeper into the woods. The darkness
coupled with the vegetation prevented him from walking too quickly. Dave found himself
wishing he had some kind of eye protection as stray branches found his face in the inky
black. As he moved, a light rain started to fall. Dave silently cursed the cold water that
made him shiver while at the same time thanking God for the increased security the rain
provided a lone traveler.
After Dave decided that the rain wasn't going to stop, he called a halt, and quickly
donned his thin Gore-Tex rain suit. Although he was already wet, he didn't want to
chance hypothermia, and the insulation effect of the extra material would help him retain
body heat. Once again on the move, he found that maybe he was too hot. 'Damned if you
do…' he thought to himself, sidling around a large oak that sprang out of the dark,
'damned if you don't.' His course took him into thick scrub oak and bracken that hindered
his movement. He slowly made his way around the growths, using his tritium compass to
maintain a rough course east. After an hour of cautious movement, he came to a small
watercourse that was running shallowly and rapidly with rainwater. Dave felt that the
asphalt lined way was likely a drain from the parking lot he had crossed the night before.
Bearing left, he followed it down into the valley, and shortly emerged at a wide creek,
lined with rushes and cattails. Dave crouched at the edge, straining to hear any unnatural
noises above the rain. He gave it a slow three minute count, then slowly stood up, his leg
muscles already cramping from the cold, the exertion, and, Dave commented to himself
wryly, old age. He turned and stepped away from the edge several paces. Dropping his
pack, he removed the Cold Steel ODA from his belt and started cutting reeds. After a few
minutes work, he resheathed the blade and began to weave the reeds through the cover of
his pack. After ensuring, mostly by touch, that the pack was camo’ed correctly, he added
some material to his boonie hat.
Carrying the pack to the waters edge, he slowly stretched. Then, with a resigned feeling
of anticipation, stepped into the creek. As he had hoped, it wasn't very deep. Water
tended not to run deep in the Fall in these parts, and during his listening halt he had
determined that it was moving slowly, if at all. He backed up to the bank and pulled on
his pack, leaving the waist belt open. If he fell into the water and needed to ditch the pack,
he didn't want to have to struggle any more than needed. He moved cautiously along the
creek, the bank on his immediate left. By his estimation he had between 500 to 600 yards
to go to get to the Turnpike. He would walk for a time, then stop and listen. All he heard
was the rain on the vegetation and water, until he was what he thought was 200 yards
from the highway.
Coming from the other side of the creek he first heard what he thought was a wounded
animal. He took off his hat and cupped one hand behind his ear to hear better. Replacing
his hat, he crossed the creek, and listening again. This time it was clear. It was a child
crying. Naturally this peaked Daves interest. Was it bait for a clever ambush? He then
heard a second sound, a female voice. He couldn't make out the words, but it sounded as
if she were trying to comfort the child. Dave considered his options. He ruled out ambush,
just because it would be far easier for a patrol to watch the creek, the most natural line of
travel in the area, unless of course, there was a trail he was unaware of over there. Dave
thought it out. The area definitely saw humans in better times. Various detrious was
apparent in the woods-paper fast food wrappers, beverage cans and bottles, an old
shopping cart. Probably people fishing or kids coming out here on weekend nights. Dave
slowly scanned a 360 around where he was standing. Seeing nothing, he moved North a
few more feet and listened again. This time he heard another voice, deeper, a male. It was
in a lively but hushed conversation with the female voice. Dave crept down stream.
Coming to a cut out in the bank, he felt with his hand and found enough room to drop his
pack silently. Feeling light as air without the pack, Dave again moved towards the sounds.
Moving, stopping, listening, moving again. He came to a clear area, apparently there was
a path on the other side, and it or a branch of it led to this fishing spot. Dave noted
Styrofoam cups and some cans floating near shore. Dropping to the prone at the extreme
edge of the opening, he again cupped his hand to his ear.
The female voice said "…gotten us into this. She's sick, tired, and hungry. We can't do
this. We should go back."
"We can't," replied the male voice, "I'll get locked up and what will happen to you then?"
"At least we’ll be warm and dry", said the miserable woman.
Dave crept further up the trail.
"But I'll be in jail, you too, I bet. And the kids will go to foster homes. No way. We have
to get away."
"But we don't even know where we're going," whined the woman. Dave estimated them
to be about 20 feet away. He could now hear them clearly over the steady rain.
"We’ll find something. I can always find work," Dave heard the man say, his thick accent
dropping almost all of the "R" from work. A thought registered with Dave-the mans a
local.
"I've always taken care of you guys, and I always will. We'll find a way around the
Turnpike, somehow."
The woman was in full blown 'I feel sorry for myself and I don't care' mode. "Every exit
ramp is has cops on it. It's too far. It's raining, for gawds sake, and the kids are shivering
under that blue thing. We're all gonna get pneumonia and die out here in the woods. I
want to go home."
Dave was close enough now to hear their feet crunching leaves as they shuffled their feet.
"No, Rhonda, that's it. We ain't going back. We're gonna find a way to the other side of
this thing if it kills me."
Dave stood up and stepped towards them. Startled, they both backpedaled, the woman
moving protectively towards where Dave presumed the kids were under "the blue thing".
"If you want to cross the highway come with me."
Dave could see the man struggling with something on his shoulder. "Leave rifle there,
mister. If I wanted you dead you'd be dead right now. Rhonda," he said, keeping his FAL
on the man, "I can get you across safely. Trust me."
"Howdjoo know my name," she threw back at him.
"I've been listening to you for the last five minutes. The kids are under a blue thing, and
he's going to find work wherever you're headed."
"Who are you?"
"I'm not a fed," McGrath answered, "I'm heading home to New Hampshire. Under the
current situation, this is the only way I can do so."
The couple looked to where the other was standing, not seeing each other in the dark.
"Who are you?" asked the man.
"Like you. I'm trying to avoid being locked up. Like you, too, I'm not a criminal. Look, I
left my pack upstream. I’m going to go get it and come back. Make up your minds by the
time I return. I have a schedule.”
Dave turned on his heel and followed the path to the creek. He heard the couple having a
hushed but vigorous conversation as he walked away.
When Dave returned, again approaching the couple cautiously in case they decided to
bushwhack him. They were still talking when he returned.
“Well, what’s it going to be?” Dave asked directly.
Dave could hear the woman shuffle her feet over the light rain. “We don’t know what to
do….”
Dave stepped closer to her, remembering a line from a movie. He stuck out his hand to
her and said, “Come with me if you want to live.” Ironically, she took his hand and said,
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Dave was silent for a moment. One more answer and he was gone. “If I wanted to kill
you for food I could have already done so. If I wanted to rape you I’d have killed
everybody else here first. You have 30 seconds.”
Just as he stopped, he heard a child sneeze.
Rhonda said, “Jennifer, quiet,” but Dave was already next to the blue tarp, dropping his
pack. He pulled out his red lensed light and looked at four bedraggled children, ranging
from what he guessed was three to twelve. “Hi,” he said, in his friendliest voice, “I’m Mr.
McGrath. Do you guys want some hot soup and a dry bed?”
The littlest child, a tow headed girl with huge eyes, nodded meekly while holding a plush
duck.
“I can get you across the road and then we can camp and have hot food. Would you like
to come with me?”
The little girl looked up at Dave in the red light. “What kind of soup?”
Dave grinned, “I have chicken noodle soup, Ramen soup, and beef stew. Do you like any
of those?”
The girl nodded, “I like Chicken noodle snoop.”
“Well, let’s get you packed.” Dave stood and turned his light on the parents. “Pack your
stuff, you’re coming with me.” The man nodded, “OK.”
The former NCO looked at the man. About 5’9”, average build, no beer belly, long hair,
wearing jeans, hiking boots, a flannel shirt under what likely was a blue rain jacket (it
was hard to tell in the red light). He had an SKS on his shoulder by its sling. “Why are
you guys running?” Dave asked.
Rhonda answered, “’Cause he sent a letter to our Congressman telling him he wasn’t
giving up his stupid gun. ‘From my cold dead hands’ he signed it. My cousins husbands
partner at the dart league is a cop, and Tony’s name was on a list of people the were
going to arrest for not turning in their guns. He told him and my cousin called me. We
packed and left right away, but we ran into roadblocks everywhere. We parked at the
Shop and Save and we been walking evah since.”
Dave considered this a moment. “Tony, do you know how to use that rifle?”
“Yeah man, I was in the Navy.”
“What’d you do,” asked Dave, cocking his head in the dark.
“Machinist Mate on the Theodore Roosevelt.”
“OK,” said Dave, “’The Big Stick, huh?”
He could hear the pride in Tony’s voice,” That’s right, the baddest ship to sail the Seven
Seas.”
“Well, Lt. McHale, we have got to move, and like right now. The longer we stand here in
the rain, the closer we get to losing the cover of darkness.”
“Right”, said Tony, resolve in his voice, “Rhonda, you get the kids, I’ll get our
backpacks.”
Dave watched them, letting Tony borrow his red lensed light. Rhonda was struggling to
get the kids ready. Dave walked over.
“Do the kids have raincoats?”
“No,” said Rhonda, anxiety in her voice,” we packed so fast I forgot them. I could kill
him for this,” she stated, meaning Tony.
“Well, let me help you then.” Dave turned to get his pack.
“You have four kids parkas (she pronounced it ‘pahkahs’) in your pack?”
Dave gave an unseen nod, “The next best thing.”
Several minutes later they were moving out, Tony and Rhonda carrying surprisingly high
quality internal frame packs of purple and blue. Cindy, the little one, was perched on
Dave’s shoulders, resting between the pack, which rose higher than Daves head, and his
neck. Dave was happy she didn’t need diapers. The other kids held onto either their
mother or fathers hands, and had backpacks of their own-small day packs Dave was sure
they used as school bags in less trying times. Clad in rain parkas made out of four of the
trash bags Dave had in his pack, they looked like shapeless blobs with heads and legs. On
the little girl giving Daves neck a temporary cramp the bag covered her feet, too, if she
stood up. The family followed Dave to the creek.
“How are we crossing?” asked Rhonda, a little too loudly. Dave stepped over to her.
Leaning to her ear, he whispered, “Rhonda, you need to be quiet.” A little louder, he
addressed his wards, “From here on out you need to be silent. No talking. No sneezing,”
he felt little hands pushing his hat over his eyes and heard a giggle, “and no fun until I
say so. Got it?” He heard a tiny voice say, “Yes, Mr. McGwath.”
He turned to Rhonda and Tony. “Follow me, Rhonda first, Tony, you don’t shoot
anything unless I fire first, got it?”
“Loud and clear,” whispered Tony.
“Let’s go,” Dave said with finality, and stepped into the creek. He heard voices hiss as
the family followed him into the cold water. The rain had picked up, and was falling
steadily in large, quick drops. He turned his head and whispered, “Hey, Cindy Lou Hoo,
put my hat on.” Small hands pulled his boonie cap off and a tiny voice whispered in his
ear, so close it tickled, “This is a big hat, Mister McGwath.”
They followed the stream without incident until, looming before them in the dark, was
the embankment, the Interstate devoid of traffic 30 or more feet above them. They could
sense it more than they could see it. As they got closer, the water got deeper and the
stream spread out into a large pool. Dave walked to the side, where the land was marshy,
and turned. “You guys stay here a minute. Cindy Lou, do you want to get down?”
He felt the girl move, but couldn’t tell if she was nodding yes or shaking no. “I can’t see
you.” Smiled Dave. The little voice in his ear whispered, “No.”
“OK, hold on,” Dave moved towards the embankment, wading through the pool that had
collected. He moved from the right edge of the pool to the left, and soon found what he
was looking for. A large culvert ran under the road, big enough to let the stream through
if it rained enough, and large enough for deer to cross through of the felt so inclined. He
let his L1A1 hang on the assault sling and reached up and grabbed Jennifer under each
arm. “I’m gonna take you down now,” and swung her off of his shoulders. He stood her
in the culvert and turned his back. Sitting a little, he let the weight of the pack rest on the
lip of the corrugated steel and took off the pack. Stretching his neck to each side, he
heard it crack. Much better, he said to himself. Turning to Cindy, he said, “you’ll be safe
here with your duck. I’ll be back in a minute with your Mom and Dad, OK?”
“What about my sisters and brother?” the little voice asked.
“I’ll bring them, too, Cindy.”
Dave waded straight out. The water never got to his waist, so he was sure the oldest two
kids could make it. Finding the family, he took the next youngest, Carolyn, and put her
on his now unburdened shoulders. Signaling with his hands to the others, they followed
him into the middle of the giant puddle.
Reaching the culvert, he set Carolyn down next to his pack. Turning, he picked up Julia,
and then the oldest child, Jake. He then climbed up into the steel cave himself. Moving
his pack deeper into the tunnel, he told the children in a whisper to go up to it and wait.
He then helped Rhonda and Tony up.
“How did you know this was here?” asked Rhonda.
“A hunch,” whispered Dave back to her,” let’s get the kids and get out of here.”
The parents reassured their kids that it was OK, and Dave reshouldered his pack in the
tight confines of the steel tube. Leading the way, Dave set out well ahead of the family.
He found a few areas where sticks and debris blocked the way, which he cleared as
quietly as he could. The only sounds were his breathing and the footsteps of the six
people behind him. Wishing they could deaden the echo more, Dave soon reached the
end of the culvert. Another pool had formed here. He sat on the wet edge and lowered
himself into the water. When his feet didn’t touch bottom, he quickly sat back up.
Dropping his pack, he waited a few moments for Rhonda to catch up with him. “Wait
here,” he whispered, and holding his rifle up high with one hand he again lowered
himself. His feet touched bottom at about four feet. Pulling his pack after him, he laid it
in the water as silently as he could. As he habitually kept everything in it in waterproof
bags of one kind or another, he wasn’t concerned about the contents getting damaged.
Pulling the pack behind him like a large green and mottled pool toy, Dave held the FAL
in his right hand, keeping the muzzle pointing wherever his head was turned. Reaching
the far shore, far in this case being a hundred feet or so, Dave noted that the water was
about two feet deep. He placed his pack on the shore, beneath a large tree which
overgrew the bank. He then returned to the family. “Tony, I want you to come with me.
Peanut,” he said to the older girl, “I’m going to carry you to the shore.” She nodded her
assent and when Dave turned she climbed onto his shoulders. “Hold on,” whispered Dave,
the rifle in his hands. He felt her hands grasp him. “Not so tight,” said Dave as she
squeezed his neck tightly. He felt the hands slacken. Tony sat on the edge and slid right
in. His pack took to this badly, and immediately turned turtle on him, dunking him into
the frigid and dirty water. Dave felt the small hands squeeze him as he took two steps and
reached under, grabbing a handful of black hair. Struggling to maintain his balance, Dave
pulled Tony to his feet, and immediately fell on his tail into four feet of water. He went
full under, letting his rifle fall free, and felt the girl let go and kick away. Struggling to
regain his footing, Dave the super soldier got to his feet, choking and sputtering. He
turned and saw a smiling face floating just above the rain spattered surface. “Are you
OK?” he and Carolyn asked each other simultaneously. They both grinned. Dave lifted
the young girl out of the water and seated her on the edge of the culvert. Tony was
stangling next to him, looking like a half drowned rat. His pack was floating next to his
waist. “Let’s try that again,” suggested Dave, “Tony, carry our pack over our head.”
Tony nodded, and picked the pack up. “Still got our rifle?” Tony grinned sheepishly, and
walked over to the culvert. Putting his pack down next to his daughter, he said “No.”
Quickly turning away, he walked out a few steps and dropped under the water. It took
him several tries to find it. “We’ll clean it up after,” said Dave. “Gotcha,” answered the
chagrined man. Tony stayed with Daves pack while Dave ferried the children over. Jake,
the boy, was tall enough to make it on his own, and accompanied his mother on the final
trip.
Once again burdened with their packs, the small group, with Dave in the lead and Tony
again on slack, followed a much smaller stream through a low area of marshes. They
moved as quickly and as silently as they could until they came to a spot where a spur of
dry land jutted into the marsh like an island rising from the sea. Dave changed their
course and they crossed the dry land and the shelter of the trees overhead. Following the
contours of the valley, the traveled in silence for almost an hour until Dave felt a tug on
his left ear. “Mister McGwath?” a sleepy voice said, “I’m cold and hungwy and tired.
When can I have some soup?”
Dave stopped and took a knee, glad for the excuse. He looked at his watch, and pressed a
button on the side. The illuminated face told him the time. “Sweetie, the sun will be up in
two or three hours, and I need to find us a place where we can be safe from the bad men.
It won’t be long, I promise.”
“OK,” she said. Dave felt her shiver, “but my duck is awful cold.”
Dave swung the little girl down as her family gathered around. Dave looked up, “You
guys need to spread out. Rhonda, check on the kids. Tony, go back 20 feet and watch our
trail.”
“OK, boss,” said Tony.
Dave lowered his pack thankfully, and rummaged around, pulling out his medium weight
polypro top. He told Jennifer, “Help me put this on you,” as he pulled off her plastic bag.
He put her in the shirt, which hung on her like drapery. “I can put my duck in here,” She
said. Dave gave her a snicker and put the bag back on her. “Do you like the hat?” he
asked. “Oh yes, it’s my favorite,” she said emphatically. Dave laughed more loudly.
“Mine too,” he said. Checking with Rhonda, he found that all of the kids were cold, tired,
and unhappy. He made sure they had warm shirts on, with Rhondas help, and had them
drink water and go to the toilet. He pulled Rhonda aside. “We need to move until we find
a good spot to stop for the day.” Rhonda yawned in reply. “I know it’s tough on the kids,
but if we get found it will be tougher.”
“I understand,” she said,” we can do it. We hike all the time. The kids can make it.”
“OK,” Dave said, suddenly tired. He wished she hadn’t yawned. He was really feeling the
extra 20 pounds of peanut he was carrying, “I’m sorry to have to push them so. I’ll try to
stop more often.”
Rhonda nodded. She was surprising Dave,” I understand. You’re a good man, Mr.
McGrath.”
“I’m just doing my job,” Dave said, surprised at his answer as soon as it left his mouth.
“You must be a guardian angel, then,” said Rhonda, standing up. She turned to mother
hen her kids.
‘Just a man’ Dave thought. ‘A man who hopes he doesn’t get you all killed.’
The rain gradually tapered off, and with two more stops, Dave found an area he thought
would be good. A tall stand of white pine surrounded by grape vines, the leaves still
clinging tightly to the only homes they had ever known. McGrath placed a now sleeping
girl on the ground as gently as he could, and lay his pack next to her protectively. The
other dropped to the ground with soft groans and sights. Dave spoke to Tony.
“I’m going to check this stand out. Keep an eye on things. If anything happens, go back
the way we came for a quarter mile and wait for me, alright?”
“Alright,” said Tony, “Look, I want to thank you for everything…”
“Later,” said Dave, trying not to be rude. “We can catch up after we’ve slept, OK?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Tony.
Dave placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Tony. I’m glad you’re
covering my back.” Tony puffed out a little.
“Thanks. Want me to cover our trail?”
“That’d be great. Just don’t shoot me-I’ll be coming back the way I left.”
“Gotcha.”
Dave stopped and let Rhonda know which way he was going and what to do if there was
trouble. As he left he added, “Jennifer is sleeping next to my pack.”
Dave crept around the copse, and finding no easy way in finally crawled and wriggled his
way in to the stand. Just as he expected, the center area was mostly devoid of brush. A
little cathedral under weeping boughs that dripped cold water from their tips. He circled
the area and again found no obvious path out. He sighed and pulled out his Spyderco
knife. Slinging the FAL on his back, he cut a small circuitous path out of the thicket. This
took him almost a half hour. Rejoining the group, he led them to the entrance. The
children crawled right in, Rhonda following. Dave and Tony half dragged, half carried
their packs into the glade, the three trips taking their toll on the men’s elbows, knees, and
energy. Finally ensconced in their new home, Dave returned and did his best to both
cover their back trail and camouflage the tunnel.
He returned to the thicket to find all of the children awake, looking at him.
“Can we have our soup now?” asked Carolyn.
“Sure you can. Take off those bags and sit on them. I’ll get the soup on.”
Dave removed the esbit stove and his canteen and cup. Digging a hole in the moist earth,
he placed a full hexamine block in it. Laying on his side and curling around the hole, he
quickly flicked his disposable lighter and after a moment ignited the block. He quickly
pulled his firefly light out of his t-shirt where the little LED light hung on his dog tag
chain, and removed two cans of condensed chicken noodle soup from his pack. These
were cans recovered from the empty house what seemed like weeks ago, but was only
days. Using the P-38 which hung from the same chain, Dave quickly emptied them into
the cup, which was already on the flame. Hissing and sputtering, the soup quickly gave
off an aroma that made Daves stomach grumble. He, too, was hungry. He filled the cup
the rest of the way with water, noting that virtually no sign of the burning block was
visible. Tony came over. “The kids all have cups and forks and spoons in their packs.”
“Good,” said Dave, “get them out.”
Soon, but not soon enough for the chilled, hungry kids, the soup was hot. The children ate
hungrily, and soon were yawning over empty cups. Dave helped Rhonda and Tony string
up their blue tarp. Dave spread his two ponchos over this to provide camouflage. They
barely reached the ends of the shelter. Dave and Tony spread pine needles over the
ponchos. Dave told him they would add more when it was light.
Rhonda spread out Daves pad and the self inflating pads from her and Tony’s packs.
Spreading out the sleeping bags she and Tony had, she zipped them together to make one
large bag. The children, stripped of their sodden shoes and clothes, were dressed in dry
sweat suits. Dave was glad to see the kids things were packed in trash bags in their little
book bags. Soon, all four kids were fast asleep. The adults gathered near the little pit
Dave had dug. “I’ve got some Chicken stew in my pack,” said Rhonda, "since the kids
ate all the soup, would you like to cook that?”
Dave and Tony quickly agreed. Soon the large can of stew was on another hexie block.
They ate in silence, each drinking their own water, the couple from matching Nalgene
bottles. Finishing up, Dave said “I’ll take first watch. You guys get some sleep.” Tony
and Rhonda nodded and crawled under the tarp.
Dave gathered his things, buried and camoued the fire pit, and repacked as much of his
pack as he could. Putting on his recovered polypro top, he put on his warm, dry heavy
wool socks, relaced his boots, and leaned against a tree, watching over his wards like the
guardian angel he would never admit to being.
As Dave watched the road, traffic started to pass by him, almost all of it from the East,
moving away from the population center of Boston and its surrounding suburbs. He took
time to drink water and scarf down a can of beef stew. He took the binos and wrapped
them in his snipers face veil, a camouflaged net that would hide his lenses but not
obscure his vision appreciably. Under his little hooch he changed out of his green
Dockers and into his OG jungle pants. Like his shirt it was sprayed in light stripes with
black spray paint. He tied them off at his ankles, and made sure his hiking boots were tied
with the laces tucked away. Rooting around in one of the ammo pouches on his belt, he
removed an old section of Humvee mirror he had carried in the service. It had been cut
down and backed with green duct tape, “hundred mile an hour tape” in Army parlance.
Using tubes of green and brown camo crème he painted his face and neck, using the
lighter green on the dark areas of his face, and the dark brown on the high points. Making
sure he covered his ears well, he tried to slip into his “tactical’ mindset. This was the
most dangerous area he had to cross, and he was sure that after this he would be home
free.
Taking his wind up radio from his pack, he again scanned the AM bands. What he heard
only intensified his tactical animal.
“…..message repeats. Forces from the International Security Assistance Forces, ISAF,”
the announcer droned, pronouncing ISAF “issaf”, “are here to protect their individual
nations interests in the United States. They are also volunteering to assist the Department
of Homeland Security in protecting the American people from terrorists, both foreign and
domestic. Do not interfere with them as they go about their duties. Their presence here is
in compliance with United Nations Declaration 6664, and covered under the International
Agreement on Infrastructure Protection. President Billary has opened Americas doors to
our friends from Europe, who have stated that they wish to repay America for all that
America has done for the world. Compliance with the ISAF forces is mandated by special
legislation passed last night in an emergency joint session of Congress, and further
backed by a U.N. resolution passed this morning in New York City.
These cities in our broadcast area are currently under curfew-Boston and surrounding
suburbs, Providence and Rhode Island, Hartford and east, and the New York City
metropolitan area, to include western Connecticut. Anyone attempting to defect to areas
that are refusing to comply with the legal government of the United States are subject to
arrest and detainment. Any residents of the following states and areas who are now in the
safe areas-Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and northern New York state, and any other
state not mentioned, are to report to the closest US Post Office facility to register with the
department of Homeland Security. As you know by now, President Billary has declared
specific areas to be in open violation of many of the security measures passed in light of
the terrorism committed against the American people in the last two years. ISAF troops
will be moving into these areas to protect the assets committed to their respective
governments under the Debt Consolidation and Repatriation Act of this year. Persons are
directed by Executive Order 5712 to stay in their homes or places of work, unless
transiting from one to the other. Anyone on the road in violation of this order will be
subject to detainment for an unspecified length of time. Anyone found to be in possession
of prohibited items, including firearms, narcotics, food for more than a two day period,
gasoline over 15 gallons, any gasoline in separate container, and two way radios capable
of broadcasting on frequencies above 23 centimeters, will be subject to forfeiture of
property used to facilitate said crimes, and civil and criminal penalties not to exceed $1
million in fines and/or 25 years in federal detention.”
“We repeat-if you are traveling, return to your homes. If you are in possession of
prohibited items, turn them in to your local Homeland Security forces. If you have
knowledge of persons violating these terms, please contact your local Homeland Defense
forces. Rewards of up to $500 are now being offered for successful reports of antisocial
hoarding and activity.”
“In local news, a Moosup couple is dead after their son in law, currently wanted on
charges of antisocial behavior through non compliance with the Terrorist Control Act,
engaged police in a three hour standoff this week. Police have identified David McGrath,
43, of Lower Quinonapaug, as the shooter. The standoff ended with the house of Mr. and
Mrs. Ted Peterson being burned to the ground after the couple were killed execution style
by McGrath. Police reports indicate that McGrath, a decorated Army veteran and known
anti-government activist, used an accelerant to set the two story on fire, likely gasoline.
Three police officers were killed, and seven wounded in the shootout. McGraths remains
were not found in the charred rubble of the house, and he is presumed to be armed and
very dangerous. A manhunt is underway for him.”
“The Electrical Resource Allocation Board today announced new restrictions….”
Dave listened as the voice droned on. Well, he thought, I wonder where the bloodhounds
are. He thought about the implications of the news report and decided it didn’t change his
situation much. He was committing about 40 felonies as it was, two or three more
wouldn’t matter, especially since he hadn’t committed any acts of murder, and the laws
he was breaking were unconstitutional anyway.
The activity on the road increased. Dave watched in grim fascination the parade of cars
and trucks heading west. “Where do they think they are going?” he asked himself. “No
place to go, nothing to do when they get there.” Dave looked at the road below. It was the
second time in his life he had seen refuges.
------------------------------------------------
The African sun beat down on the men dressed in their brown body armor and Kevlar
helmets. The scout platoon and their attached snipers were in an overwatch position,
covering a roadblock manned by men from their battalions B Company. For this
deployment they were using armored Humvees, mounting either M-2 HB Browning .50
caliber MG’s or MK-19 40mm MG’s. Dave had his squad dismount their MK-19 and
mount it on its M-3 tripod to cover the main road. The second Humvees M-2 was
deployed on the top of the Humvee to provide flanking fire on the secondary road that
came in from their left. If needed the Humvee could rapidly move to one of three
preselected spots to provide covering fire for the grunts 300 Meters below them. The GI’s
manning the roadblock were in a tight spot. Their Rules of Engagement prevented them
from firing on anyone unless they themselves were fired upon. Manning a roadblock,
their job was to prevent people from reaching the capitol, which lay 20 some odd miles
behind them.
The mass of refuges was spurred into a panic by reports that the rebel forces were moving
towards them on a murderous, drug fueled spree of rapine and destruction. They were
rumored to practice a bizarre form of human sacrifice (the specifics of which were left to
the listeners imagination), and were known for their brutality to those not of their tribe.
As far as the Americans were concerned, they should be allowed to shoot everyone of
them they saw carrying a gun. Ironically, that is just what they were not allowed to do.
Several times they saw armed gangs of men assaulting members of the approaching
throng and drag them, screaming, into the tree line.
“Let me smoke them, Sergeant,” asked Specialist Ruiz, watching through his crosshairs
as yet another nubile young woman was dragged into the trees, her children left alone and
crying by the side of the road. The emotion in his voice was bordering on tears.
“No can do, Ruiz,” answered Dave, “I don’t like it either, but we have orders.”
“Well the orders suck,” spat the tall Cuban. Ruiz’s parents had risked their lives to take
their three small children on a perilous trip in a leaky boat, landing in the dead of night
near Miami. They had taught him about the evils of oppression form an early age.
Dave agreed, although he held his tongue. Surely the American government would see
what was happening and let them act with honor. Act as soldiers.
The soldiers manning the checkpoint had a harder time. Trying unsuccessfully to stem the
flow of wretched, half starved women and children, they saw the fear and desperation in
their eyes. Although ordered to not allow anyone passage towards the beleaguered capitol,
in practice they only presented token resistance to the refuges, who only had to step
around the roadblock to pass by. The Americans had been ordered to block the road, and
they did. Their orders did not tell them to block the shoulders of the road. The troops
manning the roadblock did what they could for the injured refuges. Sometimes it was
nothing more than retightening looses bandages or handing out aspirin. The faces devoid
of hope would be something they all would remember forever.
The refuge tide continued as the sun got higher in the sky. Typically, all activity slowed
or stopped from close to noon until after 2, due to the heat. As the crowd continued to
pulse forward like a living beast with a thousand legs, sounds of gunfire reached the ears
of the entrenched Americans. Gradually the sounds of motors could be heard between the
bursts of gunfire. The throng scattered as a murmur came up the line. People surged past
the Americans, seeking the safety of having the paratroopers between themselves and the
gunfire. Finally Ruiz and Günter, his spotter, reported to Dave.
“Sergeant McGrath, I’ve got three or more trucks coming up the road, big Mercedes
troop carriers with Russian 51’s on top. They look like they’re headed this way.”
“Roger that, Ruiz. Keep an eye on them and remember our ROE, even if it does suck.”
“Hooah, Sergeant,” answered Ruiz, settling the Remington M-24 into his shoulder.
McGrath was in the habit of carrying his own radio, and unclipped the handset to call a
report to Battalion.
“Sierra 5-3, sierra 5-3, this is Lima 2-niner, come in, over.”
Static hissed from the handset.
“Lima 2-niner, this is Sierra 5-3, go ahead, over.”
“5-3, we’ve got at least three troop trucks…” Ruiz waved a hand, “…break”
“I’ve got four trucks with troops and three technicals.”
“5-3, that’s four troop trucks with heavy weapons and three technicals approaching our
location. They are attacking the civilians, break.”…..”we request permission, again, to
engage them, over.”
A pause, as if the puzzle palace were discussing the merits of that.
“Negative, 2-niner, negative. The ROE stands, You are only to fire to protect the lives of
US Forces and US citizens, do you copy, over?”
Dave sounded as dejected as he felt, “Roger, 5-3, I understand. Lima 2-niner, OUT.”
“Listen up,” Said Dave into his privately purchased Marine VHF radio, “If these
t*rdburglars so much as point a weapon at you, light them up. Got it?”
“Roger”
“Hooah”
“It’s about time” came the replies from the other Humvee and the troops at the roadblock.
Dave had given the NCO in charge at the roadblock the extra handheld radio that
operated above the frequency of their heavy GI Issue ones. In Africa, they weren’t
worried about what the FCC would say.
The trucks pulled up to the roadblock in a cloud of dry, red dust. From the lead truck a
gaudily clad man leapt down, his movements quick and jerky.
A voice came over the VHF “Looks like he’s hopped up.”
They watched through binos and riflescopes as the man approached the roadblock and
began screaming at the American soldiers.
“Recon,” said the voice of the B Company NCO, “keep your eyes on these dudes, they’re
demanding we give them our weapons and vehicles and clear the roadblock, as they
represent the sovereign government of this rat infested sewer.”
“Roger, we gotcher back, Sgt. Gooch.”
The wildly gesticulating “sovereign government representative” turned to the vehicles,
waving at the men to come down. Dave saw the B Company Platoon Leader in charge
leave the cover of his Humvee and approach the “leader”. As he called out, the convoy
leader whirled, pointing his AK at the Lieutenant ever so briefly.
“Take’em,” said Dave. Ruiz fired, and the man started doing another dance as most of his
head disappeared in a pink cloud. The Lt. stood there open-mouthed as the nearly
headless corpse ran around the road, blood spurting from the remains of his throat. Before
the echo of Ruiz’ shot had died another shot rang out. The driver of the lead truck had
just shot the stunned Lt. The Lt. dropped heavily onto the macadam. Almost immediately
a cacophony of gunfire rang out. The .50’s on the Humvees, two at the roadblock and the
one to Dave’s left, opened up. The two Mk-19’s were in action, pumping 40mm high
velocity grenades into the troop compartments and engine areas of the trucks. The troops
at the roadblock were keeping up a steady fire, the M-4’s, M-203’s, SAWs, and the
platoons two M-240’s were raking the technicals and trucks. Dave saw that the two Mk-
19’s were alternating fire to keep a constant rain of 40mm HE on target.
Dave immediately keyed his radio, “Sierra 5-3, this is Lima 2-niner, we are in contact,
repeat, we are in contact, we need immediate fire support at preregistration point
Budweiser, say again, Budweiser, we have seven vehicles full of armed hostiles engaging
US Troops. We have one Line 2, over.”
“Copy 2-niner, one line 2. Negative on fire support, the ambassador sent them packing,
said they were too offensive, break…”
“…we are moving up the reaction force, they should be there in 20 mikes, over.”
“Roger, 5-3. We will give you a Sitrep in five, 2-niner out.” Releasing his headset, he
dropped from kneeling to prone and flipped the covers off of his ACOG scope.
Looking over to Randt, one of two M-203 gunners on the hill. “Randt, take James and
Hansen and cover the left flank, I don’t want to get surrounded.”
“Hooah that, Sergeant,” Randt replied, getting up and tearing off down the line.
Reacquiring his reticule, Dave saw that most of the rebels were dead. Apparently one
technical had gotten away. He drew a bead on a man firing an RPD in a long burst over
the heads of the B Company men at the roadblock, and slowly squeezed the trigger. Dave
felt the relatively soft recoil of the M-4, and when he reacquired his sights, the man was
laying on his back, the RPD silent. Dave heard the steady fire from Ruiz’ bolt gun as he
engaged several more rebel troops. Finally, he saw no more movement.
“Cease fire, cease fire,” he called, hearing the command get picked up and down down
the line.
“Only shoot the live ones… heavies, take turns reloading.”
Dave got on the VHF as firing faded at the roadblock. “Gooch, how’s the LT?” Silence.
Then a voice, “He’s OK, got hit in the plate, no penetration. He figured playing possum
was safer than John Wayneing it between his p*ssed off men and our new 50 meter
qualification range.”
Dave laughed. “I’m gonna have my sniper and shooters make sure those toads are dead.
Reaction force should be here in fifteen.”
“Yeah, we’re on with Battalion right now on our push. Thanks for the cover, that was
some shot, I thought the L.T. was a goner for sure.”
“Thanks, I’ll let Ruiz know.”
Ruiz looked over at him with a question on his face. “Sgt Gooch says good shot, Ruiz.”
Ruiz shot him back a grin. “Now show me headshots on any of them that look like they
have the strength to pull a trigger.”
Ruiz nodded, “My pleasure,” he said, and set about his task with a grim smile on his face.
Dave called out, “All my ACOG’ers, make sure those POS’s are dead. The rest of you, I
want casualty and ammo check, now.” Dave walked the perimeter as the infrequent shot
rang out from Ruiz’s position. Checking on his men, he found no wounded, no shortage
of ammo (having Humvees to hump ammo sure helps, mused Dave), and good spirits all
around.
“About time we did something proactive,” said Barnes.
“Hey Sergeant, we hit any collaterals?” asked Weissman, his junior RTO.
“None that I could see. Those people boogied before that last truck stopped moving.”
Charlie Company showed up in the backs of several Humvees and Medium trucks, and
secured the area. After policing up the battlefield, they had 67 confirmed dead tangoes,
two American flesh wounds, and about one thousand cheering refuges.
After this incident the troops from Daves brigade were relegated to a role on the coast of
the country where they were less likely to encounter armed hostiles. The Ambassador
wanted them gone, saying that people had a way of dying around paratroopers. Daves
men nodded their assent. “Bad people die around us,” said Weissman. Coming as it did
from a pimply 18 year old just out of basic, his sentiment was well received by the
company.
Dave crawled back into his hooch and leaned back to think for a few minutes while
listening to the AM band for any intel. As he looked at the space blanket hanging above
him, he paused. If he was going to be here all day, he didn’t want to create more of a
thermal signature than he had to. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out his lightweight
poncho and a few bungees, and strung it up a few inches under the space blanket to
provide a heat barrier between his body and the silver blanket. Feeling better, he turned
on his Yaesu. Noon was approaching. Being further north and on higher ground, plus
being in such tight quarters, he decided against stringing up his 292 antenna. Instead he
connected it to the little radio and strung it around his hide. Hopefully it would do its job.
Sure enough, at noon, he heard the carrier wave on todays frequency. Motley Crue’s song
‘Home Sweet Home’ came over the earpiece. Dave smiled. His friends certainly had their
sense of humor intact. As the song ended Sandy’s voice came on the air. “Hurry home”
she said. The signal went off. Dave smiled. I am hurrying, he thought. But speed could
kill. Better to get home safe than to ‘Go home’ to the camp fire in the sky. He still had
things to do.
A stead throbbing sound broke him from his reverie. Helicopters. Big ones, maybe
Chinooks. He crawled to the lip of his hide and scanned the road and sky.
To the right, towards Boston, the road went up another rise and turned from sight. At the
lower edge of the rise, he saw eight figures, four from each side of the road, run out. All
were dressed in woodland BDU’s and carried rifles. Some dragged freshly cut trees,
others donned fluorescent vests. Signaling for the cars on the road to stop, and reinforcing
that signal with rifles at the shoulder, they dragged the trees across the road to make a
crude roadblock. As they did, Dave saw two men, one carrying an ALICE pack with a
long whip antenna poking up from it. The man with him took the proffered handset and
spoke into it. The sound of the helos grew louder, the ground beginning to vibrate so that
Dave could feel it, his whole body thrumming. Coming in over the highway, from the
little valley to the north east, came two huge birds, which banked and turned towards
Dave. He recognized them as Sea Stallions or a variant, CH-53’s. These bore a green and
dark brown camouflage pattern Dave recalled as being German. Viewing them with his
binos, Dave saw the distinctive Maltese cross on the nose of the closest one, with a white
rectangle below which bore in black letters ‘ISAF’. The helos quickly set down on the
highway, on each side, the one on Daves side closer by a hundred meters or so. He saw
crew chiefs scramble from the rear of the big birds as two Apache attack helicopters
swept over them, a hundred feet from the tree tops.
As Dave watched, he could see activity at the rear of the CH-53’s. Suddenly from the rear
of one, then the other, camouflaged jeeps of a kind Dave only recognized as being
European sped from the rear of each bird. One sped towards the blocking crew, the other
headed past Dave to stop just past the overpass to the left of the hide. Turning his focus
back to the Stallions, Daves mouth dropped open as a small armored vehicle rolled off
the back ramp. Hardly taller then the crew chief, it sported a tiny turret with what looked
like a 20mm cannon sticking out from it. “Weasels” said Dave. He certainly never
expected to see German Fallshirmjaeger armor in New England in the Fall. Like the scout
cars, one Weasel headed for the overpass and one for the crude roadblock. Then troops
began pouring from the Stallions, about 30 in all. They carried rolls of wire, steel pickets,
and other items. They fell in and started towards the overpass. As they cleared the
helicopters, the big birds engines changed in pitch, and they took off one at a time,
heading West. Dave watched the troops set up a better roadblock with triple strand
concertina wire, engineer pickets, and a growing sandbagged emplacement near the
bridge abutments. What the heck was going on, he wondered?
Chapter 10 – Redemption
While Dave was observing all of the activity taking place below his lair, he heard the
familiar whine of turbo diesel engines. Looking left, he saw three State Police cruisers
and a line of Army 2 ½ ton trucks, known as ‘Deuce and a Halfs’, along with several
Humvees coming from the West. Since the active duty forces had changed their vehicles
to a new cab over style in the late ‘90’s and early 21st Century, Dave supposed they were
National Guard vehicles. Tailgates thunked with their distinctive hinge creak and metallic
slam, and the area under the bridge and beyond was quickly turned into a roadblock with
a large enclosed area, and a smaller holding area next to a green canvas GP Large tent.
Hearing car engines, he looked right. The team at the far end had removed their crude
roadblock and were waving cars though. Dave now understood what was happening. The
roadblock was to stop the exodus from the city. This was a natural chokepoint-the high
walls of the highway cut prevented escape, as did the steep embankments of the highway
over the swamp. Cars had no escape, and people on foot would be spotted if they tried to
escape. Dave watched as the first line of cars pulled up to the checkpoint. Standard stuff,
papers checked, some cars were searched. There was an unpaved area between the two
sides of the highway, marked with the “official use only” signs seen all over America.
Most of the cars were reversing direction by crossing there, and headed back east towards
Boston and the suburbs. A growing number of cars and small trucks were directed into
the larger fenced area, where the people in them were handcuffed and forced to sit as
their vehicles were searched for contraband. Dave saw only one or two vehicles that were
allowed to leave this area. After the search, the bound people were escorted to the smaller
pen, and brought, one at a time, into the large tent. Dave eventually saw a line leaving the
tent. Those people, hands still bound, were led up a small steel tailgate ladder and loaded
into the back of waiting deuces.
After several hours of this, the traffic died to a trickle. Dave imagined the ISAF forces,
who Dave had started referring to the “as if” forces, had set up several of these
checkpoints along the Interstate. While he watched, the last of the travelers were led to
the waiting Deuces, which drove East themselves. The remaining troops tore down the
wire enclosures, and loaded them into the backs of Humvees and Deuce and a Half’s, and
packed up the large tent. A detail of men was tearing down the large wire enclosure while
another went around siphoning all of the parked cars of fuel. Just as the men finished, two
tow trucks pulled up. A German troop in mottle Flectarn camo spoke to them for a few
minutes, gesturing towards the large parking lot. Dave could see the drivers nodding in
response. They then each hooked into a car and drove off, chains rattling. The little
Weasel tanks, which had served as quite an intimidator during the roadblock operation,
rolled east, escorted by the German scout cars and the three State Police Cruisers.
Soon all that was left was a lot of empty cars and SUV’s, and one two and a half ton
truck. A small detail of Flectarn clad troops carrying G-36’s was sweeping the area for
anything left behind. Soon they completed their police call, loaded the truck, and drove
off. Silence returned to the little valley. Dave was impressed with the speed and
efficiency of the operation. They came in quick, set up fast, and maintained a constant
presence up and down the line of waiting cars, and then were gone, on to the next mission.
“Fighting these clowns might be harder than we think,” Dave mused. While the soldiers
had taken in the roadblock, Dave had paid special attention to the crew and the far end of
the valley. As they had come out of the tree line, Dave didn’t know whether they had
walked in from the next valley over or had been laying up, watching the road. Dave had
seen no other troops in the wooded areas, and hoped that some type of patrol unit wasn’t
keeping the valley under constant observation. He remained vigilant for any sign of
enemy activity
As afternoon turned into evening clouds swept in from the south west. Dave grunted to
himself. ‘At least it will be warmer tonight, if it doesn’t rain’ he noted. Dave reapplied
his camouflage face paint in the fading light, and then started taking down his hooch.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The last thing Dave took down, just before he left, was the space blanket. It was now
pitch black. Where before a cloudy night had provided ambient light by reflected back to
earth the illumination of millions of electric lights, the cloud cover now merely prevented
starlight from reaching the ground. Dave took comfort in the dark. Although he didn't
have any night vision with him, even the most advanced light amplification tubes would
be barely functional in such dark without using artificial light, usually in integral infra red
illuminator. That would severely restrict their operating range, and provide Dave with an
edge. Securing his pack, Dave crawled away from his hide. When he was what he judged
a safe distance away from the edge, he stood and began patrolling east, towards the little
valley. He veered away from the highway, and went deeper into the woods. The darkness
coupled with the vegetation prevented him from walking too quickly. Dave found himself
wishing he had some kind of eye protection as stray branches found his face in the inky
black. As he moved, a light rain started to fall. Dave silently cursed the cold water that
made him shiver while at the same time thanking God for the increased security the rain
provided a lone traveler.
After Dave decided that the rain wasn't going to stop, he called a halt, and quickly
donned his thin Gore-Tex rain suit. Although he was already wet, he didn't want to
chance hypothermia, and the insulation effect of the extra material would help him retain
body heat. Once again on the move, he found that maybe he was too hot. 'Damned if you
do…' he thought to himself, sidling around a large oak that sprang out of the dark,
'damned if you don't.' His course took him into thick scrub oak and bracken that hindered
his movement. He slowly made his way around the growths, using his tritium compass to
maintain a rough course east. After an hour of cautious movement, he came to a small
watercourse that was running shallowly and rapidly with rainwater. Dave felt that the
asphalt lined way was likely a drain from the parking lot he had crossed the night before.
Bearing left, he followed it down into the valley, and shortly emerged at a wide creek,
lined with rushes and cattails. Dave crouched at the edge, straining to hear any unnatural
noises above the rain. He gave it a slow three minute count, then slowly stood up, his leg
muscles already cramping from the cold, the exertion, and, Dave commented to himself
wryly, old age. He turned and stepped away from the edge several paces. Dropping his
pack, he removed the Cold Steel ODA from his belt and started cutting reeds. After a few
minutes work, he resheathed the blade and began to weave the reeds through the cover of
his pack. After ensuring, mostly by touch, that the pack was camo’ed correctly, he added
some material to his boonie hat.
Carrying the pack to the waters edge, he slowly stretched. Then, with a resigned feeling
of anticipation, stepped into the creek. As he had hoped, it wasn't very deep. Water
tended not to run deep in the Fall in these parts, and during his listening halt he had
determined that it was moving slowly, if at all. He backed up to the bank and pulled on
his pack, leaving the waist belt open. If he fell into the water and needed to ditch the pack,
he didn't want to have to struggle any more than needed. He moved cautiously along the
creek, the bank on his immediate left. By his estimation he had between 500 to 600 yards
to go to get to the Turnpike. He would walk for a time, then stop and listen. All he heard
was the rain on the vegetation and water, until he was what he thought was 200 yards
from the highway.
Coming from the other side of the creek he first heard what he thought was a wounded
animal. He took off his hat and cupped one hand behind his ear to hear better. Replacing
his hat, he crossed the creek, and listening again. This time it was clear. It was a child
crying. Naturally this peaked Daves interest. Was it bait for a clever ambush? He then
heard a second sound, a female voice. He couldn't make out the words, but it sounded as
if she were trying to comfort the child. Dave considered his options. He ruled out ambush,
just because it would be far easier for a patrol to watch the creek, the most natural line of
travel in the area, unless of course, there was a trail he was unaware of over there. Dave
thought it out. The area definitely saw humans in better times. Various detrious was
apparent in the woods-paper fast food wrappers, beverage cans and bottles, an old
shopping cart. Probably people fishing or kids coming out here on weekend nights. Dave
slowly scanned a 360 around where he was standing. Seeing nothing, he moved North a
few more feet and listened again. This time he heard another voice, deeper, a male. It was
in a lively but hushed conversation with the female voice. Dave crept down stream.
Coming to a cut out in the bank, he felt with his hand and found enough room to drop his
pack silently. Feeling light as air without the pack, Dave again moved towards the sounds.
Moving, stopping, listening, moving again. He came to a clear area, apparently there was
a path on the other side, and it or a branch of it led to this fishing spot. Dave noted
Styrofoam cups and some cans floating near shore. Dropping to the prone at the extreme
edge of the opening, he again cupped his hand to his ear.
The female voice said "…gotten us into this. She's sick, tired, and hungry. We can't do
this. We should go back."
"We can't," replied the male voice, "I'll get locked up and what will happen to you then?"
"At least we’ll be warm and dry", said the miserable woman.
Dave crept further up the trail.
"But I'll be in jail, you too, I bet. And the kids will go to foster homes. No way. We have
to get away."
"But we don't even know where we're going," whined the woman. Dave estimated them
to be about 20 feet away. He could now hear them clearly over the steady rain.
"We’ll find something. I can always find work," Dave heard the man say, his thick accent
dropping almost all of the "R" from work. A thought registered with Dave-the mans a
local.
"I've always taken care of you guys, and I always will. We'll find a way around the
Turnpike, somehow."
The woman was in full blown 'I feel sorry for myself and I don't care' mode. "Every exit
ramp is has cops on it. It's too far. It's raining, for gawds sake, and the kids are shivering
under that blue thing. We're all gonna get pneumonia and die out here in the woods. I
want to go home."
Dave was close enough now to hear their feet crunching leaves as they shuffled their feet.
"No, Rhonda, that's it. We ain't going back. We're gonna find a way to the other side of
this thing if it kills me."
Dave stood up and stepped towards them. Startled, they both backpedaled, the woman
moving protectively towards where Dave presumed the kids were under "the blue thing".
"If you want to cross the highway come with me."
Dave could see the man struggling with something on his shoulder. "Leave rifle there,
mister. If I wanted you dead you'd be dead right now. Rhonda," he said, keeping his FAL
on the man, "I can get you across safely. Trust me."
"Howdjoo know my name," she threw back at him.
"I've been listening to you for the last five minutes. The kids are under a blue thing, and
he's going to find work wherever you're headed."
"Who are you?"
"I'm not a fed," McGrath answered, "I'm heading home to New Hampshire. Under the
current situation, this is the only way I can do so."
The couple looked to where the other was standing, not seeing each other in the dark.
"Who are you?" asked the man.
"Like you. I'm trying to avoid being locked up. Like you, too, I'm not a criminal. Look, I
left my pack upstream. I’m going to go get it and come back. Make up your minds by the
time I return. I have a schedule.”
Dave turned on his heel and followed the path to the creek. He heard the couple having a
hushed but vigorous conversation as he walked away.
When Dave returned, again approaching the couple cautiously in case they decided to
bushwhack him. They were still talking when he returned.
“Well, what’s it going to be?” Dave asked directly.
Dave could hear the woman shuffle her feet over the light rain. “We don’t know what to
do….”
Dave stepped closer to her, remembering a line from a movie. He stuck out his hand to
her and said, “Come with me if you want to live.” Ironically, she took his hand and said,
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Dave was silent for a moment. One more answer and he was gone. “If I wanted to kill
you for food I could have already done so. If I wanted to rape you I’d have killed
everybody else here first. You have 30 seconds.”
Just as he stopped, he heard a child sneeze.
Rhonda said, “Jennifer, quiet,” but Dave was already next to the blue tarp, dropping his
pack. He pulled out his red lensed light and looked at four bedraggled children, ranging
from what he guessed was three to twelve. “Hi,” he said, in his friendliest voice, “I’m Mr.
McGrath. Do you guys want some hot soup and a dry bed?”
The littlest child, a tow headed girl with huge eyes, nodded meekly while holding a plush
duck.
“I can get you across the road and then we can camp and have hot food. Would you like
to come with me?”
The little girl looked up at Dave in the red light. “What kind of soup?”
Dave grinned, “I have chicken noodle soup, Ramen soup, and beef stew. Do you like any
of those?”
The girl nodded, “I like Chicken noodle snoop.”
“Well, let’s get you packed.” Dave stood and turned his light on the parents. “Pack your
stuff, you’re coming with me.” The man nodded, “OK.”
The former NCO looked at the man. About 5’9”, average build, no beer belly, long hair,
wearing jeans, hiking boots, a flannel shirt under what likely was a blue rain jacket (it
was hard to tell in the red light). He had an SKS on his shoulder by its sling. “Why are
you guys running?” Dave asked.
Rhonda answered, “’Cause he sent a letter to our Congressman telling him he wasn’t
giving up his stupid gun. ‘From my cold dead hands’ he signed it. My cousins husbands
partner at the dart league is a cop, and Tony’s name was on a list of people the were
going to arrest for not turning in their guns. He told him and my cousin called me. We
packed and left right away, but we ran into roadblocks everywhere. We parked at the
Shop and Save and we been walking evah since.”
Dave considered this a moment. “Tony, do you know how to use that rifle?”
“Yeah man, I was in the Navy.”
“What’d you do,” asked Dave, cocking his head in the dark.
“Machinist Mate on the Theodore Roosevelt.”
“OK,” said Dave, “’The Big Stick, huh?”
He could hear the pride in Tony’s voice,” That’s right, the baddest ship to sail the Seven
Seas.”
“Well, Lt. McHale, we have got to move, and like right now. The longer we stand here in
the rain, the closer we get to losing the cover of darkness.”
“Right”, said Tony, resolve in his voice, “Rhonda, you get the kids, I’ll get our
backpacks.”
Dave watched them, letting Tony borrow his red lensed light. Rhonda was struggling to
get the kids ready. Dave walked over.
“Do the kids have raincoats?”
“No,” said Rhonda, anxiety in her voice,” we packed so fast I forgot them. I could kill
him for this,” she stated, meaning Tony.
“Well, let me help you then.” Dave turned to get his pack.
“You have four kids parkas (she pronounced it ‘pahkahs’) in your pack?”
Dave gave an unseen nod, “The next best thing.”
Several minutes later they were moving out, Tony and Rhonda carrying surprisingly high
quality internal frame packs of purple and blue. Cindy, the little one, was perched on
Dave’s shoulders, resting between the pack, which rose higher than Daves head, and his
neck. Dave was happy she didn’t need diapers. The other kids held onto either their
mother or fathers hands, and had backpacks of their own-small day packs Dave was sure
they used as school bags in less trying times. Clad in rain parkas made out of four of the
trash bags Dave had in his pack, they looked like shapeless blobs with heads and legs. On
the little girl giving Daves neck a temporary cramp the bag covered her feet, too, if she
stood up. The family followed Dave to the creek.
“How are we crossing?” asked Rhonda, a little too loudly. Dave stepped over to her.
Leaning to her ear, he whispered, “Rhonda, you need to be quiet.” A little louder, he
addressed his wards, “From here on out you need to be silent. No talking. No sneezing,”
he felt little hands pushing his hat over his eyes and heard a giggle, “and no fun until I
say so. Got it?” He heard a tiny voice say, “Yes, Mr. McGwath.”
He turned to Rhonda and Tony. “Follow me, Rhonda first, Tony, you don’t shoot
anything unless I fire first, got it?”
“Loud and clear,” whispered Tony.
“Let’s go,” Dave said with finality, and stepped into the creek. He heard voices hiss as
the family followed him into the cold water. The rain had picked up, and was falling
steadily in large, quick drops. He turned his head and whispered, “Hey, Cindy Lou Hoo,
put my hat on.” Small hands pulled his boonie cap off and a tiny voice whispered in his
ear, so close it tickled, “This is a big hat, Mister McGwath.”
They followed the stream without incident until, looming before them in the dark, was
the embankment, the Interstate devoid of traffic 30 or more feet above them. They could
sense it more than they could see it. As they got closer, the water got deeper and the
stream spread out into a large pool. Dave walked to the side, where the land was marshy,
and turned. “You guys stay here a minute. Cindy Lou, do you want to get down?”
He felt the girl move, but couldn’t tell if she was nodding yes or shaking no. “I can’t see
you.” Smiled Dave. The little voice in his ear whispered, “No.”
“OK, hold on,” Dave moved towards the embankment, wading through the pool that had
collected. He moved from the right edge of the pool to the left, and soon found what he
was looking for. A large culvert ran under the road, big enough to let the stream through
if it rained enough, and large enough for deer to cross through of the felt so inclined. He
let his L1A1 hang on the assault sling and reached up and grabbed Jennifer under each
arm. “I’m gonna take you down now,” and swung her off of his shoulders. He stood her
in the culvert and turned his back. Sitting a little, he let the weight of the pack rest on the
lip of the corrugated steel and took off the pack. Stretching his neck to each side, he
heard it crack. Much better, he said to himself. Turning to Cindy, he said, “you’ll be safe
here with your duck. I’ll be back in a minute with your Mom and Dad, OK?”
“What about my sisters and brother?” the little voice asked.
“I’ll bring them, too, Cindy.”
Dave waded straight out. The water never got to his waist, so he was sure the oldest two
kids could make it. Finding the family, he took the next youngest, Carolyn, and put her
on his now unburdened shoulders. Signaling with his hands to the others, they followed
him into the middle of the giant puddle.
Reaching the culvert, he set Carolyn down next to his pack. Turning, he picked up Julia,
and then the oldest child, Jake. He then climbed up into the steel cave himself. Moving
his pack deeper into the tunnel, he told the children in a whisper to go up to it and wait.
He then helped Rhonda and Tony up.
“How did you know this was here?” asked Rhonda.
“A hunch,” whispered Dave back to her,” let’s get the kids and get out of here.”
The parents reassured their kids that it was OK, and Dave reshouldered his pack in the
tight confines of the steel tube. Leading the way, Dave set out well ahead of the family.
He found a few areas where sticks and debris blocked the way, which he cleared as
quietly as he could. The only sounds were his breathing and the footsteps of the six
people behind him. Wishing they could deaden the echo more, Dave soon reached the
end of the culvert. Another pool had formed here. He sat on the wet edge and lowered
himself into the water. When his feet didn’t touch bottom, he quickly sat back up.
Dropping his pack, he waited a few moments for Rhonda to catch up with him. “Wait
here,” he whispered, and holding his rifle up high with one hand he again lowered
himself. His feet touched bottom at about four feet. Pulling his pack after him, he laid it
in the water as silently as he could. As he habitually kept everything in it in waterproof
bags of one kind or another, he wasn’t concerned about the contents getting damaged.
Pulling the pack behind him like a large green and mottled pool toy, Dave held the FAL
in his right hand, keeping the muzzle pointing wherever his head was turned. Reaching
the far shore, far in this case being a hundred feet or so, Dave noted that the water was
about two feet deep. He placed his pack on the shore, beneath a large tree which
overgrew the bank. He then returned to the family. “Tony, I want you to come with me.
Peanut,” he said to the older girl, “I’m going to carry you to the shore.” She nodded her
assent and when Dave turned she climbed onto his shoulders. “Hold on,” whispered Dave,
the rifle in his hands. He felt her hands grasp him. “Not so tight,” said Dave as she
squeezed his neck tightly. He felt the hands slacken. Tony sat on the edge and slid right
in. His pack took to this badly, and immediately turned turtle on him, dunking him into
the frigid and dirty water. Dave felt the small hands squeeze him as he took two steps and
reached under, grabbing a handful of black hair. Struggling to maintain his balance, Dave
pulled Tony to his feet, and immediately fell on his tail into four feet of water. He went
full under, letting his rifle fall free, and felt the girl let go and kick away. Struggling to
regain his footing, Dave the super soldier got to his feet, choking and sputtering. He
turned and saw a smiling face floating just above the rain spattered surface. “Are you
OK?” he and Carolyn asked each other simultaneously. They both grinned. Dave lifted
the young girl out of the water and seated her on the edge of the culvert. Tony was
stangling next to him, looking like a half drowned rat. His pack was floating next to his
waist. “Let’s try that again,” suggested Dave, “Tony, carry our pack over our head.”
Tony nodded, and picked the pack up. “Still got our rifle?” Tony grinned sheepishly, and
walked over to the culvert. Putting his pack down next to his daughter, he said “No.”
Quickly turning away, he walked out a few steps and dropped under the water. It took
him several tries to find it. “We’ll clean it up after,” said Dave. “Gotcha,” answered the
chagrined man. Tony stayed with Daves pack while Dave ferried the children over. Jake,
the boy, was tall enough to make it on his own, and accompanied his mother on the final
trip.
Once again burdened with their packs, the small group, with Dave in the lead and Tony
again on slack, followed a much smaller stream through a low area of marshes. They
moved as quickly and as silently as they could until they came to a spot where a spur of
dry land jutted into the marsh like an island rising from the sea. Dave changed their
course and they crossed the dry land and the shelter of the trees overhead. Following the
contours of the valley, the traveled in silence for almost an hour until Dave felt a tug on
his left ear. “Mister McGwath?” a sleepy voice said, “I’m cold and hungwy and tired.
When can I have some soup?”
Dave stopped and took a knee, glad for the excuse. He looked at his watch, and pressed a
button on the side. The illuminated face told him the time. “Sweetie, the sun will be up in
two or three hours, and I need to find us a place where we can be safe from the bad men.
It won’t be long, I promise.”
“OK,” she said. Dave felt her shiver, “but my duck is awful cold.”
Dave swung the little girl down as her family gathered around. Dave looked up, “You
guys need to spread out. Rhonda, check on the kids. Tony, go back 20 feet and watch our
trail.”
“OK, boss,” said Tony.
Dave lowered his pack thankfully, and rummaged around, pulling out his medium weight
polypro top. He told Jennifer, “Help me put this on you,” as he pulled off her plastic bag.
He put her in the shirt, which hung on her like drapery. “I can put my duck in here,” She
said. Dave gave her a snicker and put the bag back on her. “Do you like the hat?” he
asked. “Oh yes, it’s my favorite,” she said emphatically. Dave laughed more loudly.
“Mine too,” he said. Checking with Rhonda, he found that all of the kids were cold, tired,
and unhappy. He made sure they had warm shirts on, with Rhondas help, and had them
drink water and go to the toilet. He pulled Rhonda aside. “We need to move until we find
a good spot to stop for the day.” Rhonda yawned in reply. “I know it’s tough on the kids,
but if we get found it will be tougher.”
“I understand,” she said,” we can do it. We hike all the time. The kids can make it.”
“OK,” Dave said, suddenly tired. He wished she hadn’t yawned. He was really feeling the
extra 20 pounds of peanut he was carrying, “I’m sorry to have to push them so. I’ll try to
stop more often.”
Rhonda nodded. She was surprising Dave,” I understand. You’re a good man, Mr.
McGrath.”
“I’m just doing my job,” Dave said, surprised at his answer as soon as it left his mouth.
“You must be a guardian angel, then,” said Rhonda, standing up. She turned to mother
hen her kids.
‘Just a man’ Dave thought. ‘A man who hopes he doesn’t get you all killed.’
The rain gradually tapered off, and with two more stops, Dave found an area he thought
would be good. A tall stand of white pine surrounded by grape vines, the leaves still
clinging tightly to the only homes they had ever known. McGrath placed a now sleeping
girl on the ground as gently as he could, and lay his pack next to her protectively. The
other dropped to the ground with soft groans and sights. Dave spoke to Tony.
“I’m going to check this stand out. Keep an eye on things. If anything happens, go back
the way we came for a quarter mile and wait for me, alright?”
“Alright,” said Tony, “Look, I want to thank you for everything…”
“Later,” said Dave, trying not to be rude. “We can catch up after we’ve slept, OK?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Tony.
Dave placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Tony. I’m glad you’re
covering my back.” Tony puffed out a little.
“Thanks. Want me to cover our trail?”
“That’d be great. Just don’t shoot me-I’ll be coming back the way I left.”
“Gotcha.”
Dave stopped and let Rhonda know which way he was going and what to do if there was
trouble. As he left he added, “Jennifer is sleeping next to my pack.”
Dave crept around the copse, and finding no easy way in finally crawled and wriggled his
way in to the stand. Just as he expected, the center area was mostly devoid of brush. A
little cathedral under weeping boughs that dripped cold water from their tips. He circled
the area and again found no obvious path out. He sighed and pulled out his Spyderco
knife. Slinging the FAL on his back, he cut a small circuitous path out of the thicket. This
took him almost a half hour. Rejoining the group, he led them to the entrance. The
children crawled right in, Rhonda following. Dave and Tony half dragged, half carried
their packs into the glade, the three trips taking their toll on the men’s elbows, knees, and
energy. Finally ensconced in their new home, Dave returned and did his best to both
cover their back trail and camouflage the tunnel.
He returned to the thicket to find all of the children awake, looking at him.
“Can we have our soup now?” asked Carolyn.
“Sure you can. Take off those bags and sit on them. I’ll get the soup on.”
Dave removed the esbit stove and his canteen and cup. Digging a hole in the moist earth,
he placed a full hexamine block in it. Laying on his side and curling around the hole, he
quickly flicked his disposable lighter and after a moment ignited the block. He quickly
pulled his firefly light out of his t-shirt where the little LED light hung on his dog tag
chain, and removed two cans of condensed chicken noodle soup from his pack. These
were cans recovered from the empty house what seemed like weeks ago, but was only
days. Using the P-38 which hung from the same chain, Dave quickly emptied them into
the cup, which was already on the flame. Hissing and sputtering, the soup quickly gave
off an aroma that made Daves stomach grumble. He, too, was hungry. He filled the cup
the rest of the way with water, noting that virtually no sign of the burning block was
visible. Tony came over. “The kids all have cups and forks and spoons in their packs.”
“Good,” said Dave, “get them out.”
Soon, but not soon enough for the chilled, hungry kids, the soup was hot. The children ate
hungrily, and soon were yawning over empty cups. Dave helped Rhonda and Tony string
up their blue tarp. Dave spread his two ponchos over this to provide camouflage. They
barely reached the ends of the shelter. Dave and Tony spread pine needles over the
ponchos. Dave told him they would add more when it was light.
Rhonda spread out Daves pad and the self inflating pads from her and Tony’s packs.
Spreading out the sleeping bags she and Tony had, she zipped them together to make one
large bag. The children, stripped of their sodden shoes and clothes, were dressed in dry
sweat suits. Dave was glad to see the kids things were packed in trash bags in their little
book bags. Soon, all four kids were fast asleep. The adults gathered near the little pit
Dave had dug. “I’ve got some Chicken stew in my pack,” said Rhonda, "since the kids
ate all the soup, would you like to cook that?”
Dave and Tony quickly agreed. Soon the large can of stew was on another hexie block.
They ate in silence, each drinking their own water, the couple from matching Nalgene
bottles. Finishing up, Dave said “I’ll take first watch. You guys get some sleep.” Tony
and Rhonda nodded and crawled under the tarp.
Dave gathered his things, buried and camoued the fire pit, and repacked as much of his
pack as he could. Putting on his recovered polypro top, he put on his warm, dry heavy
wool socks, relaced his boots, and leaned against a tree, watching over his wards like the
guardian angel he would never admit to being.