Willard
01-27-2007, 08:45 AM
Chapter 15
Dave threw himself to the right and landed on his shoulder, rolling to the prone as a long
burst from the SAW tore the air over his head. As he finished his mag change, he heard
the distinct hollow sound of several 40mm grenade launchers and an increasing
cacaphony of small arms fire. From his vantage point he saw a number of Woodland clad
men rushing forward firing past him. He rolled over and began shooting at fleeting forms
in the woods, even as the first 40mm grenades started exploding beyond the foreign
interlopers. The gunners started walking the rounds back towards their lines, driving the
Germans forward into the American fire. Dave reloaded as another troop in Woodland
ran up and dropped into the prone next to him, immediately firing his M-4 at the trapped
forces. ‘Who the hell are you guys?” Dave shouted above the din. The man looked over
his buttstock at Dave. It was his friend Jim.
The remaining German troops were mopped up in short order, with a few die-hards
requiring an extra helping of 40mm persuasion. As Dave and Jim greeted each other
properly, voices called out through the woods.
“What are you doing here?” asked Dave, still surprised to see his friend.
“We got your last message and decided to come get you. Ran into a partol from the
NHDF..”
“The what?”
Jim smiled, “The New Hampshire Defense Forces. We’ll catch you up later. Anyway,
they were going the same way, and here we are.”
“I had four kids and a couple with me…”
”They’re safe at the trucks. Listen, we’ve got to clean this mess up and get out of here.
They may have called for backup. They’ve been running a few gunships near here.”
”All right, let’s do it, then.”
“We’re gonna take what we can and split.”
Just then a NHDF soldier ran up to Jim.
“Sir, the Captain would like to see you up at the parking area,” he pointed, “we’ve got
some trucks we’re gonna take.”
“I’ll be right there. Dave, let’s check it out.”
They walked down the now quiet path.
“I’ve gotta find my pack, if there’s anything left of it.”
“We’ll get a detail-Hey, private!”
The runner turned, “Yes, sir?”
“Secure all the civilian packs and have them brought up to the captain.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied. Calling out, he moved off.
They passed four men carrying a poncho by the corners, straining to carry the rubberized
material is it sagged from the weight of the captured weapons and equipment they had
put in the center. In the woods, NHDF men were stripping the dead of their gear-weapons,
LBE, uniforms, ammo.
Dave stooped to pick up a discarded G-36 magazine. “Who else is with you?”
Jim cocked his head, “Steve, Scott, Rico, Will. We had to leave a few folks behind.
We’ve got 20 or so DF guys. How many Krauts?”
“’bout a platoon. Thanks for coming.”
“You’d do the same. But no more rescue missions, got it?”
Dave broke a smile, “Guaranteed.”
In the parking area DF troops were loading the captured equipment on the back of a
deuce. They approached man who was wearing no rank but was obviously in charge.
“This your friend, Jim?”
“Yeah, Dave, Captain Carlson.”
“Thanks for the help, Captain.”
“Thank you. We’ve been trying to catch up with these guys for a few days. You led them
right to us.”
“Well, I’ll try not to be bait again.”
“That’s a good idea if you want to stay alive,” said the Captain, just a hint of irony in his
voice, “We’ll be done in a few minutes.” Turning, he spoke to Jim, “We’re gonna
rendevous with your friends up the road a bit. Why don’t you guys take a seat in the
deuce-the other one took a hit from a ‘203-and we’ll finish up here.”
Jim nodded. “Thanks again,” said Dave.
“That’s what we do,” replied the Captain, turning away.
They boarded the truck, climbing up the tailgate by pulling themselves up by the safety
strap. Stepping over the gear that littered the bottom of the truck, the sat on the bench
seats on the ouside of the bed.
“Looks like they’ve been looting,” remarked Jim, pointing at the gear.
“Lot’s of civilian stuff, too,” said Dave.
“Good stuff, too,” Jim noticed, turning a pack with his boot as troopers started loading
gear in the back. “Lowe packs, H&K 91’s….”
“Crap!” blurted Dave, “I’ve seen those before…” He started rummaging through the gear.
Benelli shotguns, USP pistols….blood. “Crap. These clowns were on the trail a few days
ago.”
Jim looked at him for a moment.
“They were moving in the daylight, fires at night, thought they were high speed.”
Jim was silent. What could he say?
“There were around 18 or 20 or them, men and women.”
“Load’em up and move’em out!” the Captain called. The remaining troops quickly
climbed aboard as the deisel roared to life. The deuce led the German jeep out of the
parking area and turned left, following the dirt road to a paved road running left and right.
Turning right, they gained speed and put distance between themselves and the battlefield.
Dave sat back and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the air on his face. It’s nice to be
alive, he thought.
They met up with the rest of the convoy in a small town square ten miles away. Dave and
his friends enjoyed a brief reunion as Jim and the Captain conversed.
Dave introduced the Antonetti’s to his friends. As they were doing so, Jim came over and
said to them, “We’ve got the deuce and some of the captured stuff. Steve, drive the deuce,
check the fuel. Dave, you can ride with me in Will’s truck. Let’s go. You folks,” he
pointed at the family, “your packs are in the deuce, why don’t you guys hop on in back?”
“Sounds better than walking,” agreed Tony.
All of the assembled men gave their approval too, and moved to their vehicles, helping
the Antonetti kids get into the high bed of the captured truck.
Jim looked over at Dave “Why don’t you crash in the back seat? You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” said Dave, “and I wore my best shirt, too.”
“It suits the occasion.”
Dave got in the truck, but was too keyed up to sleep. He had Jim fill him in on recent
events.
“The Governor called out the militia and the response has been overwhelming. We have
about 130 folks, men and women, in town. We’ve found two other guys who were
combat arms, one is a Nam vet, the other Cold War. They’re a little too old for direct
action, but they will be great for local staff and training. We’re forming squads according
to age and ability, as well as who wants to be with who. We heard from Ice Spring (the
next town over-Willard) thay had a whole group of guys march into town in formation,
all equipped the same. Seems like a lot of small groups of friends had already formed
small units well before this broke.”
“That sounds familiar,” Dave remarked, deadpan.
“Doesn’t it, though? The basic idea is that our youngest and most capable will enlist in
the DF, the rest will receive training but remain in town to give depth to the states
defense. We’re calling them “Minutemen”, and they’ll be ready to respond to an
incursion beyond the border or any kind of deep penetration raid.”
”What about commo?” Dave asked.
“We’ve got a net covering the whole state, with repeaters all over. The local HAM clubs
are all supporting the effort 100%. We’re trying not to use too much long range stuff to
deny their locations to the Feds and ISAF toads. But we’ve got some real radio nuts
working for us.”
“How about supply?”
“We’re establishing that. Most folks want to be Joe Snuffy with a rifle and not the
delivery driver. We are doing what we can locally. Pretty much everybody has more than
one gun, the problem is ammo-not many had more than a few boxes. The state has
enough 5.56 and 7.62 to last a while. That AR manufacturer, Pine Tree? They had almost
filled an order for Botswana, the state bought it instead, 25,000 M-4 clones, 10 mags per
weapon, and their warehouse was holding the ammo-over half a million rounds of M-855
on stripper clips. Plus we have Sig in Exeter running around the clock, and that import
house in Maine, just over the border, Millenium? They gave the state the inventory of
their warehouses-tens of thousands of C&R rifles, a ton of MG’s in their bonded
warehouse they hadn’t cut up yet, bunch of other stuff. So we may have 30,000 guys with
M-48 Mausers and Nagant rifles in the hills before too long, as they’ll be the only thing
with ammo. Heard they cut a tax deal for the cost. We’ve got the fishing fleet in
Portsmouth and Maine working full time again, and with all the farms we won’t starve.
“The old National Guard units had two companies of armor, so we’ve got Abrams tanks,
but I hear not much ammo for them. We’ve got an attack helo company, one of Hueys,
KC-135’s and F-15’s, and a Marine Reserve artillery unit that knows where its loyalty
lies. Also, did you know there was a huge Air Force listening post up north of Jefferson?”
Dave shook his head, “No.”
“Well not many did. I just found out yesterday. Low key operation. They’ve all come
over, so we’ve got super Elint (electronic Intelligence-Willard) capabilities. They had a
mondo security force, armored Humvees with MK-19’s, LAWs, AT-4’s, and four Stinger
launchers and a dozen missiles, which is a coup. All kinds of stuff is turning up, too. One
guy in town drove in with a German Maxim in the bed of his truck, said his great
grandfather brought it home from the war. We got a bunch of belts and ammo coming
from Millenium for it.”
Dave grinned. He loved water cooled MG’s.
“We’re coordinating with the state headquarters, and we’ll be training the town, as we’re
the most military experienced group.”
“What about Vermont?” asked Dave. Vermont lay a few miles West f otheir town, over
the Connecticutt River.
“Well, they’ve got tons of folks clamoring to join us and Maine, but the pinkoes in
Burlington love the U.N. that they probably would let blue helmets rape their sisters. But
we’ve got a huge support base there, and most of the lefties are burnt out hippies who
will just try to stay out of the whole shebang.”
“We’ve got pickets all along the border with Massachusetts, but not enough. That group
we whacked today was in and out of the areas for nearly a week, tracking down folks like
you. They’re mostly former German Border Police from the old days, give the old
unemployed East German cops something to do. They’re not good soldiers, though.
According to what we’ve heard the regular German forces ARE pretty good.”
“Are there any other countries besides Germany here?” asked Dave.
Jim thought, “The Germans are in New England. Brazilians in Louisiana and down south.
French in Michigan and Illinois. Mexican, Guatemalan, and Nicaraguan in the Southwest,
which has become the largest shooting preserve in the world, according to the Texans
we’ve heard on the radio. The good old boys aren’t taking kindly to foreign troops.”
“We’ve got Chinese in California, Long Beach is their staging area, apparently they had
tons of stuff prepositioned there. Chinks took part of Washington, the Boeing factory,
Bremerton, which was razed hours before they got there by the garrison, all the subs are
at sea. Right now the military is mostly sitting on their asses wondering what to do. A lot
of desertions, lots of stuff getting stolen, weapons, ammo, vehicles.”
“I’ve missed a lot,” Dave noted, “I’ll get up to speed soon. Look, I’m gonna try to crash-
I’m starting to fade here.”
“Sure. We’re still a couple of hours away.”
Dave dozed as the diesel powered Chevy pickup wound its way up backroads and state
highways towards home. Home. What a nice feeling, he thought to himself dreamily,
going home.
The convoy of one deuce and a half and two pickup trucks reached Dave’s house in a few
hours. Taking the back way was slower but safer than the highways. The McGraths
enjoyed a tearful and happy reunion. Sandy was still mourning her parents, and the kids
were glad their Dad was home.
Chapter 16
Dave watched the truck struggling up the road. He didn't know what grade it was, just
that it was a good, steep, New England mountain road. The truck was European, dark
green and brown, a cab over design with a soldier poking up from the right side of the
cab manning the MG, bundled up against the chill mountain air. Behind the truck was a
trailer, a US one, wooden sides up, canvas cover stretched tautly across. This particular
truck was a straggler, the convoy it was part of having pulled progressively farther away
from it with each twist and bend of the road. Perfect for picking off without much trouble.
Through the 24x60 spotting scope Dave could see no tell tale antenna. Only about one in
ten of the invaders trucks had them anyway, and any short range hand held would be
severely hampered by the rugged terrain.
Turning and nodding, Dave set in motion a hasty ambush that had been planned for
weeks. Will, on the 60 Meter HAM radio, whispered a short phrase.
In prepared positions near the road the word was quietly passed. A four part ambush team
was already in position. A security team to the north, to hinder any relief fromt he main
convoy body. One to the South, for a similar purpose. The Assault Team, on the road,
that would execute the actual mission, and a Support Team, in overwatch, made up of
Dave and his three friends on the military crest of a larger hill, and two three-man sniper
teams, each armed with one .50 caliber rifle and one captured tripod mounted MG-3 a
piece. Part of the support team was also below, about a mile away on a logging road. Five
four wheel drive pickups with medical crew. They would treat any casualties, secure any
EPW's, haul away what they could of the enemies equipment, and carry off the assault
team. The security teams were using mountain bikes to egress from their positions, and
Dave's teams were using four wheeled ATV's and old logging trails.
The truck wheezed around the corner, pine trees beckoning softly from the far side of the
road, a guardrail on the near, blocking closer examination of a mostly dry streambed 100
or more feet below. As the truck passed a particularly distinctive dwarf line, a flurry of
shots rang out. From the far side of the road, a Patriot shooter put a round in the drivers
ear from a range of about 60 feet. The .30-30 round caused a rapid seperation of the
drivers cranial components, and the expanded bullet struck the standing gunner in the
thigh. Before the gunner could react to that, he himself took nearly a dozen rounds in the
upper body. He jerked spasmodically and then fell, leaking badly, into the cab of the
truck. The truck itself stalled out almost immediately, and started rolling backwards
slowly on the steep grade. Three men leapt from prepared positions and rushed the truck,
pistols in hand. Leaping to the doors, they each popped a quick round into the torsoes of
the occupants. The man on the drivers side, in better times a CDL driver for a large cross
country freight hauler, pulled open the door, pushed the moslty headless corpse over, and
applied the brakes. The hiss of the airbrakes engaging filled the roadside. "Send the
moving men" came the command from the ambush site. The pickups started up and sped
towards the site. On the road the men set up a hasty near perimeter while the search team
pulled the Germans from the truck and recovered the contents of their pockets. Stripping
the men of their LBE's, they took any documents and paperworks fromt he cab of the
truck, and detached the topside machinegun. All the material was quickly assembled ont
he roadside when Buck, the ambush team commander, suggested Manny, the CDL driver,
try to start the truck. Manny hopped in and the truck started right up.
"Just take the truck," Buck called out. The search team quickly threw all of the material
back into the cab, one of the men climbing in and starting to remount the rooftop MG.
They had discussed but not really expected to take the truck undamaged.
Buck had his RTO let the others know the truck was secure and being driven by patriots.
The captured truck and trailer headed towards the fire road, passing the five pickups
heading the other way. Taking the fire road, the team drove the truck slowly and carefully
to the prepared site where the five pickups had hidden. The old cave had once been used
by a frugal farmer as a cattle pen, and the men had seen plenty of evidence that the
natural opening in the rocks had been expanded over the years by pick, shovel, and
dynamite. Using a ground guide, they backed the truck into the opening, leaving enough
room for more vehicles to get in. The crew then quickly dismounted, and hurried to cover
their backtrail as best they could, scattering leaves and pine needles over the tracks, and
removing crushed and broken dead fall, and replacing it with unbroken deadfall from the
woods.
Back at the ambush site the trucks successfully picked up the remaining ambushers and
headed downhill, taking another seemingly impassable road back to their rally point.
Seeing the trucks leave and getting a radioed message that the ambush commander had a
good headcount, Dave called in his flank security elements. The six men quickly packed
their respective gear onto their bikes and walked the heavily burdened bikes down the hill.
After waiting ten minutes to give them time to withdraw a reasonable distance from their
old positions, Dave gave the word, and he and his two men quickly swept their site for
any evidence of their being there, started their ATV’s and hastily withdrew. Within
minutes even the sound of their muffled engines was a memory.
After Dave had returned home from his long trek, he took a few days to recover, mentally
and physically. He caught up with Sandy, and shared with her the pain of losing her
parents. His kids needed some Dad time, so Dave took them with him while he visited
with his friends. He returned Wills FAL and Makarov, thanking him for their use. Will,
naturally, was glad to have played some small part in Daves escape, and even offered
them to Dave as a souvenir of his march. Dave declined. He didn’t think he’d forget
anything about his ordeal until Kingdom come.
In catching up with his friends, he learned that the preparations Jim had alluded to were
further underway than he expected. Many of the local youths had already left for service
in the NHDF, and to Daves surprise, many girls had answered the call, to serve in support
and medical roles. The local minutemen were training twice a week, and Daves group
was meeting with one or two teams daily giving instruction and suggestions. Will
commented to Dave and the few others present that he was glad he had gone through
Special Forces training. Robin Sage, the final exercise of the SF Q Course, dropped a
student team into a simulated occupied country to aid the local guerillas, played by other
soldiers and Special Forces cadre. They were especially difficult to work with, and to
succeed in the course and later as a SF trooper one had to develop finesse in working
with men who were convinced they didn’t need help. More than once would Daves group
run into a team of Minutemen who were convinced they needed no advice from a bunch
of robots trained by the Army. Once or twice quick man on man competitions
demonstrated the ability of the volunteer trainers, but mostly it fell to simply showing,
through action, the benefits of the knowledge Daves group could provide.
Using captured weapons and firearms from the group, Daves team equipped a small
number of Minutemen with modern military firearms. They had eventually found several
Minutemen teams that were receptive to the instruction offered, and had in fact asked to
be incorporated into the group. Will, Jim, and the others declined, feeling that for what
the purpose of the Minutemen were, and without a broader command structure, they
should stay formed in smaller, decentralized units. They continued to emphasize,
however, the importance of teamwork for planned operations, and managed to hold
biweekly joint exercises for the towns forces. The basic plan was for the Minutemen to
react to “situations” as teams, similar to how a decentralized local fire department would
work. The responding team would coordinate by radio, if they could, with the other teams
in the area. The local police department of three full time officers and four reserves
would act as the command post, and the radio room would be staffed 24/7. All
information would come through there, and it would act as a relay site for messages.
During any incident, the Ops Center would notify the surrounding communities of the
situation, so that they could prepare to respond to provide aid, or to react to another
incident should more than one arise. In this way they could spread the word throughout
the area, in an ever expanding circle, calling in militia from an ever increasing region to
assist. Most areas planned to send no more than half of their local forces to another sector
of responsibility, just in case there was a coordinated series of strikes planned by the
ISAF forces. But it was felt that they could turn out a few thousand heavily armed men to
any area in about 8 hours. And that wasn’t counting the NHDF response.
Most folks wanted to help in any way they could, and Dave was surprised by the
resourcefulness of the locals. He saw members of the small radio controlled flyers club
demonstrating how they could provide real time intelligence by using small digital video
cameras mounted on their planes, feeding info to laptop computers. They could
conceivably turn the small planes into guided missiles, although the payload would be
small. Farmers donated large amounts of fertilizer used to prepare improvised explosives.
The high school chemistry teacher had a large collection of antique science books that
provided information on how to manufacture detonators and agricultural explosives. He
quickly went about assembling a team of mostly honors chemistry students to
manufacture what they could. The local dentist provided free dental work to the
Minutemen, as a tooth problem would sideline a man just as effectively as a bullet. The
local Fire Department, already 100% volunteer, provided first aid training to the
Minutemen patrols. Local climbers gave instruction on alpine climbing, and experienced
hikers and naturalists gave classes on wild edibles and wilderness survival. The local
churches established support networks to see that no person went without-during the
coming winter the cold could be a real danger to the elderly and children.
As preparations continued, the local elderly activities group provided free day care to
parents who were training one or two days a week. The children benfitted by gaining a
whole new family of doting grandparents, and the elders benefitted by having neew
purpose to their lives. Many of the bonds formed through the babysitting would help
form support networks beneficial to both parties. The elderly had a lot of information to
offer to an interested person. Many folks who lived alone were invited to live wioth
families who needed extra help. More than few people were surprised at just how busy
they had gotten, and having an extra set of eyes and hands in a house would be worth the
extra mouth to feed. Naturally, in a number of other cases people who were in poor
positions for survival were invited to live at the home of an elderly benefactor. Many of
the older generation still ived on farms, and had large houses with wood heat and canned
food. The extra help a few younger hands and backs could provide would make a
powerless winter more bearable, and Spring chores that much more manageable. To a
person with a family living in an apartment or tract home it could be quite an
improvement.
Many families also just moved in with friends. Jim and Steve had members of the group
at their places, and the Antonettis had moved into Daves house, taking two rooms
upstairs and the upstairs bathroom. Dave and Tony had set up Daves spare woodstove in
what was the kids play room but now served as combination kids room and living room
for Tony, Rhonda, and their children. They usually ate together, but it was nice for both
families to have their own space. It was also good to have the extra security at the house.
Jake had been given one of Daves “spare” AK clones, and had been drilled on its use.
Rhonda and Tony retained their G-36’s, and Sandy had pretty much claimed Daves old
M-1 Carbine, which she had, under the circumstances, grown quite attached to. Dave
tried to convince her to use one of his CAR-15’s, but she was insistent that she keep the
carbine. All of the kids attended class in town, at the parochial school, which had tried to
maintain as normal a schedule and curriculum as they could. Providing a stable
environment for the kids was something they all wanted, even though the kids had
demonstrated greater acceptance of the new social dynamic than many adults. The school
had, however, added lessons on first aid, fire safety and for the older kids fire fighting,
and other lessons on air raids and how to react to occupation and other kinds of attacks.
All of the smaller children were matched with an older child as a “buddy” for the
purposes of evacuation or emergency. The kids were encouraged to carry what was
essentially a small bug out bag, but was called an overnight bag, with comfort items,
clothes, food, water, a flashlight, and a blanket.
Dave and his group continued their own preparations, too. They cached many more of
their guns, ammo, and military goods. The prepped bug out locations, and stocked them
with food and warm gear for their families. With a total lack of gun laws, many folks
started going a little crazy. The local machine shop had gotten plans for AR-15 auto sears
and lightning links, and were making them like they were going out of style. Any
information on converting a firearm to full auto was traded like crazy, and the group had
to talk any number of locals out of carrying full auto Glocks, Barettas, and Colts. The
groups did have two semi auto 1919 Brownings, and they got the machine shop treatment
in short order.
Dave also had a secret. In his vault, he carefully marked a spot on the wall, and picked up
his pick. Using the pointy end, he struck the cement wall. Fragments of concrete struck
him in the face, and he was thankful for the goggles he wore. Working carefully, he
chipped away at the wall until a metal frame was visible. When Dave had the walls
poured, he had inserted a sealed metal box into the framework. He now uncovered the
door to the metal box. Using his battery operated drill, which had taken two days to
charge via the solar charger, Dave drilled a hole in the upper right corner. He then used a
hacksaw blade to cut the sheetmetal. Once he had cut about four inches down, and
another four to the left from the hole, he used the pick to pry the box open. Inside sat
some plastic wrapped bundles, which he carefully removed. He placed them on a wooden
chair nearby, and grabbed a large pile of newspaper and some brake cleaner. Picking up
the larger of the packages, he remembered back to when he had received this special
gift….
When Dave was in his late 20’s Mr. Houston passed away, devastating Dave. He had
been a friend, mentor, surrogate grandfather, father, and uncle rolled into one. Dave
received the call from his mother, but arrived at the hospital too late to say goodbye.
Instead he comforted Mrs. Houston, and was comforted by her. It was a long night for
Dave, and he took most of two weeks off from school and work to help Mrs. Houston
with the details of the funeral and to come to terms with his loss. He visited Mrs. Houston
at least twice a month thereafter, and helped her as he could, as she prepared her house
for sale. She had, after the loss of her husband, decided to move to Florida to live with
her sister. The sale of the farm house and the remaining acreage would provide her with
enough money to live her remaining years in comfort, and she would be away from the
daily reminders of her husband. She was having a tough time coping, too.
Several weeks before she was to leave, Dave received a call from her.
“Dave, dear, can you come up this weekend?” she asked Dave.
“Sure Mrs. Houston, I can come up Sunday, if that’s all right. Is everything OK?” Dave
asked.
“Oh, of course. I’m getting ready to get rid of a lot of junk, and I thought I’d let you go
through it first. Anything you don’t want you can take to the dump for me, or to Sillivans
Antiques. Come up after 2, so I can go to church. You know where the spare key is if you
get here early.”
……………………
Dave showed up a little after 1, and took a walk around the old barn and the remaining
fields. So much work for the farmers, clearing land, building the stone walls which still
stood after 200 years or more. Memories of his youth flooded Daves mind. It was a lot
when you had something as special as what he had, Dave thought. It wasn’t the usual
prefab neighborhood and neighbors you hardly knew.
Mrs Houston came home and Dave greeted her from her porch swing.
“Come in, Dave, come in,” she said, walking up her front steps one at a time, age taking
its toll on her, too.
After catching up, Mrs Houston gently clasped Daves hand in hers a the kitchen table.
She looked at him with her eyes, which were still clear blue and as beautiful as they had
been in her youth. “Dave, I have something I want you to have. It was Mr. Houstons, and
I figure you’d like to go through it and see if you’d like anything. He wanted you to have
it,” she said, her voice choking, “He said you’d know what to do with it.”
Dave was puzzled “What is it?” he asked.
“His old Marine footlocker. Just old uniforms and stuff, junk really.”
”It’s not junk,” said Dave, “I’d be honored to have anything like that of his. But if you
can sell it and get more money for Florida…”
”Oh, pe-shaw! I’ve got plenty enough. And he wanted you to have it, dear. I think he
believed that as long as you thought of him he’d never die.”
“He’ll never be gone to me,” said Dave, tears in his eyes.
She patted his hand as only she could, “He loved you to dear.”
Dave had loaded the old footlocker into his truck, and then Mrs Houston had shooed him
off, saying she had people coming over to look at the house. Dave took it back to his
apartment, and sat it down in front of his couch. He slowly opened the trunk. On top,
neatly folded, was a sheet of typing paper. Dave unfolded it and read the neatly typed
letter, dated nearly ten years before.
“Dear Dave,
I knew you’d get this eventually. I hope you have a long happy life with a wonderful girl
like I have had (apparently).
I want you to know that I have always been proud of you, and I wish I had had a son like
you.
From one warrior to another, I want you to have this trunk. Do what you want with the
contents, I haven’t opened it except for today, in 30 years. I think you’ll like the buried
treasure.
I’ll save you a seat by the campfire, but I don’t want to see you where I am for a long
time. We’ll have all the time in the world then, so don’t be in a hurry, got it? Jumping out
of planes…you had us worried to death.
All my love, and the love of Jesus Christ to you, son.”
It took Dave more than a while to compose himself. When he had done so, he looked
back in the trunk. There was a faded, slightly musty Marine Dress Blue uniform. Dave
picked it up and looked at it. Some ribbons, he recognized a few. Purple heart, Bronze
star, National Defense ribbon. He’d look up the others later. Under that his white hat. A
Sam Browne belt, and under that papers. Dave went through them. Newspaper clippings
about the war in the Pacific, and a few about the China-Burma-India theatre. A brown
folder, with a few faded citations. Purple Heart-wounds received while flying over the
CBI theatre. Bronze Star for rallying the defense of an airfield in Burma. Dave thought to
himself that this was a bit different from being a simple Corsair mechanic in the Pacific.
In readin the papers it became apparent that Mr Houston had volunteered to take a
temporary assignment in the CBI theatre. The why he needed to wasn’t very clear, but
Dave was used to the weird and sometimes seemingly nonsensical ways of the armed
forces. While there his arifield had come under ground attack by a Japanese companylikely
lost and starving in the jungle, making a last desperate attempt at getting food, it
said in a letter Mr Houston wrote but never sent home. There he was wounded and got a
bronze star for fighting off the Japanese Marines. Recovery in a hospital, then back to his
unit.
Dave then found a diary. Mr Houston had kept a daily journal throughout the war. Dave
would eventually read all of it, finding the answers to several questions along the way,
and learning that the reason CBI imported people was for a special project transporting
Nationalist Chinese inot China to block Mao’s men from seizing several key areas, and
supplying the Chindits from the air. But for now he placed it to one side, and lifted the
top tray out of the footlocker. Under that was a folded Japanese uniform and a broken
samuri sword, its blade pierced perfectly by a large caliber shell. He hoped the answer the
THAT question was in the diary. The uniform itself was bloody and peppered with bullet
holes. Dave placed that to one side and removed a Japanese bayonet and a rising sun flag,
with japanese figures scrawled on it, and signed by a number of American. Under that
was a package, wrapped in brown paper, tied with string. Dave picked it up. Heavy. No
writing on it. He wondered if he should open it. Upon consideration, he figured this must
be the “treasure”. He cut the string with his pocket knife, and carefully unwrapped a
cardboard box. He cut the yellowed tape that secured the box, and opened it up. Laid
neatly across the box was a familiar tubular shape. Daves jaw dropped open. He would
later find out from the diary that it was from a pile intended for the Chindits or OSS but
had been used to defend the airfield, and later brought home.
Dave picked it up, and looked it over. It was in great shape, having been stored since it
was just three years old. Dave wasn’t quite sure what he would do with it, but he was
now the proud owner of a silenced Sten Mk2s.
Dave was lost in reminiscing as he cleaned the Sten of its preservative grease. He cleaned
the 12 magazines he had for the gun, three were with it and he had picked up more. It was
nice to be able to own it legally now. Besides, he felt might need it soon.
Dave threw himself to the right and landed on his shoulder, rolling to the prone as a long
burst from the SAW tore the air over his head. As he finished his mag change, he heard
the distinct hollow sound of several 40mm grenade launchers and an increasing
cacaphony of small arms fire. From his vantage point he saw a number of Woodland clad
men rushing forward firing past him. He rolled over and began shooting at fleeting forms
in the woods, even as the first 40mm grenades started exploding beyond the foreign
interlopers. The gunners started walking the rounds back towards their lines, driving the
Germans forward into the American fire. Dave reloaded as another troop in Woodland
ran up and dropped into the prone next to him, immediately firing his M-4 at the trapped
forces. ‘Who the hell are you guys?” Dave shouted above the din. The man looked over
his buttstock at Dave. It was his friend Jim.
The remaining German troops were mopped up in short order, with a few die-hards
requiring an extra helping of 40mm persuasion. As Dave and Jim greeted each other
properly, voices called out through the woods.
“What are you doing here?” asked Dave, still surprised to see his friend.
“We got your last message and decided to come get you. Ran into a partol from the
NHDF..”
“The what?”
Jim smiled, “The New Hampshire Defense Forces. We’ll catch you up later. Anyway,
they were going the same way, and here we are.”
“I had four kids and a couple with me…”
”They’re safe at the trucks. Listen, we’ve got to clean this mess up and get out of here.
They may have called for backup. They’ve been running a few gunships near here.”
”All right, let’s do it, then.”
“We’re gonna take what we can and split.”
Just then a NHDF soldier ran up to Jim.
“Sir, the Captain would like to see you up at the parking area,” he pointed, “we’ve got
some trucks we’re gonna take.”
“I’ll be right there. Dave, let’s check it out.”
They walked down the now quiet path.
“I’ve gotta find my pack, if there’s anything left of it.”
“We’ll get a detail-Hey, private!”
The runner turned, “Yes, sir?”
“Secure all the civilian packs and have them brought up to the captain.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied. Calling out, he moved off.
They passed four men carrying a poncho by the corners, straining to carry the rubberized
material is it sagged from the weight of the captured weapons and equipment they had
put in the center. In the woods, NHDF men were stripping the dead of their gear-weapons,
LBE, uniforms, ammo.
Dave stooped to pick up a discarded G-36 magazine. “Who else is with you?”
Jim cocked his head, “Steve, Scott, Rico, Will. We had to leave a few folks behind.
We’ve got 20 or so DF guys. How many Krauts?”
“’bout a platoon. Thanks for coming.”
“You’d do the same. But no more rescue missions, got it?”
Dave broke a smile, “Guaranteed.”
In the parking area DF troops were loading the captured equipment on the back of a
deuce. They approached man who was wearing no rank but was obviously in charge.
“This your friend, Jim?”
“Yeah, Dave, Captain Carlson.”
“Thanks for the help, Captain.”
“Thank you. We’ve been trying to catch up with these guys for a few days. You led them
right to us.”
“Well, I’ll try not to be bait again.”
“That’s a good idea if you want to stay alive,” said the Captain, just a hint of irony in his
voice, “We’ll be done in a few minutes.” Turning, he spoke to Jim, “We’re gonna
rendevous with your friends up the road a bit. Why don’t you guys take a seat in the
deuce-the other one took a hit from a ‘203-and we’ll finish up here.”
Jim nodded. “Thanks again,” said Dave.
“That’s what we do,” replied the Captain, turning away.
They boarded the truck, climbing up the tailgate by pulling themselves up by the safety
strap. Stepping over the gear that littered the bottom of the truck, the sat on the bench
seats on the ouside of the bed.
“Looks like they’ve been looting,” remarked Jim, pointing at the gear.
“Lot’s of civilian stuff, too,” said Dave.
“Good stuff, too,” Jim noticed, turning a pack with his boot as troopers started loading
gear in the back. “Lowe packs, H&K 91’s….”
“Crap!” blurted Dave, “I’ve seen those before…” He started rummaging through the gear.
Benelli shotguns, USP pistols….blood. “Crap. These clowns were on the trail a few days
ago.”
Jim looked at him for a moment.
“They were moving in the daylight, fires at night, thought they were high speed.”
Jim was silent. What could he say?
“There were around 18 or 20 or them, men and women.”
“Load’em up and move’em out!” the Captain called. The remaining troops quickly
climbed aboard as the deisel roared to life. The deuce led the German jeep out of the
parking area and turned left, following the dirt road to a paved road running left and right.
Turning right, they gained speed and put distance between themselves and the battlefield.
Dave sat back and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the air on his face. It’s nice to be
alive, he thought.
They met up with the rest of the convoy in a small town square ten miles away. Dave and
his friends enjoyed a brief reunion as Jim and the Captain conversed.
Dave introduced the Antonetti’s to his friends. As they were doing so, Jim came over and
said to them, “We’ve got the deuce and some of the captured stuff. Steve, drive the deuce,
check the fuel. Dave, you can ride with me in Will’s truck. Let’s go. You folks,” he
pointed at the family, “your packs are in the deuce, why don’t you guys hop on in back?”
“Sounds better than walking,” agreed Tony.
All of the assembled men gave their approval too, and moved to their vehicles, helping
the Antonetti kids get into the high bed of the captured truck.
Jim looked over at Dave “Why don’t you crash in the back seat? You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” said Dave, “and I wore my best shirt, too.”
“It suits the occasion.”
Dave got in the truck, but was too keyed up to sleep. He had Jim fill him in on recent
events.
“The Governor called out the militia and the response has been overwhelming. We have
about 130 folks, men and women, in town. We’ve found two other guys who were
combat arms, one is a Nam vet, the other Cold War. They’re a little too old for direct
action, but they will be great for local staff and training. We’re forming squads according
to age and ability, as well as who wants to be with who. We heard from Ice Spring (the
next town over-Willard) thay had a whole group of guys march into town in formation,
all equipped the same. Seems like a lot of small groups of friends had already formed
small units well before this broke.”
“That sounds familiar,” Dave remarked, deadpan.
“Doesn’t it, though? The basic idea is that our youngest and most capable will enlist in
the DF, the rest will receive training but remain in town to give depth to the states
defense. We’re calling them “Minutemen”, and they’ll be ready to respond to an
incursion beyond the border or any kind of deep penetration raid.”
”What about commo?” Dave asked.
“We’ve got a net covering the whole state, with repeaters all over. The local HAM clubs
are all supporting the effort 100%. We’re trying not to use too much long range stuff to
deny their locations to the Feds and ISAF toads. But we’ve got some real radio nuts
working for us.”
“How about supply?”
“We’re establishing that. Most folks want to be Joe Snuffy with a rifle and not the
delivery driver. We are doing what we can locally. Pretty much everybody has more than
one gun, the problem is ammo-not many had more than a few boxes. The state has
enough 5.56 and 7.62 to last a while. That AR manufacturer, Pine Tree? They had almost
filled an order for Botswana, the state bought it instead, 25,000 M-4 clones, 10 mags per
weapon, and their warehouse was holding the ammo-over half a million rounds of M-855
on stripper clips. Plus we have Sig in Exeter running around the clock, and that import
house in Maine, just over the border, Millenium? They gave the state the inventory of
their warehouses-tens of thousands of C&R rifles, a ton of MG’s in their bonded
warehouse they hadn’t cut up yet, bunch of other stuff. So we may have 30,000 guys with
M-48 Mausers and Nagant rifles in the hills before too long, as they’ll be the only thing
with ammo. Heard they cut a tax deal for the cost. We’ve got the fishing fleet in
Portsmouth and Maine working full time again, and with all the farms we won’t starve.
“The old National Guard units had two companies of armor, so we’ve got Abrams tanks,
but I hear not much ammo for them. We’ve got an attack helo company, one of Hueys,
KC-135’s and F-15’s, and a Marine Reserve artillery unit that knows where its loyalty
lies. Also, did you know there was a huge Air Force listening post up north of Jefferson?”
Dave shook his head, “No.”
“Well not many did. I just found out yesterday. Low key operation. They’ve all come
over, so we’ve got super Elint (electronic Intelligence-Willard) capabilities. They had a
mondo security force, armored Humvees with MK-19’s, LAWs, AT-4’s, and four Stinger
launchers and a dozen missiles, which is a coup. All kinds of stuff is turning up, too. One
guy in town drove in with a German Maxim in the bed of his truck, said his great
grandfather brought it home from the war. We got a bunch of belts and ammo coming
from Millenium for it.”
Dave grinned. He loved water cooled MG’s.
“We’re coordinating with the state headquarters, and we’ll be training the town, as we’re
the most military experienced group.”
“What about Vermont?” asked Dave. Vermont lay a few miles West f otheir town, over
the Connecticutt River.
“Well, they’ve got tons of folks clamoring to join us and Maine, but the pinkoes in
Burlington love the U.N. that they probably would let blue helmets rape their sisters. But
we’ve got a huge support base there, and most of the lefties are burnt out hippies who
will just try to stay out of the whole shebang.”
“We’ve got pickets all along the border with Massachusetts, but not enough. That group
we whacked today was in and out of the areas for nearly a week, tracking down folks like
you. They’re mostly former German Border Police from the old days, give the old
unemployed East German cops something to do. They’re not good soldiers, though.
According to what we’ve heard the regular German forces ARE pretty good.”
“Are there any other countries besides Germany here?” asked Dave.
Jim thought, “The Germans are in New England. Brazilians in Louisiana and down south.
French in Michigan and Illinois. Mexican, Guatemalan, and Nicaraguan in the Southwest,
which has become the largest shooting preserve in the world, according to the Texans
we’ve heard on the radio. The good old boys aren’t taking kindly to foreign troops.”
“We’ve got Chinese in California, Long Beach is their staging area, apparently they had
tons of stuff prepositioned there. Chinks took part of Washington, the Boeing factory,
Bremerton, which was razed hours before they got there by the garrison, all the subs are
at sea. Right now the military is mostly sitting on their asses wondering what to do. A lot
of desertions, lots of stuff getting stolen, weapons, ammo, vehicles.”
“I’ve missed a lot,” Dave noted, “I’ll get up to speed soon. Look, I’m gonna try to crash-
I’m starting to fade here.”
“Sure. We’re still a couple of hours away.”
Dave dozed as the diesel powered Chevy pickup wound its way up backroads and state
highways towards home. Home. What a nice feeling, he thought to himself dreamily,
going home.
The convoy of one deuce and a half and two pickup trucks reached Dave’s house in a few
hours. Taking the back way was slower but safer than the highways. The McGraths
enjoyed a tearful and happy reunion. Sandy was still mourning her parents, and the kids
were glad their Dad was home.
Chapter 16
Dave watched the truck struggling up the road. He didn't know what grade it was, just
that it was a good, steep, New England mountain road. The truck was European, dark
green and brown, a cab over design with a soldier poking up from the right side of the
cab manning the MG, bundled up against the chill mountain air. Behind the truck was a
trailer, a US one, wooden sides up, canvas cover stretched tautly across. This particular
truck was a straggler, the convoy it was part of having pulled progressively farther away
from it with each twist and bend of the road. Perfect for picking off without much trouble.
Through the 24x60 spotting scope Dave could see no tell tale antenna. Only about one in
ten of the invaders trucks had them anyway, and any short range hand held would be
severely hampered by the rugged terrain.
Turning and nodding, Dave set in motion a hasty ambush that had been planned for
weeks. Will, on the 60 Meter HAM radio, whispered a short phrase.
In prepared positions near the road the word was quietly passed. A four part ambush team
was already in position. A security team to the north, to hinder any relief fromt he main
convoy body. One to the South, for a similar purpose. The Assault Team, on the road,
that would execute the actual mission, and a Support Team, in overwatch, made up of
Dave and his three friends on the military crest of a larger hill, and two three-man sniper
teams, each armed with one .50 caliber rifle and one captured tripod mounted MG-3 a
piece. Part of the support team was also below, about a mile away on a logging road. Five
four wheel drive pickups with medical crew. They would treat any casualties, secure any
EPW's, haul away what they could of the enemies equipment, and carry off the assault
team. The security teams were using mountain bikes to egress from their positions, and
Dave's teams were using four wheeled ATV's and old logging trails.
The truck wheezed around the corner, pine trees beckoning softly from the far side of the
road, a guardrail on the near, blocking closer examination of a mostly dry streambed 100
or more feet below. As the truck passed a particularly distinctive dwarf line, a flurry of
shots rang out. From the far side of the road, a Patriot shooter put a round in the drivers
ear from a range of about 60 feet. The .30-30 round caused a rapid seperation of the
drivers cranial components, and the expanded bullet struck the standing gunner in the
thigh. Before the gunner could react to that, he himself took nearly a dozen rounds in the
upper body. He jerked spasmodically and then fell, leaking badly, into the cab of the
truck. The truck itself stalled out almost immediately, and started rolling backwards
slowly on the steep grade. Three men leapt from prepared positions and rushed the truck,
pistols in hand. Leaping to the doors, they each popped a quick round into the torsoes of
the occupants. The man on the drivers side, in better times a CDL driver for a large cross
country freight hauler, pulled open the door, pushed the moslty headless corpse over, and
applied the brakes. The hiss of the airbrakes engaging filled the roadside. "Send the
moving men" came the command from the ambush site. The pickups started up and sped
towards the site. On the road the men set up a hasty near perimeter while the search team
pulled the Germans from the truck and recovered the contents of their pockets. Stripping
the men of their LBE's, they took any documents and paperworks fromt he cab of the
truck, and detached the topside machinegun. All the material was quickly assembled ont
he roadside when Buck, the ambush team commander, suggested Manny, the CDL driver,
try to start the truck. Manny hopped in and the truck started right up.
"Just take the truck," Buck called out. The search team quickly threw all of the material
back into the cab, one of the men climbing in and starting to remount the rooftop MG.
They had discussed but not really expected to take the truck undamaged.
Buck had his RTO let the others know the truck was secure and being driven by patriots.
The captured truck and trailer headed towards the fire road, passing the five pickups
heading the other way. Taking the fire road, the team drove the truck slowly and carefully
to the prepared site where the five pickups had hidden. The old cave had once been used
by a frugal farmer as a cattle pen, and the men had seen plenty of evidence that the
natural opening in the rocks had been expanded over the years by pick, shovel, and
dynamite. Using a ground guide, they backed the truck into the opening, leaving enough
room for more vehicles to get in. The crew then quickly dismounted, and hurried to cover
their backtrail as best they could, scattering leaves and pine needles over the tracks, and
removing crushed and broken dead fall, and replacing it with unbroken deadfall from the
woods.
Back at the ambush site the trucks successfully picked up the remaining ambushers and
headed downhill, taking another seemingly impassable road back to their rally point.
Seeing the trucks leave and getting a radioed message that the ambush commander had a
good headcount, Dave called in his flank security elements. The six men quickly packed
their respective gear onto their bikes and walked the heavily burdened bikes down the hill.
After waiting ten minutes to give them time to withdraw a reasonable distance from their
old positions, Dave gave the word, and he and his two men quickly swept their site for
any evidence of their being there, started their ATV’s and hastily withdrew. Within
minutes even the sound of their muffled engines was a memory.
After Dave had returned home from his long trek, he took a few days to recover, mentally
and physically. He caught up with Sandy, and shared with her the pain of losing her
parents. His kids needed some Dad time, so Dave took them with him while he visited
with his friends. He returned Wills FAL and Makarov, thanking him for their use. Will,
naturally, was glad to have played some small part in Daves escape, and even offered
them to Dave as a souvenir of his march. Dave declined. He didn’t think he’d forget
anything about his ordeal until Kingdom come.
In catching up with his friends, he learned that the preparations Jim had alluded to were
further underway than he expected. Many of the local youths had already left for service
in the NHDF, and to Daves surprise, many girls had answered the call, to serve in support
and medical roles. The local minutemen were training twice a week, and Daves group
was meeting with one or two teams daily giving instruction and suggestions. Will
commented to Dave and the few others present that he was glad he had gone through
Special Forces training. Robin Sage, the final exercise of the SF Q Course, dropped a
student team into a simulated occupied country to aid the local guerillas, played by other
soldiers and Special Forces cadre. They were especially difficult to work with, and to
succeed in the course and later as a SF trooper one had to develop finesse in working
with men who were convinced they didn’t need help. More than once would Daves group
run into a team of Minutemen who were convinced they needed no advice from a bunch
of robots trained by the Army. Once or twice quick man on man competitions
demonstrated the ability of the volunteer trainers, but mostly it fell to simply showing,
through action, the benefits of the knowledge Daves group could provide.
Using captured weapons and firearms from the group, Daves team equipped a small
number of Minutemen with modern military firearms. They had eventually found several
Minutemen teams that were receptive to the instruction offered, and had in fact asked to
be incorporated into the group. Will, Jim, and the others declined, feeling that for what
the purpose of the Minutemen were, and without a broader command structure, they
should stay formed in smaller, decentralized units. They continued to emphasize,
however, the importance of teamwork for planned operations, and managed to hold
biweekly joint exercises for the towns forces. The basic plan was for the Minutemen to
react to “situations” as teams, similar to how a decentralized local fire department would
work. The responding team would coordinate by radio, if they could, with the other teams
in the area. The local police department of three full time officers and four reserves
would act as the command post, and the radio room would be staffed 24/7. All
information would come through there, and it would act as a relay site for messages.
During any incident, the Ops Center would notify the surrounding communities of the
situation, so that they could prepare to respond to provide aid, or to react to another
incident should more than one arise. In this way they could spread the word throughout
the area, in an ever expanding circle, calling in militia from an ever increasing region to
assist. Most areas planned to send no more than half of their local forces to another sector
of responsibility, just in case there was a coordinated series of strikes planned by the
ISAF forces. But it was felt that they could turn out a few thousand heavily armed men to
any area in about 8 hours. And that wasn’t counting the NHDF response.
Most folks wanted to help in any way they could, and Dave was surprised by the
resourcefulness of the locals. He saw members of the small radio controlled flyers club
demonstrating how they could provide real time intelligence by using small digital video
cameras mounted on their planes, feeding info to laptop computers. They could
conceivably turn the small planes into guided missiles, although the payload would be
small. Farmers donated large amounts of fertilizer used to prepare improvised explosives.
The high school chemistry teacher had a large collection of antique science books that
provided information on how to manufacture detonators and agricultural explosives. He
quickly went about assembling a team of mostly honors chemistry students to
manufacture what they could. The local dentist provided free dental work to the
Minutemen, as a tooth problem would sideline a man just as effectively as a bullet. The
local Fire Department, already 100% volunteer, provided first aid training to the
Minutemen patrols. Local climbers gave instruction on alpine climbing, and experienced
hikers and naturalists gave classes on wild edibles and wilderness survival. The local
churches established support networks to see that no person went without-during the
coming winter the cold could be a real danger to the elderly and children.
As preparations continued, the local elderly activities group provided free day care to
parents who were training one or two days a week. The children benfitted by gaining a
whole new family of doting grandparents, and the elders benefitted by having neew
purpose to their lives. Many of the bonds formed through the babysitting would help
form support networks beneficial to both parties. The elderly had a lot of information to
offer to an interested person. Many folks who lived alone were invited to live wioth
families who needed extra help. More than few people were surprised at just how busy
they had gotten, and having an extra set of eyes and hands in a house would be worth the
extra mouth to feed. Naturally, in a number of other cases people who were in poor
positions for survival were invited to live at the home of an elderly benefactor. Many of
the older generation still ived on farms, and had large houses with wood heat and canned
food. The extra help a few younger hands and backs could provide would make a
powerless winter more bearable, and Spring chores that much more manageable. To a
person with a family living in an apartment or tract home it could be quite an
improvement.
Many families also just moved in with friends. Jim and Steve had members of the group
at their places, and the Antonettis had moved into Daves house, taking two rooms
upstairs and the upstairs bathroom. Dave and Tony had set up Daves spare woodstove in
what was the kids play room but now served as combination kids room and living room
for Tony, Rhonda, and their children. They usually ate together, but it was nice for both
families to have their own space. It was also good to have the extra security at the house.
Jake had been given one of Daves “spare” AK clones, and had been drilled on its use.
Rhonda and Tony retained their G-36’s, and Sandy had pretty much claimed Daves old
M-1 Carbine, which she had, under the circumstances, grown quite attached to. Dave
tried to convince her to use one of his CAR-15’s, but she was insistent that she keep the
carbine. All of the kids attended class in town, at the parochial school, which had tried to
maintain as normal a schedule and curriculum as they could. Providing a stable
environment for the kids was something they all wanted, even though the kids had
demonstrated greater acceptance of the new social dynamic than many adults. The school
had, however, added lessons on first aid, fire safety and for the older kids fire fighting,
and other lessons on air raids and how to react to occupation and other kinds of attacks.
All of the smaller children were matched with an older child as a “buddy” for the
purposes of evacuation or emergency. The kids were encouraged to carry what was
essentially a small bug out bag, but was called an overnight bag, with comfort items,
clothes, food, water, a flashlight, and a blanket.
Dave and his group continued their own preparations, too. They cached many more of
their guns, ammo, and military goods. The prepped bug out locations, and stocked them
with food and warm gear for their families. With a total lack of gun laws, many folks
started going a little crazy. The local machine shop had gotten plans for AR-15 auto sears
and lightning links, and were making them like they were going out of style. Any
information on converting a firearm to full auto was traded like crazy, and the group had
to talk any number of locals out of carrying full auto Glocks, Barettas, and Colts. The
groups did have two semi auto 1919 Brownings, and they got the machine shop treatment
in short order.
Dave also had a secret. In his vault, he carefully marked a spot on the wall, and picked up
his pick. Using the pointy end, he struck the cement wall. Fragments of concrete struck
him in the face, and he was thankful for the goggles he wore. Working carefully, he
chipped away at the wall until a metal frame was visible. When Dave had the walls
poured, he had inserted a sealed metal box into the framework. He now uncovered the
door to the metal box. Using his battery operated drill, which had taken two days to
charge via the solar charger, Dave drilled a hole in the upper right corner. He then used a
hacksaw blade to cut the sheetmetal. Once he had cut about four inches down, and
another four to the left from the hole, he used the pick to pry the box open. Inside sat
some plastic wrapped bundles, which he carefully removed. He placed them on a wooden
chair nearby, and grabbed a large pile of newspaper and some brake cleaner. Picking up
the larger of the packages, he remembered back to when he had received this special
gift….
When Dave was in his late 20’s Mr. Houston passed away, devastating Dave. He had
been a friend, mentor, surrogate grandfather, father, and uncle rolled into one. Dave
received the call from his mother, but arrived at the hospital too late to say goodbye.
Instead he comforted Mrs. Houston, and was comforted by her. It was a long night for
Dave, and he took most of two weeks off from school and work to help Mrs. Houston
with the details of the funeral and to come to terms with his loss. He visited Mrs. Houston
at least twice a month thereafter, and helped her as he could, as she prepared her house
for sale. She had, after the loss of her husband, decided to move to Florida to live with
her sister. The sale of the farm house and the remaining acreage would provide her with
enough money to live her remaining years in comfort, and she would be away from the
daily reminders of her husband. She was having a tough time coping, too.
Several weeks before she was to leave, Dave received a call from her.
“Dave, dear, can you come up this weekend?” she asked Dave.
“Sure Mrs. Houston, I can come up Sunday, if that’s all right. Is everything OK?” Dave
asked.
“Oh, of course. I’m getting ready to get rid of a lot of junk, and I thought I’d let you go
through it first. Anything you don’t want you can take to the dump for me, or to Sillivans
Antiques. Come up after 2, so I can go to church. You know where the spare key is if you
get here early.”
……………………
Dave showed up a little after 1, and took a walk around the old barn and the remaining
fields. So much work for the farmers, clearing land, building the stone walls which still
stood after 200 years or more. Memories of his youth flooded Daves mind. It was a lot
when you had something as special as what he had, Dave thought. It wasn’t the usual
prefab neighborhood and neighbors you hardly knew.
Mrs Houston came home and Dave greeted her from her porch swing.
“Come in, Dave, come in,” she said, walking up her front steps one at a time, age taking
its toll on her, too.
After catching up, Mrs Houston gently clasped Daves hand in hers a the kitchen table.
She looked at him with her eyes, which were still clear blue and as beautiful as they had
been in her youth. “Dave, I have something I want you to have. It was Mr. Houstons, and
I figure you’d like to go through it and see if you’d like anything. He wanted you to have
it,” she said, her voice choking, “He said you’d know what to do with it.”
Dave was puzzled “What is it?” he asked.
“His old Marine footlocker. Just old uniforms and stuff, junk really.”
”It’s not junk,” said Dave, “I’d be honored to have anything like that of his. But if you
can sell it and get more money for Florida…”
”Oh, pe-shaw! I’ve got plenty enough. And he wanted you to have it, dear. I think he
believed that as long as you thought of him he’d never die.”
“He’ll never be gone to me,” said Dave, tears in his eyes.
She patted his hand as only she could, “He loved you to dear.”
Dave had loaded the old footlocker into his truck, and then Mrs Houston had shooed him
off, saying she had people coming over to look at the house. Dave took it back to his
apartment, and sat it down in front of his couch. He slowly opened the trunk. On top,
neatly folded, was a sheet of typing paper. Dave unfolded it and read the neatly typed
letter, dated nearly ten years before.
“Dear Dave,
I knew you’d get this eventually. I hope you have a long happy life with a wonderful girl
like I have had (apparently).
I want you to know that I have always been proud of you, and I wish I had had a son like
you.
From one warrior to another, I want you to have this trunk. Do what you want with the
contents, I haven’t opened it except for today, in 30 years. I think you’ll like the buried
treasure.
I’ll save you a seat by the campfire, but I don’t want to see you where I am for a long
time. We’ll have all the time in the world then, so don’t be in a hurry, got it? Jumping out
of planes…you had us worried to death.
All my love, and the love of Jesus Christ to you, son.”
It took Dave more than a while to compose himself. When he had done so, he looked
back in the trunk. There was a faded, slightly musty Marine Dress Blue uniform. Dave
picked it up and looked at it. Some ribbons, he recognized a few. Purple heart, Bronze
star, National Defense ribbon. He’d look up the others later. Under that his white hat. A
Sam Browne belt, and under that papers. Dave went through them. Newspaper clippings
about the war in the Pacific, and a few about the China-Burma-India theatre. A brown
folder, with a few faded citations. Purple Heart-wounds received while flying over the
CBI theatre. Bronze Star for rallying the defense of an airfield in Burma. Dave thought to
himself that this was a bit different from being a simple Corsair mechanic in the Pacific.
In readin the papers it became apparent that Mr Houston had volunteered to take a
temporary assignment in the CBI theatre. The why he needed to wasn’t very clear, but
Dave was used to the weird and sometimes seemingly nonsensical ways of the armed
forces. While there his arifield had come under ground attack by a Japanese companylikely
lost and starving in the jungle, making a last desperate attempt at getting food, it
said in a letter Mr Houston wrote but never sent home. There he was wounded and got a
bronze star for fighting off the Japanese Marines. Recovery in a hospital, then back to his
unit.
Dave then found a diary. Mr Houston had kept a daily journal throughout the war. Dave
would eventually read all of it, finding the answers to several questions along the way,
and learning that the reason CBI imported people was for a special project transporting
Nationalist Chinese inot China to block Mao’s men from seizing several key areas, and
supplying the Chindits from the air. But for now he placed it to one side, and lifted the
top tray out of the footlocker. Under that was a folded Japanese uniform and a broken
samuri sword, its blade pierced perfectly by a large caliber shell. He hoped the answer the
THAT question was in the diary. The uniform itself was bloody and peppered with bullet
holes. Dave placed that to one side and removed a Japanese bayonet and a rising sun flag,
with japanese figures scrawled on it, and signed by a number of American. Under that
was a package, wrapped in brown paper, tied with string. Dave picked it up. Heavy. No
writing on it. He wondered if he should open it. Upon consideration, he figured this must
be the “treasure”. He cut the string with his pocket knife, and carefully unwrapped a
cardboard box. He cut the yellowed tape that secured the box, and opened it up. Laid
neatly across the box was a familiar tubular shape. Daves jaw dropped open. He would
later find out from the diary that it was from a pile intended for the Chindits or OSS but
had been used to defend the airfield, and later brought home.
Dave picked it up, and looked it over. It was in great shape, having been stored since it
was just three years old. Dave wasn’t quite sure what he would do with it, but he was
now the proud owner of a silenced Sten Mk2s.
Dave was lost in reminiscing as he cleaned the Sten of its preservative grease. He cleaned
the 12 magazines he had for the gun, three were with it and he had picked up more. It was
nice to be able to own it legally now. Besides, he felt might need it soon.