America- The Eagle has Fallen

by Gordon Ballantyne

  The Major dismissed the men, turned and began walking back to my house.

  “Psychological effect?” I asked with a raised eyebrow when we were out of earshot.

  “If the military takes out a target then everyone feels that the government is here to help them and while that is the case, the help would not be in the form that they want or expect. We need a local legend, something along the lines of Robin Hood, who takes from the oppressors and gives to the oppressed. Only you, Bujacich and Stutz know the military is here, Delta squad, the one I assigned to the Fire Chief, is still covert. The Chief might have been elected but he is not a leader and he is taking all his cues from the three of you guys anyway. Let’s get him an asset and see what he does with it.”

  “Sounds good to me. Where do you need me?” I asked.

  “Right next to me,” replied the Major. “But don’t even think of trying to rub my shoulders.”

  I turned with a laugh. “What exactly is a “Pisser”?” I asked not being familiar with the term the Major used at the briefing but not wanting to look like a complete noob in front of the professional fighting men.

  “More operations have gone sideways because one of the bad guys decides to take a piss at the most inopportune time. Think about it, one hundred bad guys and you expect all of them to have empty bladders at the same time? All you have to do is assign one guy with a rifle to watch the shitter. It’s a crappy job but someone has to do it.”

  The Major and I geared up in the garage and I was handed a fancy radio with an earpiece and a throat mike. The Major showed me how to put on the gear while saying, “Now don’t say shit unless there is an emergency. The mike is voice activated. Do not even think of taking a shot unless your life is in danger. You are my rear guard watching my back so I can direct traffic. Head on a swivel and stay frosty.”

  “Yes sir, Major, sir,” I said with a one finger salute.

  The squad began the long trek to the first rally point then broke down into fire teams for their insertions to their positions. The Major and I set up in the observation post and he pointed at his eyes and pointed to our rear infiltration route. I looked behind us and mapped out a couple of fall back positions with good cover should we have to retreat or as it is known in the military, “advance in the opposite direction.” For the next hour I heard the various teams check in over my earpiece radio, each group designated primary and secondary targets and slowly worked their way into their final positions. At exactly 0400 I heard the Major quietly say “Execute Alpha!” over the radio. The two roving guards at the perimeter simply vanished silently into the woods.

  “Execute Bravo!” I could barely hear the sound of ten subsonic rounds over the whisper of the wind through the trees but I did see two guards slump over through my night vision monocular.

  “Execute Charlie!” I could see ten of the men coming through the barbed wire that formed the perimeter of the gardens. They moved silently through the gardens encountering no resistance. Two of the men covered the front door while the remaining stacked up in a line by the side door. The point man reached out and slowly opened the door which was fortunately unlocked. The stick of men entered the store and there was neither an alarm sounded nor commotion made. All I heard through the radio were a few gurgles and groans then quiet voices saying “Clear”.

  We received the all clear thirty seconds later. The sniper crews cleared the surrounding woods and the Major and I entered the wire around Rosedale Gardens.

  “Report Gunny,” the Major asked.

  “Sir, no casualties unless you count the bogies, Gomez twisted an ankle in a pool of blood.”

  “Thank you Sergeant. Please pile all the bodies outside the front door, find the biggest bad one you can find and string him up by the front gate with this note attached to his body and get the spray cans going. Exfill at 0445.”

  “Yes sir!” the Sergeant said as he went and started issuing clean up orders.

  The next morning the Fire Chief was summoned to Rosedale Gardens and was greeted by a large leather clad, tattooed, bald gentleman swinging from the wooden arches hung by a noose around his neck at the front gates of the gardens. There was a note stuck to the biker attached by a wicked looking knife through his heart. There were a lot of spray painted signs saying “Privateers” around the property. The Chief asked to see the note.

  To the people of Gig Harbor:

  Beware the privateers! This message is to anyone opposed to a free Gig Harbor. Your days are numbered and we are watching. We are everywhere and nowhere is safe from our vengeance. We are dedicated to a free Gig Harbor!

  The Privateers

  Great, thought the Chief. Now we have a bunch of wacko vigilantes running around town. The Chief was introduced to Mrs. Kasich, the owner of the gardens prior to the event.

  “What happened?” the Chief asked.

  “No idea,” said Mrs. Kasich. “We woke this morning at the usual start time and nobody came to open the doors. We are not allowed outside on our own. Finally at 10 AM, I opened one of the doors to take a peek and there was no one around. I walked up to the office and all I saw was a pile of bodies and the lead guy hanging from the gates with a rope around his neck. I didn’t know what to do so I sent my son into town to get you.”

  “What do you want to do with all the people you have here?” the Chief asked wearily, secretly hoping they could stay.

  “Most of them know the situation outside in the City and were happy to work for their meals. Some want to reunite with their families but most just want to stay and work here, albeit in better accommodations. The bikers have been trading all the food we grow for booze and meat. We are producing a lot of food and have all the seed and resources needed. We could actually expand our operation with some more irrigation and heat. Most of the workers just want to work for a share of the crop and without the bikers it wouldn’t take much to double our current production.”

  “Are any of your people hurt or in need of assistance?” asked the Chief.

  “We could use some spiritual help if possible Chief. The women and I have all been raped multiple times and some of the women are pregnant but we are all survivors and I will be damned if those sons of bitches will take away our will to live and survive,” Mrs. Katsich said passionately. “We are like a family here who have collectively shared an awful experience but those memories will remain with us and together we can both heal and thrive at the same time.”

  “Please let us know if we can help in any way Mrs. Katsich,” the Chief said solemnly.

  “Well Chief, we need people who can scrounge up materials to build more greenhouses, fill them with dirt and work on heating the new buildings. We need people who are willing to work hard to earn their keep. We have given our own blood, sweat and tears into this operation and we will fight to the death to defend what is ours. No other sons of bitches will ever take this from us so long as I am still breathing. I don’t know who these Privateers are but I’m glad they are on our side. They have given us the gift of freedom and our lives back.”

  “I will put together some qualified people and send them your way Mrs. Katsich,” the Chief said.

  “Send hard workers Chief, not mouths to feed. My family has owned these gardens for three generations and I’ve been working these greenhouses since I was old enough to walk. There are no free rides,” said Mrs. Katsich with authority.

  The military squads all returned to their home bases and our team returned to the homestead. There was some confusion when our group returned to the 5th wheel and were searching around for their gear. Someone had cleared out all their packs of dirty clothes and scrubbed the 5th wheel from top to bottom. Every surface and fixture gleamed.

  “What the heck Gunny?” one of the soldiers asked, looking into his half empty pack.

  “Well Gomez, the rules of engagement were clearly explained to you were they not?” smiled the Gunny.

  “I didn’t think she was serious,” said Gomez.

  “Well now
she has all your skivvies Gomez so I guess you are going commando until you can negotiate for their release,” said the Gunny to his men with a laugh.

  “I noticed she didn’t touch your stuff Gunny,” said Gomez in a whining voice, pointing at the Sergeant’s full pack.

  “That’s because I follow the rules,” said the Gunny piously. “Without rules there would be anarchy Gomez.”

  “What is going on?” asked the Major to the Sergeant.

  “Sir,” he replied with a grin. “It seems Mrs. Robertson has made good on her promise to perform regular inspections of her barracks that she is temporarily loaning us. It seems some of the troopers are not following her orders regarding cleanliness and laundry sir. Her exact words were “We run a tight ship around here troopers and if I see one speck of dust or piece of dirty laundry in here, I will personally go through all your things and take anything that doesn’t meet my standards of cleanliness or decorum.” I imagine the troopers thought the military version of clean was the same as Mrs. Robertson’s.”

  “How did you avoid the cleanse Gunny?” the Major asked, laughing openly at the men’s dilemma.

  “I follow the rules sir. I imagine that Mrs. Robertson kept seeing only my uniforms in the approved laundry basket and came to investigate. It’s a good thing she found some dirty clothes or she’d have them all lined up for a VD pecker check thinking they were not changing their clothes. She’s a pretty good looking lady Major and there would probably be more than just them standing at attention during the inspection.”

  “You are a wise man Gunny. Hell hath no fury and all. The troopers got themselves into this mess, they can get themselves out. Let’s stand down and get the men out on hunting and foraging parties, we need to earn our keep around here.”

  “Mrs. Robertson has already provided a ransom note sir. It appears we will be operating a clandestine growing operation out here and that Marijuana is legal in Washington State. She believes that the product will be useful as a pain reliever in the future and wants to be ahead of the curve. She will also trade one pound of clean clothing for thirty pounds of meat.”

  “Well we don’t want to disappoint our host do we Gunny?” asked the Major.

  “No sir, she scares me a little bit. I’ve been dressed down by the best of them over the years and I can tell you that the Bragg Drill Instructors don’t hold a candle to her, sir.”

  “Let’s get after it then Gunny and make sure we exceed her expectations in the future.”

  That evening our extended family enjoyed a dinner together and we discussed our plan for the Sunday services and meetings. The homestead was performing well and the greenhouse was already producing vegetables. The trapping crews were continuing their success and my wife and Cindy were enjoying riding Mr. Black’s horses and teaching Amy and Joy to ride as well. My wife was born to ride and is always happiest on the back of a horse. I am scared of the beasts but know that I will probably have to learn to ride in the future. My wife and Cindy were busy altering some of my clothes for the troops, it seems I am the donor because in every case the waists needed to be let in and not out. Darn ponykeg! The entire extended family would be going to Sunday services while the troopers would guard the homestead. We were also instructed to pick Ginny and her family up at 7AM sharp. I would make two trips in the tractor with its new extended flatbed.

  I arrived promptly at 7AM after a hearty breakfast to pick up a glowing Ginny and her family. They were all dressed up in their Sunday best and Ginny had brought folding chairs, a casserole and three full packs of mason jars for trading. I loaded everything up and enjoyed our slow journey down to the grange. The church service wasn’t until 10AM but Ginny wanted a good stall spot for hawking her wares. It turns out she would be selling her white lightning moonshine prior to the services and reunion with her son. It seemed a little odd but Ginny soon saw the creased forehead look on my face and laughed.

  “Selling a little sipping whiskey before church have you in a tither James?” she asked with a look of mirth on her wrinkled face.

  “I just didn’t think it would be a hot seller with the holy-roller crowd,” I teased. “I thought the church crowd were more of the tea toting variety.”

  “I’ll have you know that moonshine has always been used for medicinal purposes over the years as a pain killer, disinfectant, analgesic, antifreeze and a cure for the trots. My jars of product all come with a recipe guide for old school uses. You can even run your car on it in a pinch. Judge not there Mr. Robertson, you are next to the house of the lord.” She even managed to sound pious in her explanation.

  I pre-purchased three jars on the spot for “medicinal purposes only.” With the harvest in, the Sunday service was standing room only, albeit with a fully loaded gun rack inside the doors. After the service I headed to the outdoor tea service and was handed a steaming mug ladled from a large pot suspended over a fire. This was my unofficial meeting area where I could talk to various people in the neighborhood and find out if there were any issues or problems that needed my attention. It gave the congregation an opportunity to air their grievances or petition for any changes within the community. I walked over to see Ginny’s family, including her doctor son, doing a brisk business at her stall, she was sold out before the post service tea was finished. She had managed to raise prices four times on her product but allowed me in on the original ground floor “promotional sale price.” I also noticed Ginny eyeing the other stalls that were bartering everything from bullets to finished fur products. I knew she would have her soccer mom brigade winter sweatshop up and running, turning her tanned hides into finished products and had already cut deals with a fur hat maker and a cobbler to purchase her high quality finished hides and leather. I asked her son and the Major to stick around for the post council meeting which was essentially the real meeting once the Fire Chief left. I took one of the jars of moonshine I purchased and gave it to old man Stutz. He opened the meeting by expertly popping the top of the Mason jar and took a swig.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” He coughed violently. “That’s at least 100 proof. You could have warned me you little shit Robertson. Here Bujacich, take a hit off this, you’ll be tasting your testicles after this shot in the nuts.”

  Mr. Bujacich took a swig stoically but even his Croatian constitution had to gulp for air.

  “Major?” he asked passing the bottle.

  “I’ll take a hit, my parents are from North Carolina you know and sipping whiskey is part of our heritage.” The Major took a small sip as if sampling a fine wine. “Pretty smooth for a Yankee,” he declared, offering Ginny’s son the jar.

  “Ah no thanks,” the doctor replied with a smile. “My mom always said I was going blind from a different youth pastime but I’m pretty sure my poor eyesight was caused by her sipping whiskey.”

  I took the proffered jar from the Major and took a swig. “Smoooothe,” I croaked with my eyes watering. “Well doctor, we have heard the Chief’s version of the City and figured we needed a less rose colored glasses version.”

  “First, I can’t thank you all enough for taking care of my family during these trying times,” he began solemnly. “My mother hasn’t been this energetic and engaged in years. The City is a dumpster fire. When the shit hit the fan, everyone wanted the government to do something and being good little politicians they elected to nationalize everything. Last month they did an about face and tried to privatize the collective which essentially made everyone mad. It’s a good thing they took everyone’s guns away before they told everyone there would not be any more government run refugee camps and everyone had to work for their food. Thank goodness the tent camps were shut down because we had both a Cholera and E. Coli breakout at all the camps. There were just too many people living in poor conditions, with a poor diet and no sanitation to work. Almost all of Gig Harbor North is empty. There are over a thousand new tract houses up there but they are all on postage stamp sized lots and the entire master planned community is on sewer lift station
s so all the sewage backed up into their homes when the electric pumps stopped working. The Canterwood golf and country club gated housing community fared much better and most of the golf course is now pastureland or is in food production. Downtown is doing OK with a lot of the old Croatian families banding together and getting organized. They were always fairly independent, ignored the government and took to the water in small fishing vessels. Rosedale Gardens was liberated by some vigilante group called the Privateers but nobody can figure out who did it. The gardens were a treasure trove of talent though and the City is actively working on expanding their operation. The hospital is still taking care of a few patients recovering from things like broken legs but all the doctors have decided to set up practices in each of the communities and form our own association, helping each other out when needed. I will be working with Allison, a nurse from my neighborhood here at the grange. I am a board certified cardiothoracic surgeon but now I am a General Practitioner using skills I haven’t practiced since my residency. There isn’t a big call for heart surgeons these days. The Narrows Bridges see daily sniper activity from Tacoma since the gangs have blockaded their side of the bridge too but the Peninsula biker gangs seem content to stay put.”

  “Thank you Doctor Reynolds,” I said thankfully. “I appreciate you giving us your perspective and I’d like to be the first to say welcome to our neighborhood and kudos to you and the medical community for working together and finding your own solutions. If you’ll excuse us, we have some other council business to attend to.”

  The doctor left the hall and went back to his loving family. I paced the room in thought. “You know this all comes down to you Mr. Bujacich, don’t you?”

  “Diesel,” was Mr. Bujacich’s single word reply. “The Chief has around ten thousand gallons left which puts us on station fishing for only another two months. If the pirates out of Seattle’s Elliot Bay and the Port of Everett would leave us alone then we could stretch what we have another thirty days since we wouldn’t have to go through deeper waters to get around them. The Chief’s protection boats don’t have the fuel capacity or free board to get to deeper waters so they are just monitoring the pirate bays. If they give us the warning signal then we have to pull up our nets and get to deeper water which also costs us fuel and fishing time. The sad part is that if you could get me the Norwegian crab boats out of Seattle and enough diesel, we could feed most of the State of Washington and parts of Oregon too. We also need refrigeration. We can only smoke so much meat before we run out of salt.”