“Ha! You know me, I’m always willing to eat,” The Commander said with a smile, little bits of scrambled eggs still clinging to his beard as he watched Ms. White get comfortable. “So, what do we know so far?”
Ms. White reached out and grabbed a glass of water that sat on the table in front of her. She took a long drink before setting it back down. “First off, they have a nice set up here. Similar to the set up in Zion, just on a larger scale and more people to work everything. They have full-time chefs, a garden where they grow their own food. They have wheat and other grains which are grown out of town and brought in to be ground up and make fresh bread. They have pigs and cattle and those with the equipment and knowhow to saluter them. They have a fresh water supply, a nearly fully functional hospital, and even a fairly reliable messaging system.”
“Wow, what don’t they have?” The Commander asked, impressed with the list provided thus far.
“A realization that this is all temporary. That soon or later, the Russians, Chinese, the King or even a group of Highwaymen will realize what is going on here, and eventually, someone will come a knocking.” Ms. White answered a bit defeatedly. She has had to try to get that point across to the President of Free Montana, ever since they had met, but there has yet to be any acknowledgment of the facts.
The Commander thought for a moment as he looked around the crowd within the school's gymnasium. Most had finished their morning meals and were making their way outside, where they would head on to do one of their many assigned tasks. “How are they weapons and fortification wise?” He asked.
“Surprisingly well,” Ms. White quickly responded. “Many of the residents here, were preppers before the lights went out, so they had a large supply of weapons and ammo. But to help out, they scavenge and gather from those they kill. Plus over at the large auto shop on Main St. they have a reloading shop set up. They reload over two dozen calibers. It’s a whole processing line over there, from sorting to tumbling, and reloading. It’s impressive.” She paused to take another drink, “Beyond the ammo and weapons, they have a blacksmithing forge, making weapons as well as fixing up stuff. But they have multiple QRF units, that are constantly roaming and such. So, all in all, they are set up fairly good. Not good enough to hold off a major attack, but obviously good enough to withstand any irritating probes. The problem is, those in charge around here, are mistaking their meager success as a long-term solution. That’s where I need you and hopefully Lt. Preen to help sway them to seeing it our way.”
“You know me, I’m never afraid to voice my opinion.” The Commander said as he pushed his now empty tray towards the center of the table, allowing him to rest his arms up on the table.
“That’s why you're my favorite,” Ms. White said as she finally started to eat her breakfast.
Once, Ms. White had finished eating, she and the Commander excused themselves from the gymnasium and headed outside. The sky was clear, as a pristine canopy of blue hung high above. A brisk breeze ran across the front yard of the High School as Ms. White and the Commander walked slowly towards the football field. Each of them refrained from conversation, allowing the wind to be the only sound that was to pass between them.
Most of the chainlink fence around the football field had been torn down, only about twenty percent was still standing. The visitor side bleachers had a gaping hole in the left side of it, nearly taking out half of it. Burn marks still blacked the metal planks. Most High School, Colleges and such were used as gathering places, both during the blackout as well as when the lights came back on and the New, America was being formed. They assumed, from the looks of the downed fencing and the blackened bleachers, that this High School, like many of the other gathering locations were also home to some very fierce fighting.
At first, people went willingly and eagerly to such spots, but soon, due to overcrowding and lack of adequate supplies, they turned into battlegrounds. Gangs of all sorts and backgrounds, quickly took over, as they controlled the flow of the meager supplies available. Finally, some sort of order was restored once the military was deployed to deal with it, and with habeas corpus suspended, judgments were passed quickly and harshly. It wasn’t uncommon to see bodies hanging from high school goal posts, with a piece of paper or cardboard pinned to the condemned to indicate their crime.
By the time Ms. White and the Commander reached the North end zone, their conversation began again. “So, what’s our play?” The Commander asked.
Ms. White smiled and turned her head slightly to look over at her longtime friend. “The Geisha said this Stonewall person will be arriving tomorrow. Once he is here, we will present our case, and then they will decide if we do this on our own or if they will fight.”
“So what case are we presenting?” The Commander asked as he pulled his jacket a little tighter around him.
“Different town, same story,” Ms. White started. “Just like Zion, we need to make them see the urgency of helping us. I’m hoping that the recent activity of the Russians in Utah, will help spur their mindset.” Ms. White paused as she looked around the field. Standing in the end zone and looking out, she notices that the playing field was pop marked, most likely from mortar rounds or IED’s. She noticed yellow ragged scraps of Police tap, still eagerly held on to the visitors bleachers, as they sporadicly outlined where a blast whole ripped the aluminum seats apart. “I know these people haven’t had it easy, but at the same time, they haven’t seen what America has become. They don’t realize how many people have given up hope of restoring it to what it was. After tomorrows meeting, I want Jonathan to continue working on the data he recovered from that hospital. Then I want you to take a team to that North Dakota town, where Miguel's friend is and see what you can find.”
The Commander nodded in agreement then asked, “Who do you want me to take?”
Ms. White seemed to ponder the question, then turned to face the Commander, “No BS, can you properly operate if I sent Dave with you?”
“Yes, not an issue,” The Commander promptly said.
“Good, because I want you to take Miguel, and I feel that having Dave with him, someone he has known and worked with since the beginning, will go a long way in making things easier.” Ms. White answered. She then turned around to look towards the town. “Come on, let's find you a place to bunk.”
22 Folklore
Helena, Free Montana
The morning had turned cold, even for Montana. A thin sheet of snow, from the midnight storm, still hid in the shadows and cloaked the old buildings. The main street was being cleared by the towns guard, much like Camp Zion, the capital of Free Montana adopted the theory that busy hands keep most out of trouble. Ms. White and Butch stood there, as they watched a dozen of the towns guards, shovel snow from the street. Cars were still a luxury, especially in the Free states, with gas rationed and highly expensive to get in from their Northern neighbors, Main St. had basically become an oversized sidewalk. There were only maybe a dozen or so, running vehicles in town, and most of them were only moderately operational. They made up the majority of the mechanized infantry of the Free States Army. Most just walked, road bikes or road horseback to get around. If anything remotely good had come out of the blackout, it was the resurgence of simplicity. The willingness to take a moment and talk to one another and slow things down.
Ms. White looked skyward towards some gray clouds which slowly crawled across the sky, as they prepared to pounce upon the town. “If those hit tonight, they’ll be right back at this in the morning.” She said to Butch as she gestured towards the clouds.
Butch followed her gaze as he too saw the storm clouds coming in. “I have a feeling they’ll be busy for the next few months. It’s good though, helps them remember that nothing comes free, that we all have to work to get something out of life.”
Ms. White nodded at the comment as she turned to look back towards the old Sheriffs office, now the home and office of the Geisha. The worn red brick structure seemed like something straight out of
an late 50’s TV show. A very tattered and faded flag danced softly in the icy morning breeze as it hung above the entrance. As Ms. White stood there, and looked at the old Stars and Stripes, she thought about how long it had been since she had seen the flag fly so freely. You wouldn’t think that a piece of fabric would carry such weight, but as she stood there that morning, and looked upon ‘Ol Glory, she couldn’t help but feel something inside of her. Call it pride, love, passion or nostalgia, whatever it might be, seeing the very symbol of freedom being displayed so publicly, was a profound reminder of why she was doing all of this.
“A thing of beauty isn’t it?” Butch asked as he too looked towards the fluttering flag.
“It is,” Ms. White somberly answered. She then turned to Butch before asking, “I’ve never asked you, how well do you know Geisha and Stonewall? I mean, if we are going to be groveling to them for help, I want to know it won't be in vain.”
Butch thought about it some, as he raised his right hand to scratch his ever-growing beard. “Stonewall, don’t honestly know, never met nor talked to before. I mean, like most I’ve heard stories, but don’t know the man. Geisha on the other hand. I know her as much as one can through moderate conversation. We had made a few trades, back when I was running Camp Zion. When we arrived here the other day, that was the first time I met her face to face though. We were always what you might call business partners. We had a mutual need, mutual enemy and that was about the extent of our relationship.” He put his hand back into his jacket pocket as he thought about it some more. “I knew her husband had died in the Fox Wars, and it was through the connections and influence that she had formed when he was fighting, that lead to her being in the position she is now. Otherwise, I’m in the dark just as much as you are.”
The door to the old Sheriffs station opened and Geisha walked out. She was still in the process of pulling her dark black hair back into a ponytail as she walked towards Ms. White and Butch. “Sorry to keep you both waiting, had to deal with some town business.” She finally got her hair done by the time she goes next Butch and Ms. White. She paused another moment as she kissed her husband's dog tags and tucked them into her shirt. “I got word that Stonewall and his men are approaching the town limits. Should be here in just a few minutes now.” Geisha said as she started to walk towards the center of town, as she lead Butch and Ms. White with her.
“How well do you know this Stonewall?” Butch asked as the three walked in stride.
“I know if Free Montana is going to take any type of real stance, any type of action with your group, Stonewall will have a say in it. If there is, and I emphasize IF, a fight, he is your man,” The Geisha said. She paused as she said hi to some of the town guards who were nearly complete with their snow removal task. Then once she passed them she started up again, “Stonewall, it’s not his Christen name, of course, it’s something like Jeremiah or something Biblical, honestly don’t really recall. I don't think anyone knows his real name come to think of it, but Stonewall is what his men call him.”
“Is he trustworthy?” Ms. White asked as the three finally stopped in the center of the large city park.
Geisha shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, in an attempt to keep them warm. “My husband trusted him. So, yeah, I’d say he’s trustworthy.”
“Sorry to hear about your husband ma’am,” Butch said with his typical kindness.
Geisha nodded her head in acknowledgment and simply replied, “Thanks. A lot of good people died in that war, my husband was just one of many.”
“Is there any other information you could tell us about him?” Ms. White asked.
Geisha turned sharply towards Ms. White, and sarcastically asked, “What like his favorite color?”
“What my companion is wondering if there is any special talents or anything that would be useful to know before we met the man. I would hate to say the wrong thing of sorts. My mama, always said puddles are easy to miss if you know where they are.” Butch quickly said, with all the charm and humility that allowed him to be such a great detective back in the day.
Geisha once again nodded towards Butch. “Honestly, not much, I only knew of him by reputation, like most in these parts. That’s what drove my husband to join him. Then after it was all done and Montana was still free, well, he’s been over there and I’ve been here. We help each other when we can, but for the most part, we both stay so busy, that, well, we stay busy.” She paused as she looked around her town and all the people that were moving about, as they helped to get the day going. “I can tell you this, he’s a bit of the elusive type. His folklore, or fame, however you want to call it, was created during the Battle of Bismarck during the early days of the Fox Wars. Back then he had over 12,000 mounted calvary troops under his command. It’s now down to just over four hundred.”
“He’s lost eight hundred mounted cavalries?” Butch asked a bit astonished. “I’ve heard some campfire stories from Fox War veterans, but I didn’t realize it was such a large number.”
“The cost for freedom is steep in these parts.” Geisha quickly replied.
“I,” Butch started, but didn’t really know where to go from there, so just let the word slowly fad away to be carried off by another gust of wind.
“During the Battle of Bismarck, he had two separate mounts shot out from under him. He broke his ankle in the process. It was after that battle, that he received his moniker. Between his worn grey cowboy hat, the thick dark beard and the fact that he could command a battlefield like no one they had ever seen prior, it seemed like a fitting name. One that he has graciously embraced, and as for the campfire stories, at least the ones that I have heard. I would say they are greatly watered down, trust me when I say, that you cannot win any upcoming war, without his support.” Geisha said as she continued to look down the street in the direction of where she expected their guest to arrive.
About that time four dozen mounted riders made their way towards the center of town. The sound of shoed hoofs could be heard for blocks as two rows of riders made their approach. At the head of the two rows was the legend himself. His signature grey hat and thick beard were always easy to spot. Plus there was the fact that he was six and a half feet tall, making him a near giant when he sat upon his horse.
Once they had reached the center of town, Stonewall held up his hand to halt the procession behind him. He road up a bit on his own to where an older gentleman was walking towards him. Once the two men met, Stonewall leaned down towards his left, still staying seated in his saddle, and shook the man's hand. After a brief conversation, Stonewall sat back upright and turned his horse around and quickly rejoined his men. Once again a brief conversation took place, this time between Stonewall and one of his mounted soldiers, then the two men shook hands and separated. Stonewall turned his mount and head towards were the Geisha, Ms. White and Butch were waiting. The other man, turned in his saddle, to look back towards the rest of the men, then let out a short whistle before signaling with his right hand down one of the streets. Then in perfect order the two lines of mounted men, orderly made their way down the indicated street.
When Stonewall was in shouting distance, Geisha started to walk towards him as she held out her arms, “Welcome back my friend!”
“Good to see you too,” Stonewall said with a smile as he pulled up on the rains to slow down his horse. Once the ride came to a complete stop, Stonewall dismounted his horse and headed towards Geisha, his horse's reins in his left hand. He was a large man, well over two hundred pounds, but seemed to be able to use his size, instead of letting it hamper him. As he walked towards Geisha, a noticeable limp could be seen in his left foot, the residue of the broken ankle sustained during the Battle of Bismarck. Even with the limp, he still had a confident swagger to his stride. His gate was better suited for a dirt road that ran down the middle of some Western town, where stagecoach and lawless gunmen ran amok. He wore a faded flannel button up shirt, nicely tucked into a faded pair of blue jeans. Leather chaps covered mos
t of his legs, and a custom gun rig was slung around his waist. Even with the tan duster on, the bone handle of a Bowie knife could be seen, as well as a blue steel Colt .45 LC revolver, which he wore in a cross draw holster.
Stonewalls mount was an Appaloosa half Quarter horse he had named Diz. After getting the two previous mounts shot out from under him, during the Battle of Bismarck, he was finally able to last out the day upon Diz. The two have been nearly inseparable since. Diz was brown with small white spots spattered about her as if a painter had haphazardly flung around a paintbrush dipped in white. The saddle upon her back was a custom job, made long before the lights went out. Strapped to the left side of the saddle was some rope as well as an authentic Civil War saber. On the right side, snuggled into a stiff leather sheath was a modified Marlin 1895, chambered in .45-70. Everything about Stonewall, his mount and his set up described the man he was.
“Thanks for coming,” Geisha said as she gave Stonewall a hug.
“I would like to say my pleasure, but to be honest, things are bit complicated right now. So this will be a quick visit. I need to get back on the trail by daybreak tomorrow.” Stonewall quickly said. He then looked over to where Ms. White and Butch was standing. He touched the brim of his hat with his freed right hand as he nodded towards the pair, “Ma’am, sir.” He said.
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