by TW Powell
“Yes, my friend John has told me all about you brave men. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”
With that, Ben reached across the table and shook Tom and Junior’s hands.
“You understand that we are Resistance. We won’t quit until this Collective cancer is cut out by the roots, until America is free again.”
“How can I help?”
“Dr. Chapiro, John has told me that you have expertise in separation and recovery of metals.”
“Yes, in an academic setting. I’m not an engineer. I don’t have much actual process experience, but I know the principles.”
Junior chimed in, “Tom, don’t think you that now might just be a good time to bring in the Skipper boys?”
Tom replied, “It most certainly is.”
Junior was out the door in a flash.
Tom, John, and Ben got to know each other better for the next 30 minutes until the Skippers walked into the Saloon.
Tom made the introductions, “Dr. Chapiro, this big fella is Sidney Joe Skipper, but we just call him Big Sid. He’s the muscle of our maintenance and construction crew.”
Big Sid nodded ever so slightly.
“This smaller guy is his Dad, Bobby Lee Skipper, he’s the mechanical brains of this outfit.”
Bobby Lee extended his hand, “Pleasure meeting you Dr. Chapiro, sir.”
“Together, the Skipper boys can fix just about anything. Their real expertise is mining equipment.”
Bobby Lee spoke up, “We’re decent diesel mechanics.”
Big Sid quickly clarified, “Daddy is a fucking mechanical genius. If it burns gas, or diesel, or runs on ‘lectricity, my Daddy can fix it.”
Tom then asked the 64-million-dollar question, “Bobby Lee, at the kaolin mines, or down at Round Mountain, did you and Big Sid ever work in the plant? You know, rebuilding calciners, replacing turbine blades on classifiers, balancing induction fans, all that process stuff.”
Bobby Lee hemmed and hawed.
“Jesus Christ Almighty, Daddy! The man just asked you a question.”
After more hemming and hawing from Bobby Lee, Big Sid let it all hang out, “Daddy gets embarrassed talkin’ about himself, but I’m here to tell you, he is The Man!”
“Down home, mine management would shut down the plant twice a year, a short shutdown around The Fourth and a major shutdown between Christmas and New Year. Them shiftless maintenance men would bitch and cry and moan because, during those shutdowns, they had to pull long shifts, at least 12 hours every day. They would call in sick, or just plain lay out drunk.
Me and Daddy would suck up all that overtime. We worked 16-hour days and man did we work.
“Those college boy engineers didn’t know their asses from a hole in the ground. Whenever they got stumped, which was all the time, Daddy would bail out their sorry asses. Down at Round Mountain, them fucking Chinese engineers was even worse. After we was there a few weeks, they started treating Daddy like he was some kind of Einstein, or somethin’. They smiled, and bowed, and kissed Daddy’s White Georgia ass.”
Tom was just sitting there letting Big Sid go on and on. Tom loved it. But Tom knew Big Sid was not exaggerating one bit. Tom had previously known just a very few men like Bobby Lee Skipper. These men were savants when it came to machinery and rural America seemed to be a breeding ground for their ilk.
Meanwhile an ever-broadening smile was present on Ben’s face. Ben knew that men like the Skippers could put chemistry into practice.
Tom interrupted, “OK Sid, I’m a believer. Here’s what I need you, your Daddy, and Dr. Ben to do. Dr. Ben is going to hang with you men for the next few days. You all get acquainted with the way each other think.
“Bobby Lee, start talking to Dr. Ben about your process experience. Tell him all your old ‘war stories’ in detail.
“Dr. Ben, you work with The Skippers and I mean work. Have them show you how to do the practical things you’ve never done before. Gain an appreciation for their skills.
“While you’re doing that, start thinking about rare earth metals. You are familiar with rare earths?”
Ben nodded his head in the affirmative, “Very familiar, their separation can be most challenging.”
Tom smiled, “Yes, I’ve heard that can be a pain. Talk to The Skippers about your rare earth experience. Share your mutual experiences.”
“Mr. Jackson, are you asking me to join the Resistance?”
“Yes, Dr. Chapiro, I am.”
“You’re too late. I’ve been Resistance since that night in the alley.”
Tom then turned to John, “Vet, are you up to taking a little road trip down south?”
“You two Jarheads got some more airplanes to blow up?”
Thomas and Junior just smiled.
The Resort
White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia is a picturesque small town located 250 highway miles southwest of Washington, DC. White Sulphur Springs is best known for the 5-Star Greenbrier Resort. The Greenbrier sits on 11,000 acres nestled amongst the breathtaking Appalachian Mountains. Established in 1778, The Greenbrier was best known for its mineral springs, but that all changed on the morning of May 31, 1992. That morning’s Washington Post lead story was an expose on The Bunker.
The Bunker had four access points hidden around the Greenbrier property, one of those secret access points was located in the Greenbrier’s West Virginia Wing. The Bunker was a self-contained 112,544 square-foot shelter carved 720 feet into an adjacent hillside designed to accommodate 1,100 people in the advent of a nuclear war. Stocked with 60 days of provisions and thousands of gallons of diesel to power its generators, The Bunker was a mini city with hospital, pharmacy, cafeteria, kitchen, meeting halls, offices, decontamination facilities, and a sophisticated communications center.
After the Post story, its cover was blown. The Bunker was now of minimal value to the Federal government. By 2006, The Bunker’s ownership had reverted to The Greenbrier Resort. It became a tourist attraction and the resort offered guided tours open to the public.
As conditions deteriorated in early 2026, under the authority granted her by the Defense Production Act of 2018, the President ordered the reactivation of The Bunker.
That March morning in 2026, after Jo and The Keeper secretly delivered The Charters to an undisclosed, secure location, the Super Huey was refueled. Jo then flew The Keeper back East, not to DC, but to The Greenbrier, to The Bunker.
Jo was never discharged from the Corps. She remained at The Bunker for several years helping organize the US Resistance Headquarters. Over those years, The Collective bombed The Greenbrier until the resort resembled London after The Blitz. But conventional bombs had little effect on The Bunker. The Collective even launched a VX chemical attack upon the facility, but The Bunker was designed to defeat radiological, biological, and chemical attacks.
Much of the US nuclear arsenal was still controlled by the government in exile. Minutes after the chemical attack upon The Bunker, a very low yield nuclear device detonated low over the Atlantic, several miles east of Cape May, New Jersey. The Collective had just been sent a message. Although the Peoples’ News Network reported that the Cape May, NJ nuclear blast was a thwarted terrorist plot, the real message had been received. There were no more chemical attacks upon The Bunker. In fact, there were no more attacks at all.
Eventually, the National Command Authority decided that Jo’s unique talents could be better utilized as a covert operative. She was ordered to help organize Resistance efforts in Kentucky, working in cooperation with the 3rd Kentucky Volunteers. Jo periodically returned to The Bunker for debriefing.
Jo’s Super Huey was parked, tarped, and well camouflaged somewhere on the sprawling grounds of The Greenbrier. It, along with several other choppers, were kept in constant operational readiness.
Meanwhile, The Keeper had spent the last 15 years at The Bunker. His engineering and security expertise were put to good use by the Resistance, but he made no friends and barely spoke to anyone. One person to w
hom he did speak was the mechanic in charge of the choppers. But those conversations were very limited.
The Keeper constantly asked the mechanic, “Is that Super Huey ready to fly?”
Jimmy’s Orders
One more night march and 1st Brigade, 2nd Kentucky Volunteers would arrive at Vine Grove, Kentucky. About an hour before sundown, Jimmy Haycraft and his 1st Brigade officers were sitting down for a hearty supper of beans and cornbread. Everyone was speculating as to 1st Brigade’s ultimate objective.
A battalion commander asked Jimmy a pointed question, “Colonel Haycraft, sir, what do you think is our ultimate objective?”
“Men, there’s no reason to speculate. Let’s examine the information we have. We know the 1st Kentucky is in Brandenburg and to our left. They have been ordered to stand ready to cut the old Dixie Highway on a moment’s notice. So, it would seem logical that our object is south of Muldraugh, Kentucky probably somewhere in proximity to Dixie Highway.”
Mutters of agreement circled the table.
“As of tomorrow morning, 1st Brigade will have marched about 40 miles, at night, hopefully undetected, under strict radio silence, to this point just west of the old Dixie Highway. 2nd & 3rd Brigades are demonstrating to the south of Elizabethtown, drawing The Collective’s attention away from us. Obviously, we are the tip of the spear.”
Agreement among Jimmy’s subordinates was unanimous. Then someone moaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jimmy responded, “That’s exactly what I thought when we were ordered to Vine Grove a couple of days ago.”
Jimmy spread out a map of Central Kentucky across a scrap of plywood resting on the hood of a nearby junk car. As his men gathered round, Jimmy stuck his knife into the map at a point just a few miles south of Muldraugh, Kentucky along Dixie Highway. No sooner had the knife hit the map, a mixture of laughs, gasps, and moans filled the evening air.
Jimmy’s officers exclaimed in almost perfect unison, “Fort Knox!”
“Jesus Christ, Colonel, are we going to knock over Fort Knox?”
Another unidentified smart ass added, “Jimmy, can we just call you Colonel Goldfinger?”
As everyone was hysterically laughing, a party-pooper Lieutenant burst all their balloons.
“Hold it. After The Collective took over, they hauled all the gold out of the Bullion Depository and sent it to China as payment for all that Treasury debt. There’s no gold in Fort Knox.”
A chorus of voices agreed, “He’s right. It’s all gone.”
Colonel Haycraft was now totally perplexed. Then another junior officer spoke up.
“Colonel Haycraft, sir. Do you recall, about a year ago, when that crazy Marine briefed us on activity up at Knox?”
“Yeah, that bad assed bitch. What was her name?”
“Jo, her name was Jo. She had been monitoring both truck and rail shipments from Oak Ridge up to the Bullion Depository. She said Highly Enriched Uranium was being carefully stored inside the Depository, where the gold was formerly stored. She said the yard around the Depository building was stacked full of drums of Depleted Uranium, but it was in some other form, uranium hexa-something.”
A battalion commander clarified, “Uranium Hexafloride.”
“Yeah, that’s it. She was all upset. She just kept mumbling to herself. She was really agitated.”
Jimmy got directly to the point, “So, inside the Depository we have atomic bomb making material and outside we have material for producing armor piercing ordnance.”
Jimmy was now certain, “I want a lid on this. No gossip. No speculation. We don’t know anything yet. We haven’t received further orders, but it might be a good idea to carefully recon the Depository. Let’s get that done first thing tomorrow.”
The Bishop
Dr. Aaron Jorgensen was an acclaimed trauma surgeon based in Reno, Nevada. He was known throughout the medical community as “Doctor J”. Doctor J had that same God-given gift of healing as Nurse Beth Andrews. He was a maestro at piecing broken bodies back together again. He was constantly shuttling between Sacramento, Frisco, Reno, and all points in between, mending bodies that others thought irreparably broken.
Doctor J was also the Bishop of the secret Mormon Ward that nursed John Nicolescu back to health. Doctor J and his wife, Hannah, were among the dozen souls that John recently saved from The Collective’s inquisition outside the Reno Safe House.
After debriefing/briefing Dr. Ben and The Skippers, Tom turned to Doctor J. Tom called for Doc Williams to join him for this interview. After introductions, Tom got down to business.
“Dr. Jorgensen, it’s a pleasure having a professional of your stature here in Kingston.”
“Believe me, Mr. Jackson, the pleasure is all mine. Your comrade, John, saved all our lives.”
“Please call me Tom. May I call you Doctor J?”
“Most certainly friend Tom.”
“Doctor J, you know that we are Resistance.”
“Yes.”
“We are building a team. A strong team. All committed to the liberation of this country from the oppression of the mob.”
“How can I help?”
“I’m sure you recognize that I cannot disclose the details of possible future actions, but I can safely say that some of those actions will involve hundreds of men, if not thousands. We can expect massive trauma, gunshot wounds, burns, and broken bones of all sorts. There is a high probability that we will be attacked with chemical nerve agents. Add to that all the dangers posed by the harsh desert environment, dehydration, heat stroke, and mean desert critters – scorpions, sidewinders, and black widow spiders.”
“Tom, I stare Death straight in the eye almost every day. That’s my job.”
“Then you will join us?”
“Since I am an American, I have no choice!”
Thomas shook Doctor J’s hand, “Sempre Fi!”
“Doctor J, you are now Chief Surgeon of the 1st Nevada Marines. Doc Williams here is now your associate. Doc is a veterinarian and a damned good one. You two men are now joined at the hip.
“Junior and Doc Williams here are going to train the Medical Team and Process Team on desert survival and firearms. Bobby Lee, Big Sid, Ben, and Doctor J, where you are going, it will come in handy.”
Setting The Hook
Junior was a pretty good cane pole fisherman. He never flinched when the bobber first started twitching. He always waited for the fish to take the bait. Once the bobber was completely under, Junior would carefully set the hook.
When Delvin saw James Wu waiting beside his truck, there in the parking garage of Peoples’ Airport Plaza, Delvin knew the bobber had just went under. Now he had to carefully set the hook.
“Good day, Comrade Inspector Wu. How may I better serve the People’s Republic today?”
“Mr. Smith, Delvin, are we safe here?”
“Comrade Wu, please step into the back of my truck. I have a shipment that may warrant some inspection.”
Delvin lowered the lift gate and raised the truck’s roll up door. He and James rode the lift gate up, then stepped inside the truck’s box. Delvin then removed his People’s Phone from his jacket pocket and motioned for James to do likewise. After slipping off his jacket, Delvin wrapped both phones in his jacket and placed them in the nose of the box.
He then pulled a small device from his hip pocket and swept the truck and James’ person for listening devices.
“OK, James, we can cut all the bullshit.”
“Delvin, I have some information for you.”
“OK, I’m listening.”
James began telling Delvin about the incident that occurred a few nights earlier at the Mormon Safe House in Reno. A few details were off, but the story was essentially accurate, James was at ease. He trusted that Delvin’s truck was bug free. He didn’t suspect that Delvin was recording the entire conversation with a small device hidden in the truck’s roll up door mechanism.
“OK, James, thank you. I had heard that s
ame crazy story from a friend.”
“Oh, on another matter, are you aware of anything going on down at Mountain Pass? A special friend asked me to find out.”
“By special friend, do you mean that tall, hot Asian lady who spent the night with you in Suite 728, Member California Coordinator?”
“My compliments, James. Yes, she is a special friend.”
James was salivating at the thought of what went on the previous night in Suite 728.
Delvin continued his train of thought, “A special friend like that could be of assistance. She is having some difficulty with CSS interference at the Mountain Pass Mine.”
“My wife has been after me to arrange for us to spend some time with her family down in LA. Perhaps I could request temporary assignment down at Mountain Pass. Nobody wants to be posted to that infernal place in the summer.”
“Good thinking James. I think we can do business. If you need to get hold of me, call my Peoples’ Phone twice, hanging up each time.”
Air Races
Thomas decided to have Junior and Vet remain in Kingston and train the new arrivals and supervise the cross-training program. Although Vet was an Army Ranger and Junior was a Marine, these men had forged a special bond under fire that cut across any foolish service rivalries. They made a badass pair.
Upon Tom’s arrival back at Stonewall Ranch, he presented Tommy with that special gift from Captain Smith, “Private Jackson, you are to devote all your efforts into mastering this surveillance system. I don’t want anyone else even touching it. That means you, Private Skipper. This drone is too important to fuck around with. Are we clear Private Skipper?”
The Skipper sheepishly muttered, “Yes Sergeant.”
“You concentrate on your studies and maybe one day you can handle tech stuff.”
“Tommy, I want a preliminary report on capabilities and limitations by suppertime tomorrow.”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
After supper, Thomas assembled the entire Jackson extended family.
“Ho, Yen, Nurse Beth, Gabby, tomorrow morning you will go to Kingston. You will report to Dr. Aaron Jorgensen, Chief Surgeon, 1st Nevada Marines. You have just been drafted.”