by TW Powell
One by one, the three hangars located on the western end of the small Kingston airport suddenly and violently exploded. Warning bells, horns, and whistles rang out throughout the canyons. Bobby Ray began scanning the skies through Junior’s binoculars just as soon as the three hangars exploded. Out of the corner of his eye, The Skipper caught the flash as a fourth Hellfire missile leapt off the launch rail of an MQ-9 Reaper drone. That Hellfire demolished Kingston’s Saloon. Bobby Ray then focused Junior’s field glasses directly on the drone.
“There she is, Tommy. There’s a drone circling town. Hold it, she’s heading back south, following the highway.”
“Puma Team to Jarhead.”
“Whatcha got Puma?”
“Puma doesn’t see a thing on the road, but The Skipper just visually acquired a drone firing those missiles. She’s heading back south, must have gone Winchester.”
Bobby Ray scratched his head, “Gone Winchester?”
Tommy replied, “Out of ammo.”
“Jo, that Keeper dude sure called that one.” Junior was shaking his head in disbelief as he gazed out at the remnants of three burning hangars.
“That was four Hellfire missiles. I don’t see, or hear, a chopper, so we have to assume that Bobby Ray really did see a drone.” Tom was just trying to figure out just what they were up against.
“How are we going to block that force coming up from Carver’s? We’ll get blown to bits if we step one foot out on that highway.” Junior was only saying what Tom Jackson was thinking.
Jo had enough, “OK Jackson, have you guys got any kerosene and gasoline? Hell, have you got any paint thinner, or diesel?”
“We can scrounge some up, I’m sure.”
“OK, let’s see what we got and we’ll mix it up and load it in Huey’s fuel tank.”
Junior was dumbfounded, “Jo, you can’t go pouring a bunch of mixed-up crap into Huey’s engines.”
“Look Junior, those engines are turbine engines. If it will burn and it’s not too thick, nor sticky, it will suit Huey just fine.”
“OK Jo, just what do you intend to do if we do find something to fuel the chopper?”
“That Reaper will be back. So, let’s give it a target. Better yet, several targets out on the highway.
“OK, that drone will just blow the targets to hell.”
“I’m counting on it. Get me at least 20 gallons of fuel. As soon as that Reaper is spotted, I’ll take Apache, your main man Juan, and you, Junior, up in Huey. You say you have two BARs?”
“Yes, we do. And we have a Ma Deuce.”
“Holy shit Sweet Pea, that’s even better. Whatever is firing those Hellfires has to come down to about 2,000 feet to effectively target those missiles. When that Reaper comes in, she won’t be looking for bogeys. We’ll bushwhack that Reaper while she’s making her strafing run and cut that bitch up.”
Mid-Morning
Vet was camped out at WestBlock on US 50. Adam had Puma 1 in the air and searching for any hostiles approaching Austin. The town folk had scrounged up a few walkie talkies. Adam, up at the Castle, could now stay in touch with Vet at WestBlock and the few men and women at EastBlock. So far, so good, everything was eerily quiet.
“EastBlock to Vet, heavy traffic coming up the hill!”
EastBlock was positioned right around a hairpin curve at Austin Summit. It could not be seen, much less attacked, by hostiles approaching from the east, until they were within mere yards of the roadblock. In this way, Vet was shrewdly negating the range and firepower advantages enjoyed by the Peoples’ Militia with their heavy weapons.
Hiding in the alpine scrub, immediately above that hairpin curve, were several of Austin’s younger and more fit citizens. They were strategically positioned behind large boulders ready to roll those boulders down upon the highway below. Once the avalanche began, the citizens would attack, armed with pistols and edged weapons. They would engage the stalled Peoples’ Militia in close quarters combat. They would strike hard and fast, then retreat.
Vet had learned those tactics from bitter experience in Afghanistan. He figured that this narrow two-lane road, with a steep hillside on one side and a shear drop on the other, was the perfect spot to employ those tactics.
As the sound of motorized vehicles drew closer to EastBlock, the citizens prayed, sweated, and waited. Then a Hummer slammed on its brakes just a few yards from the roadblock.
Someone yelled out, “Hold your fire, there’s a beehive painted on the side of that Hummer!”
The good news was broadcast over the walkies, “The advanced guard from Salt Lake just arrived at EastBlock.”
A young Lieutenant was second in command of the four Hummer advanced guard. He motioned for the rear vehicle to remain at EastBlock. The other three Hummers were then cleared to proceed on into town.
The Sergeant in charge of the 4th Hummer began barking out orders, “Strategically place those Claymores along the roadway for about 100 yards to the east of this roadblock. Then, place some small charges under those boulders. Yeah, the ones they were going to roll down on the highway. We’ll hit ‘em with the Claymores first and use the boulders only if necessary. I’d rather keep this road somewhat passable, if possible.”
The other three Hummers raced through Austin without even slowing down. As they reached the western edge of town, the 3rd Hummer made a slight left and proceeded up the winding, but well graded, gravel road that led up to the Castle.
“Hey Adam, we’ve got a Hummer coming this way. Four occupants, all dressed in camo.”
“Hank, do you see a beehive?”
“What in the hell are you talkin’ about? Oh, yeah, now I see. There’s a beehive on the Hummer.”
“Hank, here comes the cavalry.”
Moments later, the 3rd Humvee came to a dusty stop on the east side of the Castle. Two Troopers dismounted and raced up to the Castle’s 3rd floor. There they set up a .30 caliber Browning machine gun in a western facing window that offered an unobstructed field of fire down upon US 50. The other two Troopers ran up to the third floor and checked out the roof rafters. The roof of the Castle was long gone, but the rafters were solid. The Troopers ran back down the stairs and pried loose several sheets of plywood that were covering a second story window. They hauled the plywood up to the roof and secured it to the rafters with some screws and a battery powered drill. The duo then ran back down those stairs to their Hummer. They grabbed what looked like a camera on a tripod and a large tube and hauled them up to the roof. This tube was much larger than a Japanese Type 91 man portable antiaircraft tube. The Troopers anchored the tripod and attached optics up on their plywood roof decking. Next, the tube was attached. The pair yet again ran back down to their Hummer and hauled two 6-foot long by 6-inch diameter plastic tubes up to the rooftop.
When fired from the Castle rooftop, the FGM-148 man portable Javelin missile had an effective range in excess of 3 miles. The Javelin is a fire and forget missile. In other words, once the missile leaves the launch tube, it autonomously tracks its target. The launch team does not need to sit around guiding the missile. This allows the launch team to fire, then displace, thereby avoiding counterfire.
The Javelin has a few other tricks up its sleeve. It can be fired in either direct attack, or top attack mode. In direct attack mode, the missile simply flies directly to its target. In top attack mode, the missile flies toward its target then, as it approaches the target, the Javelin pops up and strikes the top of the target. Most tanks have relatively thin armor on top.
When Javelin strikes its target, its warhead contains two distinct charges. The initial, weaker charge is designed to disrupt a tank’s explosive reactive armor. ERA is composed of small tiles that rest on top of a tank’s main armor. Whenever a shaped charge warhead hits ERA, the ERA explodes and disrupts the shaped charge’s intensely focused jet of molten metal that would otherwise instantaneously penetrate the tank’s main armor. Javelin neutralizes the ERA with its first blast, then, milliseconds later, punches
through the tank’s main armor with its primary shaped charge.
Finally, Javelin utilizes a “soft launch” flight profile. When launched, Javelin’s engine briefly fires to kick the missile a few feet out of the launch tube, then, after clearing the launcher, the rocket reignites. This minimizes injuries from back blast when Javelin is launched. It also minimizes the heat and visual signatures of the launch team.
Colonel Porter Young had caught a few winks on the drive back from Ely to Austin. Most successful commanders lead from the front. Just as General Patton had rushed 3rd Army headlong to relieve Bastogne at The Bulge, Porter knew this motorized force had to reach Austin fast. Like Bastogne, Austin was a critical road junction. Just like Patton, Porter also knew, “No good decision was ever made from a swivel chair.”
The two remaining Hummers stopped at WestBlock. Porter, the Lieutenant, and six other troopers dismounted and set up a .30 caliber Browning on a hillside slightly behind the third roadblock. They quickly entrenched a Ma Deuce behind some large boulders on a higher hillside, just behind the second roadblock.
The Deseret troopers distributed some Type 91 surface-to-air heat seekers to the forces at the
Castle, WestBlock, and EastBlock. Adam had Puma #1 up and scouting both east and west of town.
John Nicolescu gave Porter a warm handshake, “Let those bastards bring it, we’re ready to rumble.”
Huey was still sitting on her trailer that Big Sid had just pulled out from under the trees. Her rotors were locked in flight position, but she remained tarped. Her belly contained around 40 gallons of a combination of various paint thinners, kerosene, a little diesel, and gasoline. Bobby Lee and Big Sid were busy rigging up swivel mounts for the two BARs and the Ma Deuce, right inside Huey’s side doors.
Tom and Bobby Ray were busy pulling the two Lander County school busses out onto NV 376. The Austin non-combatants had arrived on those busses earlier that morning and were now safely dispersed among the various Kingston Canyon hideouts.
Junior, Apache, and Juan were busy prepping Huey while waiting.
Tommy was out at the gravel pit, busy scanning NV 376 to the south with Puma 2.
Inspector James Wu had just returned to his quarters at the Primm Resort. It was getting intolerable outside. It would be going up to 117F later that afternoon. Normally, the stiff breeze now blowing would be a good thing, but this breeze was blowing right out of Death Valley. Intense heat, blowing sand, and the blinding sun drove every living thing under cover.
Sitting in front of the AC, James signed onto the CSS intranet, catching up on the morning’s security alerts.
“My, my, Member Smith, don’t we get around.” Delvin’s statement regarding the previous evening’s gunfight at Austin had already been posted on the CSS secure intranet.
James continued his process of deduction, “So Captain Smith picks up Sergeant Jackson at noon yesterday after Sergeant Jackson had conducted an aerial drone recon of Mountain Pass.
“Then, last night, Delvin is wounded in a gunfight between Resistance and Peoples’ Militia up in Austin?
“Not a serious wound, mind you. Wasn’t he wounded back in April, up there close to Austin?”
Delvin was already under the loving care of Lucille, when her relief, Member Sergeant Misha West received a call from the Peoples’ Fallon Emergency Clinic. The previous evening, a Peoples’ Militiaman had managed to escape the Resistance attack over in Austin. Despite being badly wounded, he had somehow managed to drive himself back to Fallon. He wanted to make a statement. He was not expected to live.
Deathbed Testimony
“We were ordered to keep a close watch on the National Café & Saloon over in Austin. Our Coordinator suspected the National Café was a hotspot for black market and Resistance activity.
“Member Sergeant, we need to keep this short and to the point, he’s very weak.”
“Certainly, Member Doctor, I’ll keep it just as brief as possible.”
“We had interrogated the owner, Vince, a couple of times earlier yesterday. We heard rumors that in his younger days, Vince was a terrorist, a United States Marine.”
The dying Militiaman momentarily lost consciousness.
“Member Doctor, is there something you can give him to keep him awake?”
“I can give him a stimulant, but in his condition, it could kill him.”
“Is he expected to live?”
“No, he’s not.”
“Give him the damned shot.”
Shortly after the stimulant was administered, the Militiaman regained consciousness.
“A half dozen of us hung around Austin until evening, asking questions and keeping our eyes open. After sundown, my partner and I went back to the National Café to question Vince and, this time, we told Vince we wanted to question his partner, Stormy.
“Vince called Stormy into the Saloon and we sat her down at a table and began questioning her. She was completely uncooperative and spit in my partner’s face. That was it! He slapped the shit out of that bitch. Actually, she’s quite a looker for her age, so I went over and locked the front door and turned the OPEN sign over to CLOSED. We decided that we would give that White bitch a good fucking right there on the table while her old man watched.
“I don’t know where he had that shotgun hidden, but that old bastard unloaded on us. I caught a couple of double aught pellets in my left shoulder. That White slut broke a bottle of whiskey over my partner’s head, then cut his pecker with the broken bottle.”
The Militiaman coughed, spit up some blood, then lost consciousness once again.
The Sergeant grabbed the dying man and slapped his face until he continued.
“That bitch ran behind the bar while her old man continued blasting away with his 12-gauge.
“We turned the table on its side, crouched down behind it, and returned fire with our rifles. One of us finally hit that son-of-a-bitch and he dropped behind the bar.”
The Militiaman paused, spit up some more blood, and took a couple of deep gasps of air.
“We were just about to finish off that asshole, when two Pricks opened fire from the dining room. One of those Pricks was Member Delvin Smith. The other guy was White.”
“Are you certain the person firing at you in the Café was Member Smith? If it was Member Smith, perhaps he was just grabbing a drink and a bite to eat and was innocently caught up in the altercation.”
The Militiaman was now struggling with every word, but he managed to yell out, “Innocent, my ass, Smith was directing the Resistance. I heard his voice, just like on the TV.
“If that’s not enough, there’s more. After I was hit by pistol fire, I managed to escape by diving out of the Saloon, then crawling back between the dark, shuttered buildings that line Main Street. From there, I staggered back down to the Pony Express Motel. A couple of our vehicles were parked out back. I managed to get behind the wheel of one of those vehicles and slowly drove westward, along the backstreets, with my headlights off, hoping to get away. That’s when I saw that fucking green truck and the Hero of The Collective was just getting behind the wheel.
“I followed him at a distance with my headlights off. He pulled off the road at Middlegate. I could barely keep my eyes open, so I pulled over too. I must have passed out. I thought I heard a shot. When I came to myself, a couple of hours ago, Smith was gone. After that, I managed to drive here, to the Clinic.”
The Militiaman let out a spasmodic gasp, then whispered, “My phone, look on my phone.”
The doctor solemnly shook his head, “He’s flatlining, he’s gone. Are you satisfied now, Member Sergeant West?”
Sergeant West didn’t answer. She was busy rummaging through the dead man’s few personal belongings. She finally found his Peoples’ Phone and pulled up his saved pictures. Sergeant West carefully scrutinized the dead man’s last photo. There, on that Austin backstreet, dimly illuminated by a single working streetlamp, you could just make out Member Delvin Smith climbing into his enviro
nmental green box truck, with pistol in hand.
“Yes, Member Doctor, now I’m completely satisfied.”
Summer Vacation
“Listen Honey, you and the girls get packed.
“Yes, you can bring along your Mom and Dad. In fact, insist they come along.
“You need to leave within the hour. Pack plenty of food and water, we’ll be sort of camping out.
“Yes, take your Dad’s CNG minivan. Fill up the tank along the way as you head up to Yosemite.
“Head up Peoples’ 395. Yes, go up the east side of the Sierras. Go on past Lee Vining, go up to Bridgeport.
“You know that motel right on Walker River?
“Yes, the one where we spent our honeymoon. I’ve already reserved a family suite. Pack some blankets and your Dad’s inflatable mattress.
“OK, I’ll meet you there this evening. Oh, we don’t want to be bothered by any needless interruptions. This is a surprise family vacation. Leave all your Peoples’ Phones at your parents’ house.”
As soon as he got off the phone with his wife, Inspector James Wu checked his CSS intranet once more, just to make certain this wasn’t all just a mistake. It was no mistake. An alert had just been issued for the arrest of Member Delvin Smith, last seen in Fallon, NV, believed to be en route to Stockton, California. Member Smith should be considered armed and dangerous.
“Where does this leave me? Delvin is definitely Resistance. Under questioning, Delvin might denounce me. I was depending upon Delvin to find some way out of this mess.”
James sat for several minutes with his head cupped between his hands, “I know what I must do.”
James called his immediate superior and requested a couple of days leave to take care of family issues in LA. Then, James got into his car and headed north on I-15. Inspector Wu was packing his sidearm but left his Peoples’ Phone in his quarters at the Primm Resort.