by TW Powell
Two Hummers now lay overturned alongside NV 376, just a few miles north of Carver’s, Nevada. A Land Rover was immobilized on the road, with .50 caliber bullet holes in its radiator and engine block.
As the sun began setting behind the Toiyabes, Marine Scout Sniper, John Jackson, was relocating after trashing that Land Rover. Paladin was quietly waiting for his master in a small canyon a half-mile further up the highway. John mounted his dark grey steed and quickly rode another half-mile up the road. Then he stashed Pal in another canyon and resumed his deadly game.
When hunting men at night, Grandpa John always packed both an IR scope and a night vision scope. At this altitude, the desert air cooled quicky after sunset, so John selected the IR scope. The Militia caravan had resumed its slow northward trek with an ancient jeep in the lead. They were learning. John was a good teacher and more than willing to teach The Collective some more lessons.
Grandpa chuckled to himself as the jeep passed by. He patiently allowed three more vehicles to pass. Then he marked his target, one of those two camo school busses previously spotted by Puma.
Gramps first took out the bus’s engine block, then he displaced. In rapid succession, he took out 5 Members as they exited the bus. John was concealed amongst some sagebrush about a mile due west of the highway. The road was well within the range of his .50 caliber sniper rifle, but his position was at the effective range limit of the Militia’s MOBAT 5-inch recoilless rifle.
As soon as he took that fifth shot, John knew he had screwed up. He should have relocated after his first kill shot, but 5 targets were just too tempting.
Some of the Militia’s MOBAT ammunition were modified cannister rounds. These shells were sort of like shotgun shells, containing many small flechettes, small darts. A spotter pinpointed the muzzle flash from John’s fifth shot and the MOBAT prepared to fire. With a muzzle velocity of 1,500 feet per second, the MOBAT’s darts would shred John about 3 seconds after firing.
The race was on. It took the spotter a mere second to direct MOBAT’s counterfire. 4 seconds after John pulled the trigger, the darts began slicing and dicing Grandpa’s position. Realizing that he had screwed up, the old man was already displacing mere milliseconds after the fifth .50 caliber round left his rifle’s barrel. This time, John got off easy, but not scot-free. An errant dart sliced into his left thigh. Grandpa John’s combat experience continued to serve him well. He left the flechette in place, in his thigh, and applied a torniquet above the wound.
Paladin immediately responded to John’s whistle. Paladin was one very smart gelding. He loved to learn new tricks and Grandpa John loved teaching him. One of those tricks was “bowing”. Little did Gramps know that teaching Paladin to bow would someday save the scout sniper’s life.
There was no way John could mount the large gelding. Hell, with that metal dart buried in his thigh, Gramps couldn’t even mount a pony.
The Militia convoy had now come to a complete stop. The Militia left their vehicles and began slowly advancing in line up the alluvial fan.
Gramps stood face-to-face with Paladin and bowed. The gelding neighed, then reciprocated by kneeling on his front left knee, extending his front right leg, then lowering his head to the ground. Grandpa John threw his injured leg up over the saddle and settled into the stirrups. Pal immediately arose and broke into a brisk canter heading north, toward Kingston.
The Militia scoured the foothills west of NV 376 for the next two hours to no avail. The sniper had disappeared. The Militia commander circled his remaining vehicles and decided to rest and reorganize prior to continuing his mission the following morning.
About the same time the Militia settled in for the night, Grandpa John made it back to Kingston. After Doctor J removed the metal dart from his thigh, John got the tongue lashing of his life from Betty and Tom.
“Dad, what in the world were you thinking, going off on your own like that?”
“Son, you know what I was doing. It’s the same thing you’ll be doing until the Mormons take out their airpower.”
Tom paused, shook his head, “YES”, then bent down and kissed his Dad on the forehead. As Thomas left the Aid Station, Junior was sitting on a log, right outside the tent.
“Cowboy Tom, your Dad is right. We gotta float like a butterfly and sting like a bee, none of that George Foreman stuff.”
Tom gave Junior a big hug, “That old man is one tough, smart customer. Round 1 goes to Johnathan Lee Jackson on points.”
Junior chuckled, “Good thing we have a great cutman in our corner.”
Eureka
100 Salt Lake Troopers hit the trail to Eureka at dusk. Porter had given strict orders that his Troopers should disperse and make good use of the desert terrain to conceal their movements. But let’s face it, it’s hard to mask the movement of 100 horses. A stiff, warm, south wind had blown across Nevada’s basin and range all afternoon, kicking up some dust. That was just fine with the Salt Lake Troopers. Between the darkness and the dust, they just might escape detection this evening. All day tomorrow, the Troopers would nap in Eureka, while their horses would graze on alfalfa in Diamond Valley, just north of town.
Dozens of irrigation pivots dotted Diamond Valley. It was now midsummer and, while the surrounding high desert was drier than a popcorn fart, the circular alfalfa fields of Diamond Valley were lush, dark green, oases.
The first Mennonites had arrived in Eureka in the late 20th century. The Mennonites are an Anabaptist Christian sect. German Baptists and Amish are similar Anabaptist denominations. The Mennonites are the most diverse of all Anabaptists. Some Mennonites, the “Plain People”, totally reject modern technology and “English” ways, while others utilize modern conveniences to various degrees. All Mennonites are pacifists and will not fight. They are hard working people and highly regarded as craftsmen. The Mennonites are good citizens and believe in, “Rendering to Caesar, that which is Caesar’s.”
There was only one slight problem. The “Caesar” now in control of the Peoples’ United States was more akin to Nero, or maybe Caligula. Anabaptists, of whatever persuasion, ranked right alongside Jews and Mormons on The Collective’s Social Quotient Scale. Since 2026, tens of thousands of Anabaptists had been denounced for their beliefs and butchered by the enlightened, progressive Collective. And they were so easily butchered, unlike the Mormons, the Mennonites wouldn’t fight back.
After 2026, many Mennonites fled the Eastern States for the relative safety of the West. The Mennonite population of Eureka had steadily grown. The Mennonites excelled at ranching, potato farming, hunting and processing wild game, mining, and woodworking. The women were fantastic cooks and seamstresses. Their patchwork quilts were a sizzling hot commodity on the black market.
The Collective watched Eureka with envious eyes. Eventually, those Mennonite fanatics would be denounced, and their farms seized. Although farm productivity steadily dropped upon collectivization, the apparatchiks at the Collective Farm Bureau had definitively linked decreased farm yields to lingering vestiges of racism, capitalism, and Whiteness. Eventually, The Collective would get it right. Socialism just had to work, it just had to. The Collective’s economic theories had become religious dogma, unsupportable, but indisputable.
The Eureka Mennonites traded with Deseret and coexisted with the many Mormon residents of rural Nevada. Helaman’s 2,000 Troopers had great respect for the Mennonites because, like the Ammonites found in the Book of Mormon, they were pacifists who would rather die than kill their fellow man. How coincidental that Helaman’s 2,000 would once again protect those who would not protect themselves.
The Collective knew these White, Mennonite, Christians were pacifists. Only one Peoples’ Militia Community Coordinator was stationed in Eureka. He collected a yearly tax from the populace and provided The Collective with a steady stream of intelligence that clearly identified farm ownership and farm production.
For the second day in a row, the Eureka Community Coordinator’s breakfast was rudely interrupted
. This time it wasn’t four Hummers doing the interrupting. It was 100 Mormon horsemen.
Road Trip
“OK James, just how long must we stay down in this uncomfortable floorboard?”
“No, talking. Just answer my questions.”
“Or you’ll do what? If you were going to kill me, I’d already be dead. You can’t kill me. If you kill me, your family is screwed. That may literally be the case for your daughters.”
“Delvin, are you looking to die here? Tonight?”
“Are you kidding me? Why haven’t you killed the woman? You can’t let here live!
“Go ahead. Pull off the road and shoot her.”
Lucy was crying, begging, and punching, kicking, and biting Delvin.
James did not pull off the road and Delvin sat up in the rear seat.
“We all three are facing existential problems. May I suggest that we rewind our relationship?”
“No tricks. I know you are Resistance and a killer.”
“Just like I know you are CSS and a killer. But for some reason, you didn’t kill this woman. Now, can we move forward?”
“I’m listening.”
“I know that you think you have covered your tracks, but you must assume they’ll soon be on to you. Lucy is a witness. You cannot allow Lucy to live.”
James did not reply. He slowed the car and hung a right turn onto NV 359. He was now heading southwest on a desolate Nevada two lane highway.
“James, my friend, seems to me that your situation hasn’t changed much. You have a serious problem. As for me, I also have a serious problem. It’s time to talk turkey and make a deal.”
For several minutes, James continued down the dark blacktop road in complete silence.
“What kind of deal?”
“What if I could take you and your family someplace where there is no CSS and no Collective?”
“Continue.”
“Someplace where your family will be free. Where your daughters will not be violated. Someplace where you will not be feared, but perhaps, someday be respected. Someplace resembling the real world, but maybe just a little more austere.”
“Smith, that world is dead. That was the world of my youth. It’s gone.”
“No, it’s not. In fact, it’s only a couple of hours away.”
“Assuming you’re not lying, what will this cost me?”
“You will be a traitor to both the PRC and The Collective.”
James laughed, “So what? I’m already a traitor. I just shot two Peoples’ Militia in cold blood.”
Lucy screamed out, “What about me? Are you going to kill me too?”
“Lucy, Honey, Neither James, nor I, can allow you to return to The Collective. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“So, after fucking me all day today, you’re just going to kill me out here in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt?”
Lucy spit straight into Delvin’s face.
After wiping away the spittle, Delvin continued, “Lucy, all I’m saying is that you and our chauffeur are in the same pickle. You can’t return to Fallon and neither James. nor his family, can return to California until The Collective is defeated.
“If you return to Fallon, you’ll be denounced tomorrow and probably be dead by sundown.”
“Delvin, can you help me? Can you take me to that place you were just talking about? I can remember it too, but like the Inspector, I thought it was gone.”
“That’s not up to me. It’s up to James. He can release me and allow me to save you, him, and his family. But, once we do that, there’s no going back. One more thing, they will look for you. You will be at war with both the People’s Republic and The Collective.”
James pulled the car off onto the shoulder, got out, and opened the back doors.
“Both of you get out!”
Delvin slid out of the driver’s side backseat and Lucy slid out the other side, neither knowing exactly where they stood. Lucy once again began whispering that prayer.
James stood behind them, pistol in hand, “What about my family? Will they be safe?”
Lucy glanced at Delvin, “What about my boys? What about Mom?”
“Where are your boys and your mother right now?”
“They are over in Fallon. Yesterday morning, I called Mom and asked her to pick the boys up after school, so we would not be interrupted this evening.”
“Good. We have a little time to work on your problem.”
“James, as for your family, I can’t promise you that they’ll be safe. I can promise you that your family will be amongst friends who will fight alongside me, you, and Lucy to protect them.”
James reached into his pocket, pulled out the keys, and tossed them to Slick.
James lowered his pistol, “Captain Smith, what do we do next?”
“James, as soon as I unlock these cuffs, let’s go get your wife and kids.
“Whatcha say Lucy?”
Lucy nodded her head, “Yes.”
Family Reunion
James and his two former prisoners made Bridgeport, California by midnight.
“James, slowly make a circuit of the motel parking lot.
“OK, it looks empty.”
“There’s my father-in-law’s minivan parked right in front of the end unit.”
“James, go in and wake them up. Tell them you have something fantastic to show them, but they have to leave now, or they’ll miss it. Tell them it’s a once in a lifetime sight. If they balk, don’t take “NO” for an answer.”
“20 minutes later, the minivan was packed and ready to roll.”
“James, I want you to drive the van. Lucy’s going to drive your car. I’m going to get in the backseat and lay low. I saw a 24-hour fuel stop as we entered town. Let’s gas up both vehicles.”
After refueling both vehicles, Delvin directed Lucy along a circuitous route following paved, two-lane Nevada backroads. They were stopped momentarily in Hawthorne as some military traffic clogged the road, but then proceeded on through Luning, and Gabbs, making their way roughly eastward across basins and over ranges. They followed NV 21 north for the last 40 miles of their exodus, up the Reese River Valley. They were following the west side of the mighty Toiyabe Range.
This valley was the ancestral home of the Yomba Paiutes. The scattered houses and house trailers were dark. It was a dark night, so Delvin couldn’t see much detail, but something wasn’t quite right. No Rez Dogs were barking.
Everyone had dozed off to sleep in the minivan, except James’ father-in-law. This is probably a good time to discuss the Wu family situation in greater detail.
James’ wife was named Hana. James met Hana while he was at Stanford University. James’ father-in-law, Henry Huang, was multi-generational Chinese American. Henry’s forefathers came to America to build the railroads that tamed the wild, young North American continent. James’ mother-in-law, Katrina. was of mixed Japanese/Caucasian blood. Among the Japanese, she was “Hafu”, which means “half”. This was one of the Wu’s family’s darkest secrets.
Shortly after the ’26 Revolution, at the behest of their Chinese masters, The Collective began
scouring the West Coast, rounding up all those of Japanese descent. Henry worked as an engineer at Northrop Grumman in Palmdale, California, a major aerospace defense contractor. He was immediately recruited by a Red Chinese front company with the full blessing of The Collective. When Katrina filled out her Social Datasheet back in ’27, she listed her race as “Amerasian, Non-specific”. This guise was easily maintained, as Katrina had no ties to the Japanese community. “Hafu” were typically shunned by the Japanese.
Henry was not a big fan of The Collective. He was of Chinese heritage and had simply worked as an engineer for a Chinese owned business. Henry did not see this as a problem. On the other hand, Katrina lived in constant fear of being denounced as Japanese, an enemy of The Collective.
James had not yet told Hana about The Collective’s latest social engineering masterpiece, the Fr
eedom of Sexual Identity Program. When James briefly mentioned possibly relocating the family to China, Hana went ballistic. James was certain that, once Hana had all the facts, she would understand his decision to flee California.
Henry calmly whispered, “Jimmy, what is really going on here?”
“Hank, we are in big trouble. We are in trouble with both Chinese State Security and The Collective.”
“We are running, are we not?”
“Yes. If we do not run, I must relocate the family to China. Plague is sweeping China. We could all be killed just running the blockade. Hana does not wish to live in China. If her Japanese and Caucasian heritage were revealed, it would bring us nothing but trouble in China.”
“James, our family is well respected in the local Chinese community. Perhaps I could pull some strings, call in some favors due…”
“Thank you for offering, but we cannot stay here either.” James then gave his father-in-law a thumbnail sketch of The Collective’s new program and how it would threaten his young daughters.
“Jimmy, thank you for protecting my granddaughters. Are you sure of the details of this sexual exploitation and indoctrination program?”
“Unfortunately, I am very sure. All CSS personnel were briefed. We cannot opt our kids out. CSS wants all its agents to seamlessly meld with The Collective.”
“Jimmy, you are CSS, you must have a plan. Where are we going?”
“Father-In-Law, I hope we’re going back to the real world.”
Zion, Fishlake & Provo
Recon Team #1 nailed it. The Corn Creek Paiute Reservation, just northwest of Las Vegas was deserted. The 100 mounted Zion Troopers checked out the Rez, house by house. The Paiutes were gone. It appeared that they had been gone for several days and whatever happened, happened suddenly and violently. The bloated carcasses of over a dozen Rez Dogs lay rotting in the streets.
This was actually a fortunate turn of events for the Troopers. They could not risk leaving a small town full of potentially hostile informants to their rear.