Grid Down Perceptions of Reality

by Bruce Buckshot Hemming

  The stream was only about 10 feet wide, with lots of brush overhanging, and brush piles in the water, giving plenty of cover for the trout to hide. He snuck up to the first hole; cast his bait right in front of a fallen log. He retrieved the lure, but nothing, no fish following it. ‘Oh no, maybe I shouldn't have been bragging so quickly,’ he thought.

  An hour later he finally caught his first fish, a beautiful 12-inch brook trout. Joe breathed a sigh of relief. He sure didn’t want to hear from Jane all night long, about what a lousy fisherman he was.

  A half hour later he caught another one about 10-inches long. Well that's good enough for tonight. At least we have one whole fish each to eat.

  Chapter 9

  Amy’s Rescue

  “Having a sense of purpose is having a sense of self. A course to plot is a destination to hope for.”

  ― Bryant McGill

  Preston needed to find something to pry the hasp off the wagon door. The guards were pretty easy to figure out. They must not have had any problems for months, because they were very relaxed. Once an hour they took a walk around. One stayed in the gatehouse, while one walked the perimeter of the compound. They walked right by the wagon several times. It was time to go into the barn and try to find a pry bar of some type.

  It shouldn’t be too hard, as the barn was also a little workshop. Preston opened the door and entered, listening for a while, and then quietly closed the door behind him. No flashlight, so he would have to use his hands and try to find something by feel. He had to move very slowly, as he couldn't afford to knock something over and make a bunch of noise. He wanted a long pry bar, but he would settle for anything that he could use to pry the hasp off. A claw hammer, a big wrench, a pipe wrench, a crescent wrench, or large channel locks would work. There had to be something in the barn that he could use.

  It was difficult in the dark, and he fumbled around, slowly moving his hands around the workbench. He found small wrenches, screws, nuts, bolts, and pieces of wood, everything but what he was trying to find. He worked slowly along the bench, coming to a toolbox on the end. Inside, he found what he was looking for, a claw hammer and a large cold chisel. He grabbed them both, and was so excited that he swung his hand to the side too quickly, knocking over a can of nuts and bolts. As it hit the concrete floor, it bounced and scattered the bolts and nuts everywhere. It sounded really loud to him and he quickly shoved the cold chisel in his pocket, pushing the hammer down along his belt. He raised his rifle, pointing it at the door, waiting for the guards to come bursting in.

  His heart was racing and the adrenaline dump hit him, causing his hands to shake. Some rescue this is turning out to be, he thought. He waited, straining his ears to hear the sound of running footsteps and shouting, but there wasn’t a sound. He lifted his foot to take a step, and kicked the can. It rattled along the concrete floor, making yet more noise. He told himself to calm down and stop acting like a rank amateur.

  Slowly, he crept to the door, being careful not to trip on the scattered nuts and bolts. His whole plan was based on him doing this quietly. He couldn’t let Amy down. He couldn't have been inside for more than 10 minutes. He should still have plenty of time before the next patrol. He opened the door a crack, peeked outside and breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was as quiet as before. He had gotten lucky. He stepped outside, turned around slowly, and turning the handle, he quietly closed the door. Once the door was shut, he allowed the handle to turn back slowly, so there was no loud click.

  He looked up to the gatehouse, and the two guards were standing around joking, not really paying attention at all. He slipped behind the barn and stayed in the darkness until he worked his way back over to the house.

  It was almost midnight by now, and he guessed that they would probably be changing guards at midnight. He wanted to wait until the guards had changed, and give the new guards a couple hours to relax, before he made his move. He had just crawled back under the hedges next to the house, when he heard the front door open. He panicked a little, wondering if someone had seen him. He raised his rifle up, ready for trouble. Two men came out and stepped onto the porch. They looked around and stretched, “Another long, cold, lonely night, hey?” one of them said.

  The other replied, “Yeah, it sure was hard leaving Lisa in that nice warm bed. But she'll be waiting for me in the morning when we get off.”

  They started walking towards the gatehouse. Preston thought, “Good. Hopefully they are worn out and tired.” He couldn't hear what they were saying when they approached the other guards, but after a few words, they relieved them. The two that were getting off watch, quickly entered the house.

  Now the waiting game had started. The only problem was that the rear of wagon was facing the front gate. He wouldn’t be able to used a hammer and chisel without alerting the guards. He was going to have to take them out. He didn't want to kill them, as chances are they were just guards for the compound. They had nothing to do with kidnapping Amy, or hurting Michael. He would just use the hammer and knock them out. He would turn the hammer sideways, smack them hard against the head, and then gag and tie them to a tree. Now he only needed to worry about the roaming guards.

  He crawled back out and picked a dark corner, where the guards couldn’t see him. He gave them about 15-minutes to settle down, and then snuck off behind the barn. That was the darkest and furthest part that the guards patrolled. The only thing he was worried about was the guards tended to be lazy at night. He was worried the guys might not do the full patrol. That's why he must strike on the first round. Chances are the guy would be lazy on the next one. He found a spot halfway along the barn and a hay-baling machine. It was perfect to hide behind. His plan was simple, let the guy walk out, smack him in the head with a hammer, and then gag and tie him up.

  Setting his rifle down, he practiced stepping out and striking. This practice was so he could clear anything that might make noise, like branches, tall grass, or anything else. He practiced over and over and over again. And it was good thing, because there were sticks that snapped under his feet, and one lone beer can in his way. Once everything was clear, he was 100% positive he could approach the man without making a sound. He waited for the patrol, and the waiting was killing him. The sooner he could free her, the sooner they can put miles behind them. He thought about Michael and prayed he was okay. He prayed that Amy would be in good enough shape to run. With the waiting and the darkness, his doubts and insecurities came flooding in. What if this doesn't work? What if the other guard kills me before I can knock him out? What if someone sees me? What if I can't get the hasp to break? Question after question popped into his head.

  “Stop!” He told himself. Focus and do your job and it will work. He gave himself a pep talk, but the doubts kept coming back. What if that stranger returned to their camp, killing Michael and stealing everything they had left? His stomach grumbled. He had not eaten in hours. He had taken two of the fish with him, skinned them and ate them raw, but that was late afternoon and he hadn’t had anything since. Man-up, he told himself. There’ll be time to eat later.

  He peeked around the corner, and saw the guard coming. The guy was walking slowly, and he was almost to Preston when he stopped. Damn. What's the matter now? Preston thought. Does he have night vision? Did I make a mistake? Was that empty beer can used as a marker? Was he really this sharp? Preston strained his ears, trying to hear something. He kept his breathing shallow and quiet. Come on already buddy make a decision. His mind was racing, what if the guy turned around and left? Should he take a chance and try to take him out? He heard a zipper open, followed by the sound of water running on the ground. Oh, that explains what’s going on. Preston thought, ‘Hurry up and finish already.’ He heard the zipper closing and footsteps coming closer and he was almost there. As he walked past, Preston stepped out and hit the guy really hard with the hammer. The guy crumpled to the ground like a piece of paper. Quickly, jumping on top of him in a flash, he grabbed his head and lifted it up. He was kno
cked out cold, but still breathing. Using the nylon baling twine, he shoved a rag in the guy’s mouth and tied it securely in place. He then tied his hands behind his back, dragged him over to the far wheel of the bailing wagon and tied him to the axle. He stripped the man of his rifle and ammo. Good, at least Amy could be armed now, he thought.

  Preston snuck back beside the house, stashed the gun and ammo in the brush, and wearing the guards coat and hat, he could casually walked up to the last guard. Keeping his head down he walked up to the front gate. The hammer in his right hand behind his back. The other guard turned back around. “What took you so long?” Ignoring the question's his pace slow and steady. When he could see the guy’s feet, he looked up and said, “Your friend is tied up.” It was a shocked look on the guards face. Preston jumped swinging the hammer down. But the guy had pulled back. The hammer didn't connect with the full force. The guy fell back on the ground. Begging for his life, “Don't kill me.” Preston hit him again with the hammer knocking them out cold. Same as before gagged and tied him up. Propping the guard up to a post to give the appearance he was still standing duty just sitting down for a break. Good deal time to get Amy free now. He looked around all the lights were out on the house. At a fast walk he made it to the wagon.

  Upon reaching the wagon, he whispered, “Amy are you in there? Silence. “Amy?” he said a little louder? He heard rustling. “Amy is that you?” He heard mumbling as Amy woke up. “Preston? Is it really you? Am I dreaming?” He whispered for Amy to be quiet “Preston, is it really you? You’re really here. Please, get me out of here.”

  Preston whispered, “What do you think I am trying to do?” She moved to the door and asked, “What's the plan?”

  “I’m going to see if I can break this hasp off.” Using the claw part of the hammer, he jammed it between the top of the hasp and the door. Bending down, using his full weight, as he did so, he expecting the hasp to break off, or the screws to pull out, but they didn't. He could hear the screws starting to pullout, but he needed to put more pressure on the hammer. He repositioned the claw at the bottom of the hasp, and as he strained with it, he felt something give and heard a loud snap, as the claw of the hammer broke off, causing him to smash his knuckles against the door.

  He wanted to swear. He wanted to cuss like a drunken sailor, but knew he couldn’t. Damn that really hurt. Amy said in the darkness, “What happened?”

  He whispered, “The hammer broke.”

  “Can you get me out?” She said in a near panic.

  “Hang on.” He pulled the cold chisel from his pocket and with the screws pulled out almost an inch; he thought he could get enough leverage to pull them loose. Setting the hammer down he placed the chisel between the door and the hasp, this time he pulled downward. Putting one foot against the door and using all his weight, he pulled for all he was worth. The hasp gave way suddenly, causing him to fall on his butt.

  The door swung open and Amy jumped out. Helping him up, she then jumped into his arms. Kissing him and whispering, “Thank you, for saving me.”

  “It's not over yet. We still have to get out of here.” She started toward the front gate but Preston grabbed her arm, pulling her back, “Over this way. I have a rifle and ammo for you.” “Oh you think of everything,” she whispered. He retrieved the gun and ammo pouch from the bush and she quickly put them on. He handed her the guard’s coat, which he had been wearing over his, and gave her the hat.

  They walked right out front gate. The guards were still knocked out cold. So far, so good. He thought. Once they reached the bikes, Amy asked, “Where's Michael? Is he okay?”

  “Yes. He has a nasty bruise on his head. But he was doing fine when I left him.” Amy smacked him, “What you mean you left him?”

  Preston said, with some exasperation, “We can talk about this later. Right now we have miles to cover.”

  Amy whispered back, “You’d better believe we are going to talk about this Mister.” Preston was about to remind her that he wanted to stand guard over her, but she insisted he go fishing, which is what put them in this mess, but thought better of it.

  “Fine. But right now, shut up and get on the back of the bike. We have miles to cover.” She did so with a pout, and they were back on the road. Each mile traveled, they felt more and more relief. No pursuit, no sign that anybody even knew she'd escaped . . . yet. With any luck, they wouldn't know until morning that she was gone. By then, they should be back with Michael and moving on. After two hours, they stopped for a break. They had covered at least 15 miles. Amy was still mad at him and said, “What's going on? How dare you leave Michael all by himself? You should've brought him with you. What were you thinking?”

  Preston said, “Keep it down. I moved him back by the pond, and I'm sure he's fine. There was no way I could take him with me. He was injured, and couldn’t have kept up to catch the wagon and save you. You sure are being ungrateful.”

  She hung her head down, ‘I’m sorry. I know I'm just worried about him.” She kissed him again, saying, “Thank you for saving me.” And then she slugged him in the arm, saying, “You promised you would kill me and not let me be taken.”

  Preston said, “I'm sorry. I didn't get there in time.” He lied. And then jokingly said, “The way you’re behaving, I’ll seriously consider it, if there is ever a next time.” Amy paused and then giggled quietly, hugging him tighter.

  “Do you have anything to eat? I'm starving.”

  “Sorry. They stole your pack, and I left mine back at camp. I had to travel fast and light.”

  They made it back to the pond about an hour after daybreak, but there was no sign of Michael. They could see that he built a lean-to, and the fish smoker had fish in it.

  Amy looked at Preston, “Where is he?” as she looked around.

  Preston was also scanning the area and said, “I have no idea. He has to be around here somewhere. I told him I would be back within four days. Maybe he got lost.”

  In a panic, Amy said, “Oh my God. What if somebody took him?”

  Chapter 10

  The Training

  "Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men."—Gen. George S. Patton Jr.

  On the third day, Joe was getting impatient, and as Jane cleaned some more fish, he said, “We should be training people. We should be finding ambush spots.” And he paced the floor.

  Jane told him to just relax already. “Can't you just enjoy the free time that we have?”

  “I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just want to get this going already.”

  With a smirk on her face, Jane stood up, wiped her hands on a towel and started unbuttoning her blouse. “Well, I can think of something to take your mind off everything.”

  Joe looked up, “Oh, what ever do you mean my dear?” He smiled with a devilish grin.

  Later that afternoon, when Joe was outside splitting kindling, he heard a horse riding up. He retrieved his rifle, which he had hidden behind a woodpile, and within a few minutes Jacob appeared. Joe stepped out to greet him. “Good to see you.”

  Jacob smiled and said, “I have good news. We have 15 men, plus you two, which would make a total of 17 altogether. That should be enough to get the job done, don't you think?”

  “Yes. That should work. Are these all trustworthy men?”

  “Yes. I can vouch for each and every one of them. I just came back to let you know that there's a meeting at the house tonight. Come up just before dark.”

  “Thanks Jacob. Would you like to come in for a cup coffee before you head back?”

  “I’d love to, but I just don't have the time. I have a few others to visit before I head home. I’ll see you tonight.” With that being said, he turned the horse around and left.

  That evening they all met. There were 15 men, whose ages ranged from 18 to 45. Joe started the meeting by asking, “Do any of you have any military experience?”

  Six of the men said they had. “Have the rest of you hunted before?” All but of 4 of them raised their ha
nds. “Good. Here's the plan. We need to pick an ambush spot, one that’s not near anyone's homestead. Far enough away, that we won't be found out and no one person or family can be blamed. We practice for a week or two, until everyone is very efficient and knows what to do. We use bait to lure them into the trap. We kill them all. We take no prisoners. No one can escape. Does anybody have a problem with this?”

  The room erupted and it was hard to make out what people were saying. The overall census was they were fed up with being pushed around. They were sick and tired of paying taxes, giving their daughters and sisters up to be whores for the warlord, and under his constant thumb.

  “Okay. Okay, everybody settle down. What do we have for weapons? Please one at a time, starting with you Philip.” Philip said, “We have two compound bows and plenty of arrows.” He turned and looked at the next guy. “We have one double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun, and a box of double aught shells.” The next man said, “We have one cross bow and several shafts,” another said. “We have a single shot 410 shotgun and some shot and slugs.” The next one said, “We have axes, machetes, and pitchforks.” That was it. Just a half a dozen weapons, plus what Joe and Jane had. It would have to do.

  Joe asked. “Have any of you heard of the term slam shotgun?” Not waiting for an answer he continued. “It’s a simple concept take a three-quarter inch steel pipe in a 12gauge shell fits perfectly and it. This fits inside a 1 inch steel pipe that has a metal screw on cap. With a tack soldered in the center. You make the one inch steel pipe 6 to 8 inches long. You file the three-quarter inch pipe all the way around until it easily slides in and out. When you’re ready to fire you simply slam him together. They are not very accurate and are extreme close range weapon. But if you make the three-quarter inch pipe about 20 inches long and mounted on a homemade stock. You have a fairly accurate shotgun. The only problem with this is reloading. You have to take it all apart pry out the 12gauge empty shell insert a new one then you’re ready to fire again. It can be done but it’s not as easy as you think. Because the brass on the 12gauge shell expands tight to the three-quarter inch pipe. But for our purposes it will be a great one-shot weapon.”