The Battles of Rock Harbor

by J. B. Craig

  These were his people, his clan, his family. He vowed at this table that he would die to keep them safe, if necessary. That said, he thought of the famous quote by Patton: “The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his.”

  Fresh Meat

  After moving into the mansion, Greg eventually un-packed his Bug out bag from the house at Rock. While un-packing into all the cubby holes and built-in cabinets of his “Captain’s Chamber”, Greg finally got to the bottom of the bag. Down there, among things like spare batteries and some more 550 lb. test “para” cord (to keep parachutes from dropping guys), he found a steel snare. This snare was a length of twisted steel with a plate on one end. That plate had a hole in it that could accommodate a nail or most screws. On the other end, it had a noose, with a piece of hardware on it that only tightened, without opposable thumbs to loosen it up. It might have been called a “cam”, but he wasn’t sure. In Georgia, they were illegal to use for game hunting. He had honestly forgot even purchasing it.

  Now that no game warden was going to write tickets, snaring game was on the table. Greg was ready to test out the snare. The problem was that he bought it one day when he had an urge to learn how, and the DVD that came with the set of snares, along with most of the snares in the set for larger game (i.e. medium game like turkeys and coyotes, and large game like wild boars and deer) were back home in Atlanta, with the DVD on how to use them. Greg had read a few articles on how to snare, and how to create traps that would pull the snare tight, like the bent-over tree with pins attached to the snare. But he feared that putting it into practice and being successful would not be an early win.

  At the next meeting in the club-house, Greg brought the snare, with the intent of getting some of the community thinking about meat not coming from the harbor. Most people here were ready for red meat, even if that was squirrel, rabbit or anything else they could catch. The thought of a nice, meat stew made Greg’s mouth water, so he brought the snare, to show what he had, talk about the concept at a high-level, and HOPE that someone in the community knew how to use one.

  Several in the community had heard of, or used snares in the past, and by the end of the week, there were snares in every garden. The trick with a snare is to set the loop along a known, or suspected trail for the prey. Squirrels walk along the tops of fences, and along fallen trees. Rabbits run along walls and will tend to eat certain plants. The prey would catch their necks in the noose, and then run, tightening it. It wasn’t a particularly nice way to go, but the people needed meat. Well, “needed” is a strong word. The vegetarians and pescatarians didn’t care for the snare concept, but there weren’t many of them left.

  Greg was not going to live through the summer with fish, crabs, Kudzu and garden vegetables, if he could help it. It beat starvation, but just barely. He was discussing this with Gunny, when she said “I guess I could move my chicken coop here.”

  “Your what?!?!” He spluttered.

  “I’ve been walking back to the Mall every day or 2. When I can’t make it, Manuel goes for me. Out back, in the woods, I have a chicken coop with about a dozen birds. I’ve been giving Ethyl the eggs to work into our dinners. You know you can’t make that pasta that we had without eggs, right?”

  “I figured it was Barilla or some other store brand!”

  “Nope, we ran out of that a while ago. We never have enough eggs for like, eggs for everyone for breakfast, but with all the empty houses, we’ve got plenty of flour, which stores well. Kudzu roots can also be dried and pounded into flour for frying the fish. The eggs in the refrigerators were gone by the end of the first week after the lights went out. My point is, we could move the flock here, let a few eggs hatch, and maybe one day have some fresh chicken from those that won’t lay any longer. The farms around here can also help us out, although my last few trips on recon didn’t show a lot of them alive. I’ve grown my chicken coop population, because they won’t be needing them. She frowned. Too bad there’s no dairy farms around here. Beef and milk would be good.

  July - Jennifer – The fall of Dahlgren.

  Jennifer settled into the routine of Dahlgren quickly. She kept herself busy between volunteering to run a school for the kids during the day. At night, she walked the perimeter of the family area until she was too tired to walk any longer.

  Mike was increasingly busy with off-base duties. These included doing recon in nearby neighborhoods to ascertain their food and defensive needs. At this point, FEMA was not forcing relocations, despite some stories. If people wanted to defend their homes, then not only were they guaranteed that right, but they would be less of a drain on the limited resources of the government. With most of the transportation infrastructure down, the government’s capacity to ship supplies over any distance was severely diminished. That said, soldiers and other government personnel were encouraged to relocate their families to Dahlgren, where there was a minimum, but survivable standard for food and living quarters. It was by no means comfortable, but it was survivable, and most families pitched in to make it a little more private, and as comfortable as living ins something like a Red Cross shelter could be.

  Mike wasn’t around much most days, as he was out rounding up draftees. Jen had heard the government was playing the selective service card, and drafting kids from 18 to their late-20’s. At least one computer survived the apocalypse, and they had lists of recruits to enlist. They were trained and bunked on the opposite side of the base from the families, who were near a back gate, near the aviation complex. When Mike was around, he grumbled a lot about the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) guys who “led” each outing, with their lists of draftees’ names and addresses. He pointed out that while they did better in residential areas, they were lucky if 1 in 10 of these draftees were still living at the address they registered under. Of those that they could find, many shot at the “legitimate government” and, if they didn’t die in the battle, were summarily executed for “treason” by the DHS.

  For those that did go, many families begged for an exemption, as the draftee was the only able-bodied man to defend the home. They cried that the DHS was giving them a death sentence. In these cases, DHS explained that the needs of the government outweighed the needs of the few. Mike and other less-brutal members of the team would often give the family a case of MRE’s, or other rations that might help them in the short term, even if it was just prolonging the inevitable.

  More and more DHS personnel were flown in, as the leaders of the country, hidden in their bunkers, found that even at 1 in 10, this part of the world was recruiting more troops than the more populated areas. Because of that, the DHS troops were going out with more and more raw recruits, who were even more brutal in their recruiting. Jennifer noticed more and more hollow-eyed recruits, more tattoos and bad teeth, and more general nastiness around the base when she left the family area for the inevitable errands necessary for survival.

  The draft teams brought in progressively scarier “draftees”. Many were pretty clearly those released from prison by DHS, gang members and bikers, who seemed to enjoy the duty. They got trained, and got their M-4’s. Pretty soon, the base was full of young recruits outnumbering the career military and law enforcement by about 10 to 1.

  On her last run to get some fruit for the mess hall that she volunteered in, Jennifer was surrounded by a handful of these recruits, and was afraid that things were going to get ugly. As the first one made a grab for her arm, she yelled, and a group of 3 Marines who were original Dahlgren staff, based on their uniforms, turned the corner behind the supply tent. They ordered the recruits to stand down. She noticed the scabs on her attacker’s arms, his nasty teeth, and prison tattoos, including 2 tear drops tattooed under his eye

  “Who the fuck are you?” yelled the recruit with his hand still holding Jennifer, who tried unsuccessfully to pull away.

  “My name is Corporal Semper Fi, Motherfucker. Hands off, or die here and now.”

  The 6 punks made a
move on the 3 Marines, and in under 1 minute, all 6 recruits were down, with various broken bones, or unconscious and at least 1 with a crushed skull.

  “Ma’am. You should get back to your area. We’ll clean up this mess.” Said one of the Marine saviors. Jennifer kissed him on the cheek and went back to the family area with her cans of fruit cocktail.”

  That night, Mike came home, and looked more tired and depressed than usual.

  “What’s up, Babe?”, asked Jennifer.

  “Those DHS Pukes. I don’t know who is really in charge any longer, but they seem to be running the show everywhere I look. They rounded up 3 Marines for the “cold-blooded murder” of a new recruit and had all 3 of them executed without a trial. They insisted that they were defending a civilian, but it was the word of 5 against 3, and the DHS has been doing everything to reduce the strength of the military since they took over. The Base commander is livid, but they keep waving their orders from the White House in his face. Marines, Soldiers and us Law Enforcement guys think that there’s a breaking point coming soon.”

  “Mike, I think I was that civilian. Look at my arm.” Mike looked and saw the bruising on her arm. “Those men saved me. They were heroes. 3 of them took out 6 of the recruits, in, like, seconds. Oh my God. They’re dead?”

  Mike looked at Jennifer in shock. “Are you OK?” Jennifer nodded. “I need you to come with me. We need to go find Top Garza. He needs to hear this.”

  Jennifer was taken to the senior NCO in this area of the base. First Sergeant Garza listened, showing no emotion other than grinding his teeth together. “We need to go to the base commander. I’m going to gather up some of my troops, and we’ll get some revenge for this bullshit.” Garza gathered up a dozen or so veteran mixed-service troops from the family area, and they made their way across the base to the HQ building.

  Halfway there, they were stopped by a platoon of skinny, tattooed recruits who were guarding the entrance to HQ. They were told that they were not authorized entry.

  “Fuck authorization private. Do you see this diamond in my chevrons? I’m THE First Sergeant. Make way or I’ll kick your ass into next year.”

  “I don’t recognize your authority, Sir.”

  “SIR! You incompetent fuck. Do I look like I don’t work for a living? I’m not an officer. Now move your ass.” Top Garza shoved the recruit back about 8 feet, and the recruit ran into another guard, whose rifle went off, hitting the soldier next to Jennifer in the abdomen. She screamed and immediately attended to his wound as the 2 groups devolved into a bloody battle. The recruits, once again, fared poorly. The entrance was cleared, with dozens of recruits lying dead or dying.”

  Top Garza surveyed the carnage, amazed at how quickly things were going sideways. About half of his group was wounded, with a few dead, compared to all 30 or so of the DHS Recruits being down and out of action. Top looked up, and his eyes got wide. “Gather our wounded and fall back to the family area, NOW!

  The rest of one company of recruits were emerging from barracks around the HQ building, and they were all armed to the teeth. Firefights in the Headquarters building, as indicated by flashes in the windows, indicated that this was a coordinated attack, and that Top’s group was just the spark, or just plain unlucky.

  Several members of the true military had heard the commotion on base, and were rallying around Top Garza, whom they all knew and respected. Garza got on the military channel, and rallied more troops back to the motor pool.

  “Fall back Men. Defend the Family area and motor pool. Gather loyal soldiers and Marines. Spread the word!”

  Thus, the battle of Dahlgren began. Jennifer took care of wounded soldiers as they conducted a bounding retreat, giving much more than they got to the relatively un-trained bad guys. Unfortunately, they were outnumbered about 10 to 1, and out-gunned.

  After about an hour, all surviving family members, and the remaining patriots were backed into the motor pool garage and armory, near the back entrance of the base when the artillery started to drop into the vehicles outside. The idiots at DHS were dropping rounds right into their own troops without regard for their safety. Garza was shouting out defensive orders, as well as ordering supplies to be loaded into 3 of the 5-ton trucks that were repaired or awaiting regular Primary Maintenance, Checks and Services (PMCS) in the garage. He had a large number of the seriously wounded in the rear truck. The civilians were in the middle truck, and the forward truck was full of most of the fighters, using the ring-mounted Mark 13 grenade launcher to throw 25mm grenades into the attacking recruits as the troops shot over the top of the truck bed. Grenades flew, and the DHS recruits died in large numbers, but they never stopped coming.

  Top grabbed Jennifer by the arm and walked her to the middle truck. Jennifer put her daughter on the floor of the passenger side and told her to keep her head down as she climbed up.

  “This guy on your peninsula, you said he was an Engineer?”

  “Yes, he said he ‘blew shit up’ when he was in the army. He used to say that he was trained to build bridges, dams and forts, and then blow them up.”

  “Good I have some presents for him.” Top grabbed a corporal who was walking wounded and ordered him to grab a few bodies to grab some supplies. Jennifer didn’t understand what he was asking for, but the Corporal and his detail came back with a several crates and a few heavy tubes. They also had several backpacks bulging with something. All of these were handed up to the wounded and civilians in the back of the middle 5-ton. The longer tube was thrown behind the seat of the truck

  “Alright men. Listen up! We need to get Oscar Mike now. I need covering fire at the front door – reload that Mark 13. Sergeant Jones is in charge. I’m covering our retreat. He headed to the back of the building, where Jennifer saw Mike leaning against the wall, holding onto some package. She saw Top and Mike arguing, and Mike pointed at the truck. It was then that Jennifer saw all the blood in Mike’s lap. She jumped down and ran towards them.

  “The hell you are!”, said Garza to Mike. Just then a stray round hit Garza, and he spun around. He ended up leaning against Jennifer, who held him up, as he was not a large man, and he was mostly supporting his own weight.

  “Jennifer, Top, I’m done.” Mike lifted up the satchel that he had compressed against his chest, and they both saw that he was indeed done. He took 2 shots to the left of his chest, and blood was coming out of his mouth. “Top, you get my girls to safety. She knows the way, and you know how to lead these men. I can blow the fuel bladders with this charge, if you go quick.”

  “No, Mike!” She moved towards him.

  “Yes, Jen. Leave now, before I don’t have the strength to do this.”

  Garza dragged Jennifer, sobbing to the middle 5-ton. He ordered Jones into the gunner’s hatch and blew the horn. The front 5-ton moved out of the garage, spraying the Mark 13. Defenders ran in all directions. Then a lucky Artillery round hit the front truck, and it blew up, killing or maiming all aboard. Garza swerved, and got around the burning vehicle and screaming men who were blown free. As the 5-ton behind Garza followed his path, the Artillery hit almost the same spot, flipping the 5 ton on its side. Garza looked behind and saw that most of the wounded were thrown from the bed.

  Top steered towards the back gate, with Jones spraying the M-240 on top at anything that was a threat. Jones got shot and dropped down into the cab. Top blew through the gate, scattering defenders, and headed down the road. As the defenders were searching through the motor pool for vehicles to give chase, Mike evidently did what he said he would. He blew the satchel charge he was holding, which ignited nearby fuel trucks. The explosions and shrapnel from the fuel trucks touched off an explosion of the jet fuel bladders in the aviation area creating something that, to Jennifer, looked like a nuclear bomb going off in the rear-view mirror.

  Most, if not all the vehicles and aircraft from Dahlgren were destroyed that night, putting a serious dent in the strength of the DHS division in Virginia. She hoped that no survivors knew that a
5-ton full of survivors to spread word of this had escaped. She eventually got Annie quiet, and then sobbed for the loss of her husband, and all those brave defenders who saved this one truck full of families and wounded. Through the night, she steered Top to the entrance to Rock Harbor.

  August – Jennifer returns with some folks from the FEMA Camp.

  The days since Jen left were spent with Doc and Kim teaching the group how to ride motorcycles, and with Greg improving the defenses. The first battle taught the Rock Harbor group where their weaknesses were, and Greg got creative with new types of obstacles and demolitions.

  Running out of alcohol (except the opened bottle of Pappy) didn’t turn out to be that big a deal at all. Greg was down to 225 lbs., his fighting weight in the Army, and was feeling good. He still had an urge to have a drink at happy hour, but his weaning off by only having 2 per day seemed to be one way to do it.

  “Jefe – big truck coming down approach road.” Esteban called on the radio from the lookout in the steel reinforced bed of the destroyed Deuce-and-a-half.