by Glen Tate
Chapter 194
Same Ole’, Same Ole’
(July 17)
Wes did his three days in jail, no problem. He actually enjoyed the rest. The part he didn’t like was no Kellie. Rich couldn’t figure out a way to allow conjugal visits without getting caught. When Wes got out, he and Kellie spent about a day doing nothing but having the wildest and most passionate sex of their lives. Kellie was very glad to have him back and was so proud that he went to jail for her. She showed her appreciation in the bedroom. Wes went back to work with the Team. He had missed them and they had missed him.
Everything was back in a rhythm. There was actually a “same ole’, same ole’” routine developing. Everyone had their specific jobs now and they were doing them, like the old days, except they were different than their pre-Collapse jobs.
Grant was spending most of his time at the Grange doing organizational things and a little bit of judging. He had a mental health commitment trial about once a week. He also informally resolved various civil disputes, most of which involved property line disagreements. One case involved who owned a generator. He tried not to spend time having a full trial for these civil disputes. He talked to each side and tried to get them to settle, which worked in every case. This was more than a way to save his time, and the jury’s time; it was to come to a resolution of the dispute that both sides sort of agreed to instead of one side winning outright and the other side losing. Those things tend to simmer and lead to hard feelings for years. They didn’t need that out at Pierce Point.
He and Drew were continuing to work on a very detailed roster of Patriots and Loyalists. Luckily, with Snelling and his people gone, there weren’t too many “L”s left on the roster, but there were many “U”s: Undecideds.
About three quarters of Pierce Point remained Undecided. Maybe they were soft Patriots or Loyalists, but they weren’t wearing their politics on their sleeves, which was pretty typical when two sides are competing for the support of the population and there is violence on both sides.
However, more and more people were openly identifying themselves as Patriots. But politics was a secondary—way secondary—thing for most people. They were focusing on gardens, FCard food, gas, medical issues, and all the other things it was going to take them to survive. Many people worked sixteen hours a day making sure they would survive. They were tired and didn’t really care about philosophical discussions regarding the Constitution.
Fair enough, Grant thought. As long as they weren’t Loyalists trying to get everyone killed, Grant was fine with Undecideds quietly doing their thing. In fact, Grant’s vision for after the Collapse was to have the people who didn’t care about politics go back to their lives of doing their own things. Grant’s hope for a free society was that politics wouldn’t matter because the government’s powers would be constitutionally limited so it wouldn’t make a difference who was in office. The ideal was that government wouldn’t do much bad because it couldn’t do much at all.
The hardest thing for Grant was hiding the Ted project from Lisa. Every time he was with her, he felt like such a liar. The longer he didn’t tell her, the bigger the breach of trust would be. He struggled with this. He wanted a happy marriage, but he couldn’t tell her. He was slowly realizing that his marriage would probably be over because of this stupid Collapse and the war that was coming. Grant could feel that he was thinking of himself more and more as a solider instead of a husband. He hated it. But he couldn’t come up with a solution. “Play the hand you’re dealt,” he would always say to himself.
Lisa, on the other hand, was doing well. She was easing into the idea of being a doctor who got paid in cans of tuna. She was so glad she was out at Pierce Point instead of Olympia. She didn’t know how to tell Grant that. He might get a big head and say “I told you so,” which would ruin the whole good glow of the moment. So she never told him. He probably knew, she told herself.
Manda and Cole were doing great. Manda had emerged as quite a leader of the kids. They loved her. The group of kids she oversaw was growing.
Cole was doing amazingly well. All the busyness of suburban life—all those people talking all the time—had really worn him out. There was none of that in Pierce Point. His talking was getting better and better. It was amazing to see.
Drew and Eileen were getting used to their new lives. Drew was a huge help at the Grange. He was keeping everything running fairly by giving people credit for the donations they were making.
Eileen, who had grown up on a hard-scrabble farm in rural Eastern Washington, was right at home in the rather primitive conditions of post-Collapse America. She had gotten over her initial normalcy bias and was embracing life as it now was. She got to see her grandkids more than ever and loved it.
The Colsons, Morrells, Chip, Gideon, and the Team were doing fine. Everyone was easing into a “new normal” of their lives out there. Grant looked back at just the past almost three months and couldn’t believe how far they’d come.
The rest of the people out at Pierce Point seemed to be adjusting to the new normal. It was amazing how quickly people had forgotten about many parts of their pre-Collapse lives of just a few months ago. Post-Collapse life was now how life was.
But not everyone was adjusting to the “new normal” as people called it. Some people dealt with the changes by complaining. They would whine that the mail didn’t come that day; it hadn’t come in three months. They would complain that nothing was on TV, or that the internet was down again that day. For these people, every little thing about their old lives that was no longer present was a topic to complain about. Most people were initially patient with the whines, but soon they started telling people to shut up.
For a few others, they were coping with the changes with some very odd behavior. One man brought old, pre-Collapse newspapers into the Grange and read them all day. Over and over again. He couldn’t get enough of stories about how life used to be. A woman went from house to house asking people if they had old calendars from the year before. She would look at the old calendars all day and mark the past dates with little notes about what she had been doing back then, when things were normal.
Grant noticed that now, almost three months into the Collapse, something great was happening: boredom. After the initial shock of the Collapse started wearing off, people were getting a little bored. Good boredom, as in no one was trying to kill them today and they had the same meal again, but at least they’d had a meal.
Grant was amazed by the human spirit and resilience so many of them demonstrated after being faced with disorder and an unknown future. Human beings are amazing. In just a few short months most Pierce Point residents had gone from the chaos of the end of the world to a new same ole’, same ole’.
Chapter 195
Marion Farm Kicks Ass
(July 18)
Ted and Sap hadn’t been out to Pierce Point for a week or two. They were getting things together at HQ and would check in periodically on the special radio they left with Scotty. One day, Scotty got the radio message that Ted and Sap would be coming out that night for a meeting and update. The Team kicked out their girlfriends and got down to business. Rich and Dan came out to the yellow cabin for the meeting.
The first thing Grant noticed about Ted and Sap was that their beards were even longer than before. That was true of most men, including Grant. Beards were the “new normal.”
“Well, gentlemen,” Ted said, “we’ll be locating out at the Marion Farm soon.”
“When do we go out there?” Ryan asked. Grant was dreading this. The day they went out to Marion Farm would be when he would have to tell Lisa what was going on.
“Oh, permanently?” Ted asked. “Not until right before we need to deploy. No, we’ll have you guys coming out on day trips and occasional night training exercises in the meantime. We’ll keep you at your day jobs here as much as possible. That’s part of the deal with Rich and Dan: as low impact on the internal security of Pierce Point as possible.”
/>
“Besides,” Sap said, “you guys are well trained. We don’t need to show you how to shoot. We’ll have you come in during the days and provide instruction. We’ll teach you guys some basic military things, like how to move as a larger unit. That kind of thing. But it’s all finishing-touch stuff for you guys.”
“That’s not because we’re military bad asses,” Grant said, “but because the level of training for an irregular unit is relatively low?” Grant didn’t want the Team thinking they already knew everything so they wouldn’t pay attention to the further training.
Ted shrugged and said, “Yeah. Kinda. You guys are very good, but there are still some things you need to know.” Ted, too, wanted to keep up the Team’s confidence, but gently let them know that there were still things they needed to learn.
“Before we get into the details of the training program,” Ted said, “we have some intel to give you.” Ted went on to describe how the Loyalists were crumbling. He gave updated examples of military units “sitting out” the war or joining the Patriots. Many cops were joining up with Patriot units or running pro-Patriot para operations. Montana had kicked out every federal official and sympathizer, and captured a huge military ammunition depot in the process. New Hampshire, surrounded by Lima Northeastern states like it was, was largely in Patriot hands. The Patriots had even managed to shoot up several key buildings in Chicago. A small team of former SEALs came in from Lake Michigan and swam up the Chicago River. The raid had no military significance, except that it caused the Limas to pour even more resources into defending Chicago, but it sure had a psychological effect.
Seattle was a functioning city, but it was teetering on the edge of lawlessness. There was so much money and so many people with government connections in the city that important people lived a luxurious life. What was left of the authorities—and the gangs cooperating with them—were maintaining order. But resentment was running high. Even the most strident Loyalists in Seattle were figuring out that this wasn’t working well.
Olympia was the other Lima stronghold in the state. It was Seattle on a smaller scale: important people living pretty well, but resentment among the regular people was growing. They were maintaining order but only with increasingly extreme measures.
“Are people starving?” Chip asked. He had lots of friends still stuck in Olympia and wanted to know how they were doing.
“Surprisingly, no,” Ted said. “People are hungry, and some are really hungry, but those semis keep rolling in with basic foods. They come in under heavy escort, but they’re rolling. The giant corporate farms are churning out lots of food. Well, with slave labor pretty much. The Mexicans who were trapped up here or fled up here are working the farms. Pretty brutal conditions, but they’re better off than going back home. Mexico is a giant killing field right now.” It was silent.
Finally Ted said, “The Limas are sending prisoners to the farms to work. The conditions are bad, but it’s not like a concentration camp or anything. Hell, some people are volunteering to work on the farms because they get fed and there are fewer security issues out there. It sounds kinda like how my Okie grandpa lived,” Ted said, using the term referring to people from Oklahoma. “My grandpa and his parents lived as migrant farmers during the Depression. You know, Grapes of Wrath,” he said referring to the John Steinbeck novel about people from Oklahoma who went to southern California during the 1930s to find work.
“The forces still loyal to the government are pathetic,” Ted continued. “There are some loyal ground units—mostly Army and National Guard—run by ladder-climbing young officers who want to get promoted. There are tons of career opportunities for a young lieutenant when there are so many openings, like when the battalion commander is gone.” He described how some military units were operating like gangs. “Not full-time,” he added, “some of these units are soldiers for a few weeks and then, if an opportunity presents itself, they are a gang for a while, then they might go back to being soldiers. They’re gangs of opportunity.”
“Anyway,” Ted continued with a smile, “it’s pretty obvious the Limas are going to fully collapse. Soon. Very soon. It’s our job to speed that process along, which brings me to my next bit of news.” The room was spellbound.
“Marion Farm kicks ass,” Ted said. Sap nodded. “We’ve been out there and fully assessed the place. It’s perfect. Secluded. Beach access for supplies. Plenty of room. A farmhouse HQ, a couple of outbuildings and a big barn for sleeping a lot of men.”
“How many?” Bobby asked.
“A hundred,” Ted said. “That’s with some pretty cozy bunking arrangements, but nothing a soldier can’t handle.” They let that sink in with the Team: a hundred-man unit. Wow. Much bigger than anything they’d thought of out there. A real military unit instead of what the Team had been: some civilians acting as semi-sophisticated law enforcement.
“We have orders from HQ to train up a hundred-man unit out here,” Sap said. “They approved the plan and authorized us to have the supplies for it. This is going to happen. For real.”
Sap let that set in.
“We’ll slowly build up out there,” Ted said. “A couple guys at a time. We’ll bring them and supplies out here by boat. A couple guys, a couple sets of weapons, a couple weeks of food at a time. The new arrivals can settle in. We’ll be making improvements to the farm at first. Mostly getting the sleeping quarters up and running. And the dining facility. And sanitation. That’s a biggie.”
“Who are the guys you’re bringing out?” Rich asked. He wanted to make sure—even though he trusted Ted and Sap—that they weren’t importing a gang.
“The first few boatloads are Patriot regulars,” Ted said. “Guys from other units. Mostly Army. We’ve been assigned about a dozen 11 Bravos.” That was the Army term for infantrymen.
“We have a couple Navy guys who know how to build up a facility,” Ted said. “They’re Seabee reservists actually,” Ted said referring to the Navy’s construction battalions or “Seabees.” They were combat engineers and construction experts. Plus they knew how to pick up a rifle and use it.
“We have an Air Force electrician coming out. He was a RED HORSE,” Sap said, referring to the Air Force acronym for a special team of airmen who went into a makeshift forward air base and got it up and running. And knew how to fight if the base was attacked.
Dan, the Air Force security forces veteran, gave a thumbs up. “Those RED HORSE dudes know their shit.”
“What about comms?” Scotty asked, referring to communication.
“We got a Navy comms guy,” Ted said. “Very squared away. We have some equipment coming for him, plus a surprise comms asset that will blow your mind.” Ted and Sap smiled at each other.
“So a dozen infantrymen, maybe a half dozen Navy and Air Force guys,” Grant said. “Who else?”
“We’re not exactly sure,” Ted admitted. “Most irregular units have the majority of their unit as volunteers. Raw civilians. Up to 90% of the unit is civilians. In a typical unit.”
“Is this a typical unit?” Rich asked.
“Probably not,” Ted said. “We are so close to all the large former military bases here. That means there are lots of guys like me and Sap near here. Our unit will probably get lots of former regular military. At least that’s what I’m anglin’ for.”
This was very comforting to everyone. They were fine joining up with a unit of civilians, but if they were in a unit with lots of regular military, that would be much better. Way more effective and way safer.
“We’ll take all the good civilians we can, though,” Sap said.
“We’re screening them at HQ,” Ted said, referring to Boston Harbor. “We’re finding out what skills they have, what military experience, if any, they have. We’re checking out their fidelity to our cause, too.”
“How?” Rich asked. He was a curious by nature and being a cop for several years taught him to ask questions in order to fully understand things.
“We try to see if th
ey have anything obvious in their background, like former government employment,” Ted said. “Non-military government employment, that is. But so many people worked for the government right before the Collapse that this is not a very selective criterion. We mostly rely on referrals from people we know are Patriots. We have a little test we do in some cases.”
“What’s the test?” Scotty asked.
“Well, it’s classified but you guys are part of the club,” Ted said with a smile.
Ted explained, “We give a revolver to someone we’re not sure about. They don’t know it, but they’re dummy rounds in the cylinder. We tell them to shoot a captured Lima in the head. The ‘Lima’ is one of our guys pretending to plead for his life. If the recruit pulls the trigger, which makes a ‘click’ sound, then we know he or she is OK.”
“This trick will get out soon and we’ll have to move on to another one,” Sap said. “But it’s useful now. Besides, while we fully expect the Limas to try to infiltrate us, they have better things to do. I mean, they have a full-on war to fight with us—regular units versus regular units. They don’t need to spend their time sending in guys to spend a year trying to infiltrate little guerilla bands like us. We have total control on all communication devices our people have, so it’s not like an infiltrator could send out reports. Well, not without James Bond kind of equipment. And if the Limas have that stuff working properly, they won’t be wasting it on going after 100 irregulars.”
“These kinds of wars are messy,” Ted said, who had spent over twenty years fighting guerilla wars like this one. “You just have to do what you can to screen for infiltrators. We spend a lot of time and energy watching them and making sure they aren’t sending back reports.” What Ted didn’t tell them is that several regular military people, including him and Sap, would constantly be asking recruits the same questions to see if their stories were consistent. If an odd answer was given, the person who gave it would receive further scrutiny, maybe a formal interrogation. Maybe worse, if it turned out they were an infiltrator.