by Glen Tate
They met about a half dozen Patriot former regular military guys who were already there. The Air Force RED HORSE guy, Don, was in charge of getting the farm up and running. He was a thin, bald guy in his late thirties. He was everywhere and doing an amazing job. They didn’t have any heavy equipment, like the truck that would be coming the next day. Most of the tools had been sold when the farm was abandoned. Don handed Ted a list of needed equipment and talked to him about the five hundred gallon underground diesel tank at the farm, which was empty. At least they had a tank they could fill and then use. It beat a bunch of gas cans stacked up.
Grant and the Team were going around and introducing themselves. The military guys had been briefed on the Team and what they would be doing, so they were warmly received.
The military guys were glad to be out at Pierce Point. They had been cooped up in Boston Harbor and were anxious to get out in the field and get the mission underway. This was a big adventure for them. Most of them had never been in combat, which was universally true of the Air Force and Navy guys out there. Some of the Army infantry guys had been in combat, but that was in Afghanistan and a little bit in Iraq toward the end of that war when things were pretty quiet.
But, even for the combat veterans, this mission was much more exciting. It wasn’t fighting for Afghans or Iraqis. It was fighting for Americans. It was getting their country back. They seemed to be glad they had landed in a unit with other Patriots and were in a position to do some good things. It beat being a stranded “gray man” back in their own cities trying to sabotage the Limas.
Ted informed the Team that they wouldn’t need to come out to the farm again for a while as he wanted to get everything up and running first. Ted had enough guys there already to guard the place.
“Hey, Grant, whatcha doin’ tonight?” Ted asked.
“Not dating men, if that’s where you’re going with that,” Grant said with a smile.
“Wanna come back with us to Boston Harbor?” Ted asked. “There are some people I’d like you to meet.”
“Sure,” Grant said. He had told Lisa that he might be working nights with the Team a lot in the future and not to count on him being home at any particular times. She understood…only because he hadn’t told her the truth.
Grant reached into his pocket and felt to see if he had any of his caffeine pills. Yep. Good. He could stay awake tonight. He was glad he had squirreled away a few hundred caffeine pills before the Collapse. He knew he’d need them.
After some more introductions, it was time to head back. Stan, Carl, Tom, and Travis would stay at the farm. The Team went ahead toward the boat as a group; Ted, Sap, and Grant brought up the rear. They silently walked down the road back to the boat. The moon was out. It felt so odd to be walking down a road with some Special Forces guys and carrying an AR and full kit.
Grant felt like he was in a movie. Out at Pierce Point, he had been through lots of things that he never thought he would experience, but every once in a while something even more movie-like happened. Something that was unexpected, even by the new standards of “normal.” Grant was just soaking it in. This was a memory he’d have for the rest of his life. Just let it soak in.
They got to the boat and met up with Paul, who was in his element. He had lost a lot of weight and looked healthy for the first time since Grant had met him. He was smiling, which was also something new. He was doing something extremely important. He had gone from being the fat kid who played video games to the trusted guide covertly ferrying Special Forces to a secret base.
Grant was really happy for him. That’s one good thing that’s happened from this war, he thought. At least there was one good thing.
They drifted slowly in the boat as they pushed off from the landing. Once they got a hundred yards from shore, Paul radioed the Chief and sped up. They were back at the dock at Grant’s cabin within a few minutes. The Team silently got off and went into the yellow cabin. Scotty radioed Gideon first so they didn’t get shot.
It felt odd for Grant to stay on the boat. He always went with the Team and sensed things were different now. He felt slightly integrated with Boston Harbor, even though he had never been there. He wasn’t just a guy on the Team or the judge anymore. He was now connected with the Boston Harbor HQ.
Was this what he was supposed to be doing? This was getting serious. He had gone way past a neighborhood defense group. He had gone past helping to make a community run smoothly. He was a rebel soldier now, and kind of a high-ranking one. He would have some big responsibilities in the civil affairs field. Is this what I’m supposed to be doing? He kept asking himself this question.
Yes, Grant thought, this is exactly what you’re supposed to be doing. You’ve come this far. You have some very unique skills and assets. This was supposed to happen.
Yes.
Chapter 199
“Yes, Sir. With Pride.”
(July 21)
Hearing the outside thought verify that this was what Grant was supposed to do was exactly what he needed to hear. Grant was calm. It was that amazing peaceful calm that came when the outside thought told him he was on track and was doing what he was supposed to be doing.
As the boat quietly chugged along the shoreline of Pierce Point and out toward Boston Harbor, Grant looked up at the stars. There were millions of them; many, many more than he was used to seeing. Grant looked at all the millions of stars and thought, “I am just one of these little things. One of millions, but together they make up something bigger.”
Yes.
The peace and calm was overwhelming. Grant knew he could do anything now. Well, not him alone. But, with help – from the most powerful thing in the universe.
Anything. Anything at all could be accomplished. Grant stopped worrying about Lisa’s reaction to the Ted project. He stopped worrying about her leaving him. He stopped worrying about the Team getting killed or wounded. He stopped worrying about everything. He just sat back in the seat on the boat and looked up at the stars as they silently glided to Boston Harbor. It was another lifetime memory he was soaking in.
After a while, after the mild caffeine rush had kicked in, the radio crackled and Paul responded. They were getting near some lights. It must be Boston Harbor. Paul gave the right signals with his boat lights to the picket boats outlying Boston Harbor. As they got closer, Grant looked at the “fishing” boats. The boats had some very well armed men and big radio antennas. The men on the boat saluted them. Grant returned the salute without thinking. Then he realized what he had just done. Saluted. This was getting serious.
The boat slowed to a crawl as they entered the marina. Grant had been to Boston Harbor several times before. It was about ten miles from Olympia. He rented a boat out there and puttered around Boston
Harbor with Cole when he was little. Cole had loved it. Grant had great memories of this place.
As they pulled further into the marina, Grant was amazed at what a great place Boston Harbor was for a headquarters. The marina was easily defended and was on the remote southern tip of Puget Sound, which was the water superhighway for the entire Seattle metropolitan area. The little town of Boston Harbor looked like the American version of a Norwegian fishing village. It was full of nice buildings to house people. There was one really big and nice house right on the water with lots of guards around it and its lights on. That must be HQ.
Grant helped Ted and Sap tie up the boat as Paul put it perfectly into its slip. No one had said a word for the last twenty minutes they had been in the boat. It was a welcomed break. Grant talked and listened all day long. He needed quiet time, especially with the stars out, a big adventure ahead of him, and, most importantly, with the outside thought talking to him. It had been a spectacular night so far.
As Grant got off the boat he started to think for the first time about whether he would make a good impression on the brass. He laughed at himself. Who cares? He wasn’t interviewing for a job. Hell, he’d be happy not to have the job of being a Patriot guerill
a. He would be happy to stay in Pierce Point and do his Grange job and go out with the Team on occasional calls.
But, Grant knew he had a bigger job to do. He knew that HQ would have him do whatever it was that he was supposed to do. The outside thought had confirmed that he was on the right course. He was just there to see what the details of the course would be. He had never been more calm and confident.
And it showed. The way he walked. The way he carried his kit and AR. He looked like a professional. A quiet professional who had been doing this his whole life, which was hilarious. Only three months ago, he had just been a lawyer with a semi-normal white collar life. There was no way to tell that now by looking at him. He had totally transformed. Well, he hadn’t transformed; he was the same guy he’d been. Instead, circumstances had brought out the Grant that was always there, but had never had a reason to come out.
Ted motioned for Grant to follow him. They came up to a guard at the marina gate, who knew Ted and Sap and waved them through. The guard stopped Grant, pointed to him, and asked Sap, “Is this the visitor you said you’d be bringing back?”
“Yep,” Sap said. “Ketchup sandwich.”
The guard nodded and said to Grant, “Welcome to Boston Harbor, Mr. Matson.” Apparently “ketchup sandwich” was a code word. There were lots of those out there.
They walked across the dock to the little store at the marina. The lights were on and the shelves were entirely bare. This was the first store Grant had been in since he left Olympia. He was struck again by how odd the empty shelves looked. It made him realize how good they had it in Pierce Point.
Ted, Sap, and Grant walked to the road and up the hill to the big house with the lights on. There were guards everywhere. Radios were crackling as they headed toward HQ. The guards were very well armed. Most had impressive kit. These guys looked like military guys. Actually, they looked like private military contractors, but Grant knew that they were military, just without uniforms because the Free Washington State Guard didn’t have its own uniforms yet. A few had their old FUSA fatigues—mostly Army, but a few of the different camo patterns of the Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps—with “Free Wash. State Guard” sewn on the area where “U.S. Army” or other branch name had once been.
Most of the men looked like Grant. Many were younger than him, but he fit right in as far as clothing was concerned. Along with his AR, Grant had his black tactical vest with coyote brown pouches, gray t shirt, tan 5.11 pants, “hillbilly slippers” (Romeo boots), and his tan baseball cap. The cap had the Survival Podcast ant symbol on it. He thought about the ant symbol, which reflected the ant and grasshopper from the fable about how the hardworking ant prepped while the playful grasshopper didn’t, and the ant made it through the winter but the grasshopper did not. The Survival Podcast ant hat was a statement to the world that “I am an ant.”
As they came up to the porch, there were three guards and a stack of sand bags. Grant wondered if he would have to leave his rifle and pistol with the guards. Ted and Sap walked right past the guards, and no one asked Grant to remove his weapons, so he didn’t.
They went into the front door and Grant started to remove his hat. He remembered from his extremely limited military training in Civil Air Patrol all those years ago, that you remove your “cover” (hat, helmet, or beret) when you enter a building.
Ted saw him taking his hat off and said, “Battlefield rules out here.” While the little high school Civil Air Patrol cadets were never on a battlefield, Grant knew that “battlefield rules” meant that you could keep your cover on indoors and you didn’t salute. You kept your cover on because it was a waste of time taking it on and off. You didn’t salute on the battlefield because that allowed enemy snipers to figure out who the officers were and shoot them first.
When they walked in the front door, there was a desk in the foyer, which looked weird in a home. It was a beautiful house with a giant open entry way and big staircase going up to the second floor. There were radios crackling and a lot of activity in the house. There were mostly men in there, but some women too. Everyone looked pretty serious, but not pissed off. They were busily doing their jobs. There was an energy in the place; a vibe like important work was being done there, and being done well.
After a minute or two, a soldier in her early thirties brought them into the office on the first floor. It was big for a home office, but small for a military commander’s office. They walked in and everyone except the man behind the desk stood up when they entered the room.
The man behind the desk looked like a natural for a military commander. He was Lieutenant Colonel Jim Hammond. He was in his late forties and in great shape. He had about half his hair with a touch of gray on the temples.
Hammond was in Army fatigues. He had his “scare badges” sewn on: Special Forces tab, Ranger tab, airborne wings, combat infantry badge. He had a “Free Wash. State Guard” name tape instead of the former “U.S. Army” one. He had a military Beretta M9 pistol in a leather shoulder holster like some of the senior officers wore. The other men in the room were similarly in a uniform and had side arms, mostly on belt holsters and mostly military-issue M9s. They sat back down.
The commander looked up from his desk, smiled, and said, “Welcome Lt. Matson.”
Lieutenant Matson?
There must be some mistake. Grant wasn’t a lieutenant or in the military. Oh, wait. He was kind of in the military. He had signed up with Ted a few weeks ago back in the yellow cabin, but he didn’t have any rank or anything. He was just a guy in an irregular unit for a while until he was no longer needed.
“Lieutenant?” Grant asked. “No, sir, I’m not a lieutenant. I’m just Grant Matson.”
The commander laughed. “Well, that’s what we’re here to talk about tonight.”
The commander stood up and extended his hand. “I’m Lt. Col. Jim Hammond. I’m the CO of the Free Washington Special Operations Command.” CO stood for “commanding officer.” He pointed to Ted and said, “I worked with Master Sergeant Malloy. He’s a damned fine soldier.” Grant remembered Ted saying that his former Special Forces commander at Ft. Lewis had come over to the Patriots early on and was commanding Free Washington’s special ops.
“Yes, sir,” Grant said. Grant was standing at attention, another habit that came back to him from his Civil Air Patrol days.
“At ease, Lt. Matson,” Hammond said with another smile. “We’re just here to talk business.” Hammond looked serious for a moment. “Should I call you ‘lieutenant’ or ‘mister’ Matson?”
Grant smiled. This was a business meeting, he could tell. He’d been in quite a few of those. It was time for him to get a little bit of the balance of power back.
“Depends on how the conversation goes,” Grant said with a slight smile. “But ‘lieutenant’ works for now.” That was Grant’s not-so-subtle way of saying that he was probably agreeing to whatever was about to be asked of him. Probably, but he wanted to hear the details. His life was at stake.
Hammond smiled at Grant’s remark that “‘lieutenant’ works for now.” This Matson guy was not a pushover, Hammond thought. This guy had some moxie. Hammond opened up a paper file. Hammond looked at the file for a moment and flipped a few pages. Finally, he looked up at Grant and said, “Sgt. Malloy here tells me a lot of impressive things about you, Lt. Matson.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grant said. “I learned a lot from Ted, Sgt. Malloy, and I’m very lucky to know him. Especially in times like these.”
“Yes, indeed,” Hammond said. “Yes, indeed,” he repeated.
Hammond looked at Grant, sizing him up. He had come to an initial impression about Grant from Ted’s reports, but wanted to physically look at Grant and see if body language or anything else would change his opinion. Finally Hammond asked, “Has Sgt. Malloy told you about our plan for your services?”
Grant didn’t know if Ted was supposed to have told him about the civil affairs role, but he thought it was best to tell the truth to his…commandin
g officer? That felt so weird.
“Yes, sir, very briefly,” Grant said.
Hammond was watching to see if Grant’s eyes darted over to Ted to see if Ted thought it was OK to answer the question. Grant’s eyes did not dart. He looked Hammond right in the eye when he answered. Good, Hammond thought, he was truthful and confident. Hammond could trust Grant to report to him truthfully and without hesitation.
“So what do you think about our civil affairs role for you and your Team?” Hammond asked.
“I think it’s great, sir,” Grant said, again looking Hammond straight in the eye. “For whatever reason, sir, I am the right person, at the right time, in the right place. I have some unique skills. But,” Grant’s body language relaxed and he got a little informal, “the weird thing is that I don’t have any military training. I don’t claim to be an expert, sir. Me and my guys can shoot a little, but we’re amateurs.”
“I know and that’s what I like,” Hammond said as he smiled. “You aren’t playing Army. You’re humble. You know your limits. But,” Hammond was thumbing through the file, “you’ve got some organizational skills we could use. You can get a community up and running. We’ll need that.” Hammond kept looking at the file and nodding his head.
“You’ve done some amazing shit out at Pierce Point,” Hammond said. “You’re even keeping a list of Loyalists out there.” Hammond looked up at Grant and said, “I understand that the Lima leader out there had an untimely death.”
“Yes, sir,” Grant said, once again looking Hammond right in the eye. One of the Team must have told Ted or Sap about Wes and the silenced .22.