by John O'Brien
“Of course,” I say. “I’m glad you found them and am sorry for your loss. Truly. I know what you are going through. Stay with my blessings. We’ll miss you but I completely understand.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure serving with you,” he replies, saluting and then reaching out with his hand. I return his shake and he walks over to say goodbye to his comrades.
“Well, we’ll fuel up, if you don’t mind us stealing some of your gas, and be on our way,” I tell Jason. I leave him with one of the spare satellite phones I brought just in case we met with others and needed to stay in contact. “We’ll be able to communicate this way. Keep in touch and let us know if you need anything. Keep in mind that we may not be able to respond quickly by flying in a few months but we’ll do what we can.”
“That’s much appreciated. Thanks,” Jason says, accepting the phone and charging unit.
Robert and Craig grab one of the fuel trucks at the end of the ramp and we are soon refueled. With our next stop at Malmstrom AFB, Montana input into the computer, we say our farewells and, taxiing to the end of the runway, Robert takes off into the clear blue sky heading to the northeast.
The flight will be a short one of just under four hundred miles putting us there in about an hour. We slide over the Salmon River Mountains clawing for altitude. The brown patchwork of the valley quickly changes to forested hills and mountains with deep canyons between major off-shooting ridge lines. The blue sky is completely devoid of contrails that I was used to seeing on any point of the compass when flying during the day. We have the sky to ourselves. It’s too bad we have to share the earth with the night runners. As we traverse over the tall peaks and deep valleys of the Rocky Mountains, I’m not sure which is really worse – the night runners or the bands of marauders that we’ve come into contact with. The night runners are relentless and dangerous, yes, but the humans running around have knowledge of weapons and a modicum of tactics. Given one or the other, I’m not sure which I’d pick. With the bandits, at least I can factor in a semblance of understanding of their behavior and capabilities. I don’t seem to be able to do that with night runners as yet and I don’t like surprises.
The mountains give way to the plains of Montana and Robert begins a descent into the base which lies just east of the Great Falls. The Missouri River winds its way through the town before continuing on its way across the plains. I have him fly over the city as we look for any movement that would indicate survivors still existed in the large city. The sprawling urban area looks much the same as Mountain Home – much of the greenery has changed to match the surrounding brown fields. Some green still exists near the great waterway, but for the most part, without irrigation, the green fields and yards have been transformed.
Robert flies over the airfield at about five thousand feet above the ground. I want a good look at the base before we just merrily set it in like last time. Jason caught me by surprise by showing up like he did when we were doing touch and go’s. Like I said, I hate surprises. Complacency had set in and that can be a killer. Seeing so many towns abandoned, I just assumed that Mountain Home would be the same. I have to keep the A-game going all of the time. We’re just lucky they didn’t start shooting at us when we were the most vulnerable. We can’t figure everything but that was a no-brainer.
We fly over the airfield a few times and do a few low approaches. Nothing appears on the bare ramps. There are only a couple of helicopters sitting on the large pad. This used to be a base for missile crews and the helicopters were for flying the crews to their stations. If some form of military was still around and here, they will not take too kindly to our just setting down. Our radio calls go unanswered. To all appearances, the base is abandoned. We’ll park at one of the run-up areas just off the runway far away from any building and hangars. I tell Greg to get ready to exfil the Stryker in a hurry. Robert sets it down on the long runway with a slight thump as he still isn’t used to the extra weight. He’ll get it though.
We pull off at the end and park just off the runway but a distance from the ramp. Leaving the engines running, I glass the surrounding area with a pair of binoculars. I see nothing but tall brown grass growing in patches by the edges of the taxiways and ramp. The rest is dry, dusty fields. Nothing moves except an occasional dust devil rising in the air from a breeze moving through the area. Robert sends out additional unanswered radio calls and we eventually shutdown. The rear ramp is lowered and the Stryker untied and driven out. It too shuts down and quiet settles over the area. Even the birds and other wildlife that might be around are silent.
“Well, how do you want to handle this?” Greg asks as we gather around the Stryker.
“We can’t all go. I figure we’ll leave three of your team with Craig and the others. It might be a little cramped but we’ll take the rest of your team along with Red Team. The town is about fifteen miles to the southeast along that highway,” I say, pointing to a two-lane road just on the other side of the perimeter fence. “I don’t like leaving so few but I don’t see that we really have a choice.”
I would really like to take the full teams. The Stryker won’t carry all of us but we can always pull a vehicle from the depot next to the ramp. I don’t want to leave the ones we picked up in Mountain Home unguarded though. I don’t really know them and someone full of conspiracy shit may do anything if spooked. The 130 is our only way out of here. Well, quickly, that is. It’s a helluva drive to the next base with any aircraft and I’m not about to quick learn one of the Huey helicopters parked on the ramp. The last “first” helicopter lessons weren’t pretty. Plus, with the 130 being our only quick departure plan, I do not want to leave it completely unguarded. We’ll only be a short distance away and can respond quickly if called. I wish we had brought another team but I also didn’t want to leave the compound short-handed. We’ll make do with what we have, which always seems too few.
“Is all of Red Team going?” Robert asks, standing just behind me.
“Yes, you are going,” I reply.
“And, ahem, me?” Bri asks.
With a heavy sigh, I respond, “Yes, you can go, but you stay right with Gonzalez.”
“I will, Dad,” Bri says.
“Gonzalez?” I say, questioning with a raised eyebrow.
“No worries, sir. The princess warrior and I will be just fine.”
“I’m not shitting here, Bri. None of this ‘I think I’ll climb on top of the aircraft and shoot night runners’ shit,” I state.
I’m not very happy about taking them along but I’m even less happy with leaving them in this world unprepared and inexperienced. I would keep Bri by my side but I know I’d be far too protective and not allow her to gain any experience.
“Okay, Dad. I promise no climbing on the aircraft,” Bri replies.
“I mean it, Bri,” I state.
“Okay, Dad, sheesh… sense of humor much?” Bri responds with a smile.
Seeing her smile melts my heart but I’m also reminded of another smile that I miss so much. I just want to duct tape Bri in foam padding and set her in a room. Maybe even a padded room. It’s much the same thought I had when I thought about her dating. However, I know that has the same odds of happening as keeping her from dating has. And that is less than zero. However, I never thought of arming her if she dated. Seeing her now with her M-4 slung over her shoulder, perhaps I should have. That would have kept the hormone-induced fifteen year old boys at a distance. Hmmmm… food for thought.
“No, sense of humor nil. Now get your gear together and ready to saddle up,” I say.
Loaded up, we drive through a chain link fence surrounding the airfield, across a narrow ditch, and up onto the highway. Dry, barren fields line the road, with the occasional farm house and outlying buildings here and there, as we make our way to the southeast. Some fields have tall grass growing but for the most part, they are dry and barren. We pause at the entrance to each farm house looking for anyone around but come up empty, just like the road we are t
raveling. We are headed for the small town of Belt where one of the soldiers has parents.
Dust has blown across a lot of the road masking it completely in some places. The earth is slowly taking back its own and I wonder how long the roads will be distinguishable. I imagine the dusty places with little rain will be the first to disappear as the blown sands and dirt shift. The rainy part of the country will keep this at bay for a while but they will eventually crack with moss and plants retaking them. Over time, the outskirts of the cities will fall into ruin and vanish in a similar manner. Small towns, like the one we are heading to, will be the first to go.
Reaching Belt Creek Road, we make a left. The road parallels a narrow creek lined with small trees and dense bushes. A little farther, we pass under a railroad trestle and, although faded, it is spray painted with the usual graffiti. On the other side, the town begins abruptly with a few residential houses stretching off to both sides of the road. One larger white building has “Harvest Moon Brewing Co” on its side. I’ve had that in the past, I think watching the building slide by. How cool would that be to live next to the brewing company?
The road curves ahead and the soldier tells me that it turns into the tiny downtown area with a small number of shops lining the street. He goes on to say that his parents live on the east side, on the other side of a stream that runs through town. The only way to get there is by going through downtown and taking a bridge across. I halt the Stryker before the turn and lower the ramp to disembark. I want to find out if we can see or hear anything prior to jumping into the middle of the town.
Standing on the cracked pavement with high grass and trees surrounding the few houses along the street, I hear the swish of a breeze as it blows through the grass and tree limbs. The late morning sun shining down belies the chill in the air. The larger stream lies just a short distance to the side and burbles as it makes its way along its tree-lined path. Over the top of these close sounds, I hear what sounds like a shout. Yes, it’s definitely a shout.
“Did you hear that?” I ask those around me.
“I don’t hear shit. Are your spidey senses tingling, sir?” Gonzalez replies.
“No, listen. I swear I hear something,” I say. I understand I can hear better than the others but it seems so loud that I’m sure they must be able to hear it as well.
I hear a muttered, “….super powers….”
Turning to Greg, I tell him, “Shut the Stryker down. I think I hear something and want complete quiet.”
“What?” He says, incredulously.
“Shhh… just do it,” I say.
The hum of the Stryker vanishes and I strain to hear anything carried on the breeze. There, it’s faint but I definitely hear shouting from around the corner. I can’t distinguish what is said but it’s definitely a human shout. I tell the others.
“Red Team, on me. Greg, you stay here with the others. We’re going to creep to the corner and see what we can,” I say.
With red team following, I step into the tall reeds of grass in one of the yards. It isn’t quite as tall as me so I creep through at a crouch. The small field of grass stretches all of the way to the corner and seemingly beyond. I cross a narrow walkway leading to a foot bridge spanning the stream and continue. Looking to my rear, I see Robert spaced behind me with the shadows of the others in trail. I part the grass ahead slowly not wanting to make a trail or to let anyone ahead know we are coming by any obvious grass movement. Slow step by step, I make my way to where I can see down the street into the heart of the very small town. I halt and the others crouch facing to the sides.
Grabbing a few stalks of grass to stick in my boonie hat and top of my vest, I rise slowly to a point where I am able to see just above the top of the grass. I bring the binoculars up ensuring I shield the front lenses with my hands. Not too far away is what looks like a pub with the entrance to a parking lot adjacent to it. A couple of other store fronts line both sides of the road. In the open lot, a couple of pickup trucks are parked with several people behind the beds and hoods aiming hunting rifles and assault weapons toward a store across the street. I count eight, but from shadows that appear and the shouts, it appears there are more out of sight from us in the lot itself.
From all appearances, it seems the ones outside have a group trapped in the store. I see a couple of barrels sticking out from windows facing the street. There is shouting from both sides but I still can’t make out individual words. In most situations, there are the good guys and the bad guys. Sometimes though, it’s good guys versus good guys and sometimes bad against bad. It’s hard to tell which is which just rolling up in the middle of something. One thing I do know, there are survivors here. It does seem like the small towns may have a higher survival rate but that hasn’t really shown itself to be an exact trend as yet.
“Henderson, Denton, to the front,” I say over the radio. The two shortly snake by the side of the others to me.
“I want you two here with your M-110s covering. Keep low and out of sight but watch and keep me informed of what is happening. Although you can’t see in the store, be ready to engage either force,” I say.
“Hooah, sir,” Henderson replies.
“Seriously! You too?” I whisper.
“Can’t help it, sir. It’s just a reflex,” he says.
“Well, tame that reflex,” I counter.
“Hooah, sir,” he says with a smile.
“Red Team, we’re backtracking to the footpath. Follow it to the stream. We’ll move along the water’s edge behind the buildings and come up from behind to see what is going on. Slow and quiet is the word. McCafferty, you have the lead,” I whisper in my throat mic.
“Hooah, sir, heading out,” McCafferty responds.
“Fuck me,” I whisper to myself and hear Robert chuckle quietly.
I inform Greg of our plan, telling him to stay with the Stryker and be ready to respond. “Leave the Stryker shut down but be ready to move.”
“I’d give you a hooah, Jack, knowing you like it so much. But I’ll refrain… this time. Call if you need, I’ll just be lounging here with my beer,” he replies. I can sense the smiles emanating from Red Team ahead as we slowly backtrack to the narrow path.
McCafferty leads us down the concrete path a short distance to the stream where we gather. The stream is shallow for the most part and, while it doesn’t have an overly strong current, it’s not a slow one either. We’ll have to take the rocky bottom carefully in order not to make noise or sprain an ankle. The bank is rocky and steep which will mean we’ll have to traverse in the water itself. My choice would be along the bank but the embankment won’t allow that. I’m worried about being in the water and exposed to anyone on the other side but the trees droop over the edge in most areas so we’ll have a measure of concealment.
I lead us down the short but sheer embankment and into the stream. The steepness continues into the water putting me at knee depth right at the edge. The bottom flattens out quickly though so we’ll be able to stay close to the shoreline to our left. It’s the larger rocks that will have to be negotiated carefully. The stream runs over a few rocks sticking above the surface and the gurgle of the water rushing over and around them blocks any other sounds. We’ll have to rely on our eyes as we approach the two groups ahead.
Robert is behind me focusing on the immediate bank and to the left front. I wave for him to increase his spacing a touch. Behind him, Gonzalez looks for her footing before stepping and is focused on the far bank. I notice her check on Bri following at times. Gonzalez points to the near shoreline. Bri nods and focuses her attention and M-4 there. McCafferty is bringing up the rear keeping her attention behind and to the sides. I have the immediate front and keep an eye to the left and right in front of us as well.
We make our way slowly down the waterway. The current is going with us and helping with our steps and noise. Going upstream is always harder, slower, and noisier if care isn’t taken. The trees on the far shore shield any view of buildings across the w
ay. However, it also shields anyone who happens to be lying within those trees. The odds are against anyone being there but if that’s where people are gathering water, well, any look in our direction will give us away. I’m especially wary of the footpath behind us as that’s where anyone would venture to do just that, get water. I radio McCafferty to keep a look out there.
A bridge crosses the stream a short distance ahead and that’s where I focus most of my attention. Obviously, anyone transiting the area will take that bridge and if I see anyone, I will signal quickly and we’ll silently edge into the trees hanging over the water. Just short of the bridge is my eventual goal as that is where the parking lot with one of the groups is. I haven’t heard anything from Henderson or Denton so I assume everything is the same as when I left. Trees also line the waterway to the back of the lot so we’ll have cover as we approach. As I near, I can hear some shouting above the babbling stream but I still can’t make out individual words.
We reach a point behind the parking lot and, with care, climb out of the water making sure to minimize any sound of water running off our pant legs. We are on line as we climb the short distance to the ground above. Near the top, we crouch and then crawl the last couple of feet. At the top, we lie on the embankment and peek just above the crest of the hill. There are low-lying branches just overhead so we have concealment and cover alike. Ahead, twelve men are lined behind pickup trucks at the front of the lot and farther into it, all facing the store front across the street.
The shouted words become immediately clear. The group outside in front of us is threatening the ones inside.
“Like I told you, you came into our territory and tried to take our things. For that, you’ll pay. Now, I said you can make that easy. Throw down your guns and step outside. We’ll make it quick and leave your women alone. But if you make it hard, we’ll make it hard on them. I think you get my drift with that, assholes,” shouts a burly man in the rear, dressed in a red, plaid shirt and jeans. A chuckle rises from some of the others at his comment about making it “hard” on them.