by Ryan King
Chapter 8 – Meeting of the Minds
The first gathering of the Jackson Purchase Emergency Meeting started with tight lips and downcast stares at the table. Lieutenant Governor Reginald Philips had gone to some significant trouble to get the men and women together in the Calloway County courtroom. Reggie came to the conclusion that if the personnel responsible for conducting state duties and services were not gathered together and given direction and support, they would slowly melt away into the mass of people just trying to survive. Although he would have preferred it otherwise, he knew as the state's Lieutenant Governor he was the only person who could legitimately call them here.
There were fewer people than were invited, but more than he expected. General Clarence Anderson was present and his new Deputy Commander, retired Marine Major General Dale "Butch" Matthews. Butch had been enjoying retirement teaching classical history at Murray State University on N-Day. After Reggie convinced Anderson to come back on active duty, he in turn did the same with Butch.
Next to Butch sat Frank Simm, the District Commander of the Kentucky State Police, and to his left sat Janet Cline, the state-appointed FEMA Director for the Jackson Purchase. Doctor Thomas Stevens, the President of Murray State University, sat across the table from Janet, and to his left slumped John Downing, the Director of the Tennessee Valley Authority works in Kentucky. TVA responsibility included Kentucky Dam and the Land Between the Lakes Park. Counting himself, Reggie had seven people to help him. Not many, but he was thankful for them all.
Reginald cleared his throat. “I appreciate all of you coming here today and I know some of you had some trouble given the conditions of the roads and lack of gas.” He looked around and paused, “I feel like we should begin our session with a prayer for guidance, wisdom, and support.” Reggie expected some push-back, but everyone just nodded, with some even giving him encouraging smiles or nods.
Reggie began, “Lord, I thank you for sparing us the destruction that has been visited upon much of our country. We don’t know why it came or why we were not destroyed too, but we are grateful we have so much, while others have nothing. Lord, in these days ahead, please grant us Your understanding, wisdom, and strength to do what we can to retain decency, justice, and mercy in the world.” There was more Reggie wanted to say, but he was afraid he would lose control of his emotions before the meeting even got started. “Amen,” he said, and heard several others follow suit.
Reggie deliberately opened his folder and scanned the items on his agenda. “As you probably know, the County Executive Council has become the primary means of cooperative governmental decision-making in the Jackson Purchase. I can tell you those representatives are great people who are trying to do their best. The problem is they need a…” Reggie sought for the right word, “…framework, let us say, to operate. I believe that is where we come into the picture.”
Doctor Stevens spoke up. “You’re saying, as state officials, we’re separate from their county rivalries and interests, and thus possess a certain position of trust by default.”
“In a sense…yes,” replied Reggie. “I hope I’m not shocking anyone when I say that I think the federal government of the United States of America is not coming to our rescue.” Although Reggie knew this and felt everyone else in the room did also, the silence still made him feel depressed. Speaking these things aloud felt like crossing a point of no return.
He continued after a pause, “People here, given time, will transition to some alternate form of practical government. They all understand democracy and how a representative government works. Our job is to protect them until the day something greater comes into being, and that mainly means we keep doing what we’re all doing and keep fear away as much as possible. I know that’s hard, but history has shown how fear can destroy us all if it gets a foothold.”
Frank Simm, in his immaculate state police uniform, leaned forward and placed his hands on the table in front of him. “Reggie, I hope I’m not overstepping here, but I think we all understand the gravity of the situation. You don’t have to convince us. We’re with you or we wouldn’t be here. Just tell us what we need to do.”
The delivery was gruff and direct, but Reggie appreciated the message which was that they accepted his authority. The first hurdle crossed, he plowed forward.
“Well, as you know I’m invited to the Council Meetings and allowed to speak first. I would like to begin those meetings by telling them what we're doing and propose recommendations to give them the framework we talked about earlier. I know you have all been doing great work. I would like each of you to keep doing that work, bring up issues, and let us talk through problems together.”
The room became silent as everyone looked at each other expectantly.
“All right,” said Clarence Anderson finally. “I would like to start unless someone else wants to go first.” Everyone nodded, so he pulled out reading glasses from his military uniform pocket and began scanning lists.
“The three national guard units are currently at 86 percent manning, thanks to the ability granted at the last Council Meeting to enlist new members. We have also established a basic training and retraining facility outside of Murray for new enlistees and those with no combat training. I would say given the circumstances, this training is progressing well.” Anderson took off his glasses and sighed, “With that said, we’re going to need more troops. These units are not enough to cover the borders for any extended period of time.”
Janet spoke up a little defensively, “Well, the FEMA plan was really only designed to operate temporarily, maybe a few weeks at most. We’re going on almost four months.”
“Exactly,” said Anderson, “we have troops away from their families. Desertion, insubordination, and acts of punishment have increased. We’re asking them to do too much. Enlistments are going well since food and shelter appear to be incentives enough, but we need more.”
“I trust you have a recommendation,” said Reggie with a smile.
“Indeed I do,” answered Anderson. “I would like to have Butch Matthews here talk about an idea he has that I think might be our best bet.”
The short and stocky Marine sat forward and looked around at them all. “Thank you General. Although enlistments are up, we really cannot afford to significantly increase our troop levels. It costs us incredible amounts of food, fuel, and other resources. As you all know, the monetary system has completely broken down and we rely on a barter system. This makes paying soldiers a nightmare and additional soldiers makes that worse, but frankly we need them.” General Matthews smiled for the first time, “I propose that we take a page from our own history and establish a county-based regimental militia system.”
“Excuse me,” said Doctor Stevens, “but isn’t that what the National Guard is anyway, at least, in essence?”
Butch nodded and continued, “Before N-Day that would have described the Guard’s origins, but they have now been activated and constitute the JP's active duty force. In our situation, I don’t think we want to change that. We need a highly trained, permanent, and experienced military force. We just don’t have enough of them, nor do we have the resources to greatly increase their numbers.” Butch nodded his head, “No, for all intents and purposes the Guard is now our permanent standing army.”
Several voices began talking at once, but Butch rode over them by continuing to talk. “What I propose is that we maintain the current National Guard units as a ‘central’ force under our control, and encourage each county to form its own militia regiment. These forces can then do the lion’s share of the daily protection duties, freeing the National Guard units to respond to crises and secure key facilities. These county regiments will fall under the control of the civilian government, and like their colonial ancestors will elect their own leaders and serve largely for free.”
Butch had rushed through this explanation in nearly one breath. It was obvious he had rehearsed it several times, not wanting to get bogged down in questions before he c
ould present the essence of his plan. He paused now and looked around expectantly, and Reggie thought even a little apprehensively.
He believes in this, thought Reggie, and that convinced him. Reggie was not a military man, and even if he was, he couldn’t handle all the responsibility in addition to those he was already entrusted. Butch was a good man; it was enough for Reggie to know that Butch believed in his plan and thought it best for all of them.
Janet leaned forward with a frown on her face and was getting ready to say something, but Reggie jumped in before she could voice doubt that might be contagious.
“This may be the answer we need. Well done Butch!” he said with enthusiasm. Butch smiled at him in gratitude while Anderson tilted his head and looked back at Reggie with a knowing smile.
“There will, of course, be challenges and complications,” continued Butch. “First of all, we don’t have the equipment or resources to outfit these new units yet and the counties are unlikely to have them either. Second, we can’t pay these men and the counties will be unwilling to do so. They will have to serve freely for mutual self-preservation, again like our colonial ancestors. And finally,” Butch drew in a breath, “we have no system to train these new militia. If we leave it up to the counties it will result in a mishmash, or a rabble, that couldn’t work together to organize a bake sale, much less fight to protect us.”
“But…” added General Anderson, perhaps sensing the mood turning, “we believe we have ways and means to overcome these obstacles. Perhaps we should take these problems which Butch has identified one at a time and then discuss the proposal.”
“Wait a minute,” said Doctor Stevens abruptly, “is this even legal? Sounds like we’re talking about putting together a bunch of yahoos from the local bar and giving them guns. Is that smart? Don't these rednecks already have tons of guns? Can’t we continue relying on the Guard and police until things change?”
“That’s the main problem,” said Reggie evenly. “Things are not likely to change and even if they do, they are probably going to get worse before they get better. I know this is difficult to swallow at first, but I recommend we at least hear Butch out. He’s put a lot of time and energy into this problem.”
Stevens frowned, sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms.
Butch took this as his cue to continue and pulled out a piece of paper from his folder. “We currently have the equipment we need for the Guard forces, but I must emphasize the word ‘currently.’ I estimate that in order to outfit the militia regiments, we will need at least 5,000 rifles and 500,000 rounds of ammunition, not to mention the other equipment, such as uniforms and boots. That stuff we can improvise, but the guns and ammo we can’t.” Butch continued while looking at his charts, “The Remington Arms Plant at Mayfield is working to retool their line to produce what we need, but that will take weeks and that doesn't address the raw material and parts issue. Right now they are mainly tooled to produce hunting shotguns. They also are not set up to produce ammunition at all, but the guys down there know what they’re doing. They believe with the proper resources, they can eventually produce 100,000 rounds a month, if we are only talking about one or two calibers. That is also contingent on their ability to produce cordite for the ammunition"
“Which brings us to another problem,” said Anderson.
“Yes,” stated Butch, “we want all our forces to all use the same weapons, or at least the same caliber of ammunition, or else logistics will be a nearly impossible. Our Guard forces already use 5.56mm for their AR15 and M4s. That is what we need for the militia.” Butch again paused and looked around a little sheepishly, “We think we can get all we need from the post at Fort Campbell.”
“You mean the army base, where the 101st Airborne Division is?” asked Janet. “Won’t they want their stuff?”
“We’ve had numerous deserters, refugees, or whatever you want to call them, come in from there, and they tell us the place has simply faded away,” stated Anderson. “After N-Day, communication and command either openly broke down or slowly melted away over time. Most units locked up their buildings, put everyone on extended leave, and went home, wherever that was.”
“Yes,” continued Butch, “and fortunately one of the men who made it to us was Master Sergeant John Robels, who ran the base ammunition supply point. He locked everything away tightly, packed up his family, and came home to Ballard County, along with all the keys and security combinations for the ammo point. He says getting weapons out of unit supply rooms will be fairly easy as long as we have some time and energy to dig through concrete. We just have to get there and come back with the stuff.”
“Uh…not to throw any problems into your plan,” said Frank Simm, “but are we talking about robbing the U.S. Army?”
“Yes,” said Anderson tensely. “But you have to realize, there is no U.S. Army anymore, and we need that equipment and ammo to protect ourselves. Just last week a group of marauders raided from across the Ohio River killing fourteen of our people, taking many women and girls, and stealing a lot of the area’s food. This sort of thing is going to increase, not go away. Maybe we should go on to problem two,” said Anderson to Butch. “I think our plan to ‘acquire’ needed weapons from Fort Campbell is the best bet, but let’s go on so everyone can digest and hear everything.”
“Of course,” said Butch. “The second issue, lack of pay, is not so much a problem as a fact of life. This is something everyone will have to accept. We need to remember that Minutemen weren’t paid; militia service needs to become a shared community obligation again, not a job.”
"We're recommending universal training of all able-bodied men between the ages of 18 and 45," said Anderson. "They can serve in their county regiments on rotational cycles, which may only involve a month at a time; but we can call everyone up for short periods if needed. We can also find support uses for women and non able-bodied men in logistics and transportation roles. This is something that we’re just going to have to convince everyone of, but we don't want to stress the system because from this point forward we need the majority of people planting and harvesting and producing needed goods.”
“It might not be that hard,” said Frank. “Towns and communities are already forming small armed bands on their own for just this purpose. They’ve heard the stories of the raiders, and in some cases have seen the results. They’re scared.”
“That will be my job at the next big meeting, should we decide to go that way,” said Reggie. “I judge if we can provide the weapons and ammo, the County Executives will have no problem providing the men for their own militia regiments.”
“Which brings us to one of our final problems,” said Butch, “but not one to be overlooked…training. Without quality and relevant training this militia will be useless. We want them to be professional, in the sense that when called upon to fight they do it well and in a disciplined manner.” Butch looked at his plan again, “I propose a three-phased approach: initial basic training, an annual major cooperative exercise or engagement per year, and regular unit level training.”
“Sounds complicated,” said Janet.
“Not really,” said Butch. “Everyone will go through basic entry level training focused on light infantry tactics and skills, augmented by many other tasks normally performed by support troops. We’ve figured out that our troops, especially the militia, will need to have all the skills necessary to look after themselves for extended periods of time, from hunting and tracking, to sewing and first-aid. I’m envisioning this training being a very intensive six weeks.”
“Six weeks!” cried Frank. “From my understanding military basic and advanced training ranges anywhere from four to six months, and our training to make a state trooper is one year. How can you do what you want in six short weeks?”
Butch sighed. “It’s true, I’d love to have them for longer, but the situation is approaching a point where we need men out there on the border as soon as possible. We’ll focus on core skills and let the units
finish the rest. We also plan on cutting out much of the ‘fluff’ that is normally in military training.”
“Fluff?” asked Stevens.
“Yeah,” said Anderson gruffly, “things we don’t need to train them on like, for instance, sleep. That frees up at least six to eight hours a day." Anderson raised his hand to cut off the objections, "I know everyone needs sleep, but we can incorporate lack of sleep into our training. We can also cut out drill and ceremony, tradition and history, equal opportunity, and my favorite…’consideration of others’ training. Did you realize that before N-Day, army basic trainees underwent a full week of training designed to make them more sensitive? I would say we can cut that shit out.”
Butch smiled, nodded and went on. “This training will focus on squad and platoon level tactics in our local terrain. Recruits will train in the exact area they will be assigned to guard. Many of them are already intimately familiar with the ground from hunting, farming, and other more nefarious activities such as poaching or growing marijuana.” Butch shrugged to show he wasn't judging these activities and went on. “We can also eliminate physical training, marksmanship, and other things that they can learn at their unit, or already know.”
Doctor Stevens asked with his hands clasped tightly in front of him, “And who will conduct this training? Sounds like it will be as difficult for the trainers, if not more so, than the trainees.”
“It’s funny you should ask,” said Anderson. “Our idea was to use the cadets and cadre of the Murray State ROTC Program. This is what they already do to some extent. They train cadets in light infantry tactics and all their NCOs and officers are combat veterans. The senior Sergeant Major down there is a long-time Special Forces and Delta veteran. I’ve spoken to the Professor of Military Science there, Lieutenant Colonel Jones, and he believes it can be done. He already has his staff working on a training plan.”
Stevens' face scrunched up tightly and his eyes narrowed, “And when was someone going to talk to me about this? I am the President of the university, after all.”
Anderson answered Stevens straight-faced, “You know I was going to come talk to you about that, but then I remembered it was none of your damn business!”
“What!?” squealed Stevens.
Anderson set his jaw and leaned across the table towards the man, “We’re telling you now. And, by the way, not to put too fine a point on the issue, but you don’t own the ROTC program or its people.”
“Right!” yelled Stevens, “And neither do you. They belong to the U.S. Army which belongs to the U.S. Government which is not you, sir!”
Reggie could feel everything unraveling, “Gentlemen, let’s just calm down for a minute. We’re talking about ideas here. This is a forum for all of us to work together before we present things to a larger audience. This was just the best opportunity to do that very thing.” Reggie looked at Anderson willing him to make peace.
Anderson glared at Reggie then Stevens. “It would be completely within my authority to pull the whole damn program out from under your control and there wouldn't a thing you could do about it. I guarantee every officer, soldier, or cadet over there would listen to me before you. How would you like that you little piss ant? Hell, I might even tell them to throw you out on your sorry ass!"
Stevens went white and his mouth hung open.
"General Anderson!" said Reggie. "We all need to find a way to cooperate here. The university is key to our future and so is Doctor Stevens."
"Sure, I get that and don't disagree," answered Anderson, "but I don't have time for politics or turf battles. And correct me if I'm wrong, but I think I hold most of the cards here."
Reggie had an angry retort on his lips when Frank Simm stood drawing all their attention.
"My kids don't know what's happened," said Simm his voice quivering slightly. "I tried to tell them last night, but they can't understand it. To them it's all the same. But I know they are going to have to grow up and live in the world we build for them. Starting right here in this room. Now if we can't all come together for that, then there really is no hope."
He looked like he was going to say more, but sat down instead and no one spoke for a long time.