Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival

by Joe Nobody

  Hiding in plain sight

  They parked the truck where directed and got out. Bishop immediately started looking around and the sergeant walked up beside him. He reached out his hand and said, “Master Sergeant Nick Williams, 6th Special Forces Group, United States Army, well, if there still is an Army or a United States. Please call me Nick.”

  Bishop shook his hand and said, “Please call me impressed. Nice camo job on the driveway.”

  “Thanks, but I thought the house was our best work. Did it look like it had been on fire?”

  “It didn’t burn?”

  “No,” he said as they examined the structure a little closer, “I painted those smoke stains with spray paint, and the siding damage is an old Styrofoam cooler I cut up and painted to match. It really fooled you?”

  “It sure as shit did.”

  “I had been at Fort Hood for a few months on a training assignment. Kevin was staying with my dad in Houston, and we had decided to go on a fishing trip up at the lake. You know, three generations and all that shit. Anyway, Dad had been saving up for it for months. We left Houston before all of the shit started, but the trailer broke down on the way. We were waiting on a part to be brought over from Austin when all hell broke loose.”

  “Who owns the house?”

  “When we pulled off to wait, it became clear that the Shell station up the road was going to have trouble. We went looking for some place to stay, but with the brakes smoking on the trailer, we couldn’t go far. I saw a “For Sale – Foreclosure” sign in front of this place and thought it might be empty. There was still some junk inside, but no one had lived here for quite a while.”

  Bishop and Nick walked around to the front yard. Bishop was staring at the school bus, curious, but not wanting to ask a stupid question. Nick noticed he was looking at it and waited a little bit before explaining, “The Rovers, or at least that is what we call them. They use busses or trucks or anything that can carry a lot of people. They drive around the countryside and stop every so often. They’ll send out scouts looking for some place to loot or scavenge. If the scouts find anything interesting, the soldiers come in force. They swarm the place like ants.”

  “It looks like you had some ants show up at your picnic.”

  Nick laughed, but then his face turned sour, and his voice became bitter.

  “They had driven right past here several times, and the camo had worked. We saw a flatbed 18-wheeler, a tractor pulling a hay wagon, and a couple of other troop carriers, but they would just slow down, point and talk, and then go on past. It was the school bus that got us in trouble. We had our dog with us, Chief, and he never did like school busses for some reason. Chief started barking, and they heard him and stopped. Before I could stop him, he went running after the bus. He was a good dog.”

  “Was?”

  Nick’s voice went low and cold. “They shot him, right in front of Kevin. Kevin is 15 and should be chasing girls and playing basketball, not carrying a rifle and shooting people. Anyway, I had taken the powder out of some of my ammo and made a couple of small IED’s with some pipe I found in the garage. I threw one at the bus, but I missed. The driver panicked though and flipped it on its side before they all got out.”

  As they walked closer to the bus, Bishop could see the roof was riddled with bullet holes.

  Nick’s voice returned to normal, “It took us a week to bury all of them. I wanted to just leave them for the vultures, but the smell got really bad. We were lucky, none of them got away. Dad got three, and I don’t know how many Kevin killed. Ever since then, we’ve been trying to avoid the scouts. With the bus blocking the way, they don’t bring anything heavy down this road anymore, but we still run into the scouts now and then. That’s why I have the tripwires set up.”

  “Who are they? How did they organize so quickly?”

  “The reason we left the Shell station was because four carloads of gang bangers showed up. I saw one of their tattoos, and I think they were that M13 or whatever it’s called. Like sharks, they could smell fear in the water. They had guns, were not afraid to use them, and took over. After we left, I walked back there a few times to see if there were any news or if any food had showed up. The M13 guys were taking whatever they wanted from the stranded cars and all of the businesses. I got the feeling it was a ‘join us or die’ type of deal. I also got the impression they had no trouble recruiting from the hundreds of teenagers who were stranded with Mom and Dad. The last time I went, there were 11 bodies hanging from the overpass - so much for any resistance.”

  Bishop took it all in and thought about it for a while. They continued to walk around the yard with Nick pointing out all of the tripwires so Bishop didn’t set one off by mistake. As they went under the tarp and into the back yard, Bishop could see Terri and Kevin petting a cat and talking. He looked around a little bit for Grandpa, but couldn’t see him anywhere. Movement caught his eye, and he saw the man up on the roof of the house with a pair of binoculars.

  Bishop said, “Well, it looks like you are about as secure here as you can be in this situation.”

  “We are not going to be able to hold out much longer. Food and water are okay right now, but we are almost out of ammunition. I didn’t have that much to start with, and my pipe bombs didn’t help the situation. Kevin has four rounds left for the AR, and I only have a handful for bolt action. We are down to less than 10 shells for Dad’s shotgun.”

  Bishop looked at Nick and smiled. “Well sir, let me show you something that might cheer you up a little.”

  They walked around to the back of the truck, and Nick watched as Bishop moved some boxes around and pulled out a heavy plastic storage bin. Bishop pulled the top off, and the inside was completely full of shiny brass ammunition. Nick didn’t say a word, but just stared for a full minute. He started to reach for one and then pulled his hand back and looked at Bishop to see if it were okay. Bishop nodded and said, “It’s all homemade, but I never have any issue with it. Those are above military spec. They have proven to have plenty of stopping power.”

  The military’s standard issue 5.56 mm ammunition had been criticized for years as being underpowered. Starting with the Vietnam War, where first used, reports of the enemy continuing to fight after being shot were common. In every conflict since, a movement has circulated in the Pentagon to provide the troops with a more potent cartridge. From his own experience, Bishop knew the problem was not with the cartridge, but with the bullet being used with the cartridge. The United States subscribed to the Geneva Convention, which prohibited any type of bullet specially modified to damage flesh. This limitation resulted in US forces being given simple ball ammunition to fight with. Hollow points and various other types of bullets had proven far superior, but were against the convention’s rules.

  Field commanders also wanted shorter and shorter barrels on their weapons. This was not only to lighten the load of the individual solider, but because Iraq had been primarily urban house-to-house fighting. A shorter barrel on a rifle has numerous benefits in going around corners, fighting up stairwells and other common building features. The shorter the barrel, the slower the bullet exits, and thus less stopping power is delivered to the target. The 5.56, already questionable, became even less effective.

  What really pissed Bishop off was all of the money the US spent trying to replace the M16 and M4 rifles. They could have simply changed the bullet, at no additional cost, and solved the entire issue. Bishop did not know exactly how much had been wasted, both in dead American boys and research, but it was complete chicken shit any way you looked at it.

  Bishop didn’t subscribe to the Geneva Convention and never intended to. He made his ammo just as mean and nasty as he possibly could.

  “Could you possibly part with a bit? I don’t have much to trade, but I took one of the last deer around here a few days ago. I could trade some fresh hot venison stew,” Nick offered.

  “Would 500 rounds hold you over?”

  “Oh my God! Really? You can
part with 500? Kevin! Come over here, son. Look at what the nice man you almost shot this morning has for us!”

  Bishop smiled and then asked, “What caliber is your bolt action?”

  “It’s a .308 Winchester.”

  Bishop grinned and reached for another box.

  Campfire Stew

  As they sat around the fire eating some very tasty stew that was heavy on meat and short on vegetables, the conversation was on everything but today’s world. Jokes, army stories, family history, and tales of fantastic fishing filled the air. For a while, Bishop almost forgot he was living through a situation that resembled a Hollywood post-apocalyptic movie and not the great state of Texas in the year 2015.

  As soon as everyone had finished eating, Nick stood up and looked at Terri. He bent slightly at the waist and swept his arm toward the house, “I’ll show you to your master suite. Right this way madam.” He led them into the house and then a back bedroom. There was no furniture in the place, so Terri was surprised to see a mattress lying on the floor. She couldn’t remember how many days it had been since she had slept on anything soft. Nick pointed to the windows and the stacks of plastic bags. “Those are the bullet stops I made. We had a bunch of trash bags in the boat, and we filled them up with dirt. They should provide protection in case Kevin is cleaning his gun and has an accident, or the Rovers decide to shoot at us.”

  Next was another pleasant surprise – the toilets worked. “There is an old well out back. Take that bucket, and use it to fill the tank. It flushes just fine. It even comes fully equipped with a five year old Sports Illustrated for your reading pleasure.” Bishop walked over, rattled the knob on the throne, and looked at Terri. “Now honey, you push this little thing down, and the bad stuff goes away. You don’t have to dig a cat hole or use poison oak leaves to wipe with.”

  Terri walked over and lifted the seat up and down, “Now honey, this is the seat, and you leave it down after…oh, hell, never mind. You couldn’t manage that even when you used one of these every day.”

  Everyone laughed, and Nick said, “I have saved the best for last.” He led them out the sliding glass door onto a small patio. Hanging from the roof was a shower curtain on two pieces of pipe. “Lady and Gentleman, may I present to you one of the finest facilities known to the human race this side of the Pecos – A HOT WATER SHOWER! We brought a solar shower with us to use on the boat. It’s really a big plastic bag that you fill with water and let the sun heat. It gets very hot, so be careful.”

  Bishop and Terri both looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Me, first!”

  Nick said, “It’s big enough for two,” winked, and walked off.

  I-10 – September 13, 2015

  Bishop woke up early and went outside without waking Terri. Kevin was on the roof, doing his shift of guard duty. Bishop nodded at him and went over to the coals of the campfire. Nick said they ran a fire anytime at night because the smoke wasn’t visible, but not during the day. Bishop stirred the coals and determined there was enough heat to make some coffee. He heated water and stared at the fading stars losing way to the rising sun.

  Nick walked up, happy to help Bishop dispose of the hot water for his coffee. “I have been thinking about how to get you safely on the other side of the interstate, and I just don’t see how it can be done. The overpass is blocked by two large trailers that you would have to zigzag through slowly. There are two rings of sentries, and they have a very effective over watch guards on the building roofs. I have seen their weapons and from the looks of the scopes, they are probably some poor fellow’s deer rifles. I’m sure they paid him a fair price for them.”

  Bishop was familiar with the term “over watch” from his days in Afghanistan. He knew it described sentries or guards who occupied an elevated position so they could watch over the area for which they had responsibility. He continued to quiz Nick. “Where do you think they got all of their weapons?”

  “Well, as people ran out of gas, or became stuck, the gangbangers drove down the grass median and took what they wanted at gunpoint. I watched them do it once. They had a couple of 4x4 trucks and would load several gunmen in the back. I imagine they would just repeat this same strategy a couple times a day to see what they could find. This is Texas, and people were leaving Houston because they were frightened, so they probably packed up all the guns and ammo they could carry.”

  Both men took a few sips of coffee, and Nick continued.

  “The first week or so, we would hear shots several times a day. I remember one afternoon, some old boy must have put up one hell of a fight. It sounded like Baghdad on a Saturday night. I could make out at least four different calibers of weapons being fired. That firefight must have lasted a full hour and used up hundreds and hundreds of rounds.”

  Bishop smiled at the thought, “Being a highwayman in Texas is not a safe way to make a living.”

  “I don’t know how many of the original gang members are still alive. The last few scouts we took out were younger men, 16 to 20 years old, and they carried a mix of weapons. We would have run out of ammo a week ago, but we ambushed a scout, and he had a Mini-14 with two full magazines.”

  Grandpa joined them for a cup of joe, but didn’t say much. He was going to relieve Kevin in a bit and was trying to wake up. Nick continued.

  “The leader of the gang was a big dude they all called the ‘Hefei’ which is Spanish for the ‘Boss.’ This guy is not stupid. When they first arrived, he enforced some very tight discipline. He even beat the living shit out of one of his guys when he tried to steal candy from the station. Three days later, they took whatever they wanted, but early on, the Hefei was gathering his Intel.”

  “It sure seems like they organized quickly,” Bishop replied. “He must be a pretty good leader to have scoped out the lay of the land and acted that fast. I wonder if some of these kids could make a difference if they had gotten started right. What could a guy like that do in the Army or running a business?”

  Bishop sucked down the last few drops of his coffee, and then stood to go wash his cup. He turned to Nick and asked, “What if the Hefei lost his crown? What if he weren’t available to lead? What would happen?”

  Nick thought for a second. “I don’t follow. You want to snipe him?”

  “No, I’m thinking about kidnapping him, and the ransom is our free passage.”

  “Bishop, he has some serious lieutenants, and they may be glad to be rid of him. They might be thinking it’s their turn to be the Hefei.”

  “Maybe, but most leaders like that have some sort of insurance. They know where the money is hidden, or have the contact for the drugs or whatever. If he has ambitious lieutenants, I’m sure he keeps something back for a safety net - something important to them.”

  “How would we snatch him? We don’t even know his habits or movements.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think either of us have enough information. Let me show you something.”

  Bishop went to the truck and came back with the big .308 rifle. When he saw it, Nick’s eyes were like a kid on Christmas morning. Watching Nick fondle the rifle, Bishop joked, “I am afraid my rifle is going to file a sexual harassment lawsuit against you. I’m glad you don’t like Terri as much.”

  Both of them laughed and Nick said, “I only have a 10x scope on my rifle. With this big monster you have here, we can see twice as far. I think I know what’s on your mind, and I bet I know just the place to do it.”

  Terri joined them at the fire, but didn’t drink any coffee. She sat, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. She could tell from Bishop’s face that he was deep in thought, so she decided to let him be, opening a package of the oatmeal. After her offers to share were politely declined, she proceeded to heat more water and make breakfast.

  Bishop finally came out of his trance and looked up at her, “I have some bad news, baby.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not going to bathe for a while.”

  “Well, at least I got you ni
ce and clean last night.”

  The Billboard

  Nick and Bishop were moving quietly and quickly through the underbrush. Bishop had loaned Nick one of the night vision devices, allowing them to avoid entanglements and people. They were approaching the outer rings of the campers, the people who had gotten stuck on I-10 and had nowhere else to go.

  Nick had warned Bishop how heartbreaking it is to see fellow Americans living in conditions worse than most third world slums, but he was still shocked at what he saw. People had constructed shelter out of just about anything they could find. Cardboard, car hoods, and even suitcases had all been used. It was well past midnight, yet there were still a few dirty children moving around. Bishop watched as the kids stalked a grasshopper. One of them pounced and came up with the prize, holding up a large kicking insect for all her playmates to see. The little girl immediately ran back to a woman with frazzled hair and presented her with the bug. The woman rubbed the girl’s head, took the insect, and threw it in a small pot that was sitting on the campfire. After stirring the pot with a stick, the woman moved back to her couch that looked like the front seat of a sedan.

  Bishop and Nick moved easily around this group and headed closer to I-10. They tried to stay in the shadows, but there was little cover in the area. Bishop was looking at several trees that were completely stripped bare of all limbs and bark. They looked like raw, white telephone poles. When Nick noticed him staring at them, he mouthed the word “Firewood,” and Bishop nodded.