by T W Powell
“Darius, do you think that’s our contact?”
“Probably so, but we can’t take any chances. Bobby Ray, make a little smoke then go hide in those bushes with this AK47.”
Bobby Ray started a small fire and laid some wet leaves and grass on top, then hid behind some brush.
“Dad, there’s some smoke a little way up the canyon.”
Tom Jackson squinted but couldn’t see any smoke, “Adam, are you sure?”
“I don’t see anything either.” Tommy was also staring up the canyon.
“It’s there alright, you’ll see it in a minute.”
A couple of minutes later, Tommy saw the smoke, “Ol’ Eagle-Eye did it again.”
Tom gave Little Sorrel an ever-so-slight nudge. Sorrel immediately shifted his gait from a walk to a canter. Adam and Tommy moved up along-side Tom so as not to be stuck eating Sorrel’s dust. The Grand Dame of the gang, Miss Daisy, was romping right alongside of Little Sorrel, snorting and braying as she strutted her stuff.
“My, oh my, Bobby Ray, this is a scene right out of Louis L’Amour.”
“Louie who?”
“Son, we have got to teach you to read. Now hide your ass over there in those bushes.”
The Jackson gang slowed to a walk as they entered the canyon and made their way up Mill Creek Road.
Within a few minutes they were face-to-face with Junior, “I’m looking for Darius, do you be him?”
Junior replied, “That depends, how’s Miss Daisy?”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself, she’s right here.” Tom pointed at his mule.
“But watch out! She’s awful ornery and doesn’t think twice about kicking or biting.”
Junior let out a big belly laugh, “So that’s the world-famous Miss Daisy?”
“That be her.”
“Yes sir, I’m Darius, but my friends call me Junior. That young’un hiding over there in that brush is Bobby Ray Skipper.”
Tommy blurted out, “Like a boat skipper?”
“That’s not very original.” Bobby Ray lowered the AK-47 and walked over to shake hands with the Jacksons.”
“I’m Tom Jackson and these are my boys, Tommy and Adam. You men ever rode a horse?”
Junior mumbled, “When I was a kid. Not much.”
Bobby Ray also answered unenthusiastically.
Tom took it all in stride, “Just chalk this up as on the job training.”
Junior mounted Buttermilk and Bobby Ray climbed aboard Petunia.
Tom called out to the whole gang, “We’ve got the better part of two days’ hard ride ahead of us. I want to hit Austin by tomorrow evening.”
Checking the Mail
Jo always had things to do. The first thing on today’s list was a visit to the Dead Drop out Shelbyville Road. It was quite a bike ride from Shively to the Dead Drop at the US60/I-265 interchange, usually taking about 3 hours. It was a beautiful spring morning, and the Kentucky landscape was in full bloom. Traffic today was light on I-265.
Jo turned off Shelbyville road and made her way up the gravel lane that led to the Dead Drop. She was looking for the light bulb hanging from the front porch, but it wasn’t there. She got off her bike, reached under her poncho, and grabbed her Colt. As she slowly approached the front porch, she saw the light cord had been cleanly cut off at the ceiling. The light was laying on the front porch smashed under the concrete block that usually occupied a meaningful spot on the front steps. This too was a message.
Jo ran into the backyard where Junior and Bobby Ray had camped just a few nights earlier. She began rummaging through a pile of construction debris, scraps of 2x4s, pieces of felt paper, and brittle old asphalt roofing shingles. She eventually pulled a small blue plastic barrel out from under that pile of trash. The barrel contained bottled water, granola bars, beef jerky, and .45 caliber pistol ammo.
Jo shoved those supplies into the saddle bags that hung from the sides of her bicycle and began pedaling eastward on US 60. Jo was pedaling as if her life depended on it, and it probably did. As a garbage truck passed heading in the opposite direction, Jo got rid of her Peoples’ Phone and RFID. She always used another illegal cell phone for more private communications. Jo jettisoned that cell phone by strategically hiding it under the bumper of a Transit Authority Bus.
Jo was now retracing Junior and Bobby Ray’s route from Winchester to Louisville, but Jo had the advantage of riding a bicycle. The first night, Jo camped under the same Kentucky River bridge that had previously hosted Junior and Bobby Ray. The next morning, she got an early start and was approaching Lexington by mid-morning.
Jo passed ever increasing numbers of Peoples’ Militia as she continued eastward. Just to the east of Lexington, the landscape changed. The beauty of redbuds and dogwoods in full bloom was juxtaposed against burning homes, dead livestock, and the occasional decomposing body.
A mile further east she saw a line of dump trucks entering a pasture. Then she saw the black smoke and smelled the stench from hundreds of bodies being burned on a huge bonfire. The Collective was attempting to quickly erase all evidence of the recent brutally effective Resistance counterattack.
Just over the next rise, Jo entered a surreal landscape of dead and dying wildlife and livestock. Then she noticed the birds.
Jo was once again running for her life. She spied a poorly camouflaged, covered deer stand up in a giant oak tree that dominated a small hillock. Her bandana served as a facial covering as she ran up the hill and shimmied up the rope ladder to the tree stand. Then Jo just sat there waiting for death or salvation.
It was now midafternoon. Dark clouds lined the northwest horizon. It was Springtime in Kentucky. A cold, dry arctic front was colliding with a mass of warm humid air straight off the Gulf of Mexico. As the storm clouds approached, the winds howled, and the thunder boomed. Next came the inevitable downpour. Jo slid down the rope ladder, ripped off her clothes, and stood there naked and alone in the pouring rain.
Eventually, the rain stopped, and the wind shifted. Within minutes the temperature dropped 20 degrees. Jo climbed back into the tree stand. Her clothes were soaked and probably contaminated.
As the north wind blew in from Canada, Jo thought to herself, “After everything I’ve been through, am I going to die of exposure naked and alone in a tree stand in eastern Kentucky?”
Once again, it was impossible for Jo to know which would get her first, the cold or some invisible nerve agent. As she was turning blue and losing all hope, she heard a hound baying. Jo peered eastward from the tree stand just as a cry of bluetick coonhounds surrounded the giant oak.
In the waning daylight, Jo saw a line of figures emerging from the woods just to the east. Yes, the Chinese had their drones and night vision glasses, but these old boys had their coonhounds spread out about 100 yards to their front, acting as a cavalry screen of sorts.
The bluetick’s nose was a marvel of God’s creation. That nose contains 50 times more olfactory receptors than a human nose and scientists estimate their sense of smell is over 10,000 times better than a human’s. CVX may be odorless to humans, but the bluetick could detect even the slightest whiff of nerve agent.
The hounds were gathered around the oak and raising Cain.
“We’ve got something in that deer stand.”
Jo clutched her .45 caliber Colt and cried out, “Gipper!”
She heaved a sigh of relief as she heard the countersign, “Bonzo!”
Jo slid down the rope ladder and collapsed in the mud among the roots of that ancient oak. A bunch of very odd rednecks gathered round her. Some wore full PPE, others wore raincoats and gas masks, one had on a wetsuit.
“Good God, she’s naked and turning blue.”
“Hit her with the atropine!”
“Throw a blanket around her.”
“I’ll carry her.” Big Louie was wearing full PPE. “Don’t you worry Mam, you’re among friends.”
Jo dozed off to sleep cradled in Big Louie’s arms.
The Ceremony
> The Jackson gang had an uneventful, but tiring day and a half ride from Mill Creek to Austin. The sun was setting as the gang entered Austin from the north.
“Men, probably not the best idea to ride straight down Main Street to the National Café. Let’s take the back streets.”
They hung a left on Reese St. which twisted its’ way southward to Court St. After turning right, they continued south on Court to the rear entrance of the National Café.
Tom pounded on the backdoor while the rest of the gang remained mounted.
Miss Stormy cautiously cracked open the door, “Tom Jackson, what in the hell are you doing back so soon?”
“Well Miss Stormy, me and my friends were in the area and thought we should drop in on you and your worthless old man.”
“Act like you’ve got some manners and tell your boys and your two friends to come on in.”
“Do you have any customers?”
“No, not now, but some of that Peoples’ Militia riff-raff dropped in earlier. They paid with that digital funny money.”
Tom hollered back at the gang, “Tie up those horses and Miss Daisy and come on in.”
Tommy and Adam took off their Stetsons and nodded their heads, “Good evening Miss Stormy.”
“Thomas, how did an asshole like you raise such two fine gentlemen?” Stormy’s question was rhetorical and Tom just let it slide.
“Miss Stormy, allow me to introduce Mr. Bobby Ray Skipper from Georgia.”
Bobby Ray gingerly shook Miss Stormy’s outstretched hand, “It’s a pleasure meeting you Miss Stormy.”
“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Bobby Ray.”
Junior was bringing up the rear. When Stormy extended her hand, Junior pulled down his bandana and gently kissed her hand. Stormy giggled like a teenager.
“My friends just call me Junior, Miss Stormy.”
It was then that Miss Stormy got her first good look at Junior, saw the scar on his cheek and screamed at the top of her voice, “Vince get your ass in here now!”
Stormy yelled loud enough to wake Vince from his nap behind the bar, “I’m coming Stormy honey!”
The entire Jackson gang was caught off guard by the scream.
As Vince made his way to the back door, Stormy asked Junior a pointed question, “You are him, ain’t ya?”
“Yes Mam, I’m Lance Corporal Darius Johnson.”
“I may never wash this hand again. Vince, this man eats and drinks on the house!”
Vince offered some sound advice, “Tom, your friend is a hot commodity, would you take offense if I seat you men back in the Poker Room?”
“Take offense? Hell no! that’s a great idea, we have some business to conduct.”
Vince led the gang through the kitchen, then the dining room, and into Saloon. The Poker Room was located at the rear of the Saloon.
Vince gave them a heads up, “Men, if that jukebox starts playing, haul ass out that back window, Mr. Rambro first.”
The entire gang took their seats at the poker table.
Miss Stormy took their orders, “Boys, I’ve got T-bones and taters ready to go on the grill, just tell me how you want them cooked.”
Bobby Ray whispered to Junior, “Did she say T-bones?”
“She most certainly did.”
Junior and Bobby Ray had just entered an alternate universe of Saloons, Cowboys, Pack Mules, and T-bone steaks.
Tom grabbed Stormy’s attention on her way back to the kitchen, “We’ll need another T-bone. I’m expecting our friend will be here any minute. Make it medium rare.”
Vince was taking the drink orders when Junior quietly inquired, “Mr. Vince, you wouldn’t happen to have any Red Pop, would you?”
“Any what?”
“A bottle of Red Pop?”
“You mean Crème Soda?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Vince, an ice-cold bottle of Crème Soda.”
Vince couldn’t hold back the laughter, “Now that’s what I call a man’s drink. I think I may have a few bottles, but only under one condition.”
“What’s that, Mr. Vince?”
“The name is Vince, just plain Vince! Got it?”
“Yes sir, Vince!”
“Close enough.”
Bobby Ray then sheepishly added, “Vince, I’ll have a Red Pop too.”
As Vince was leaving the Poker Room, a familiar figure walked through the Saloon’s front door.
“Vince, my man, where are you hiding that gang of hoodlums?” Delvin didn’t see anyone at the bar.
“They’re back there in the Poker Room. You’ll be having your usual?”
“Yes. Thank you, Vince.”
Tom Jackson greeted his friend as he entered the room, “Semper Fi!”
“Junior and Delvin both replied, “Oorah!”
Vince’s loud “Oorah!” echoed in from the bar.
Stormy then served the piece de resistance. Junior and Bobby Ray were in heaven.
Bobby Ray couldn’t believe his taste buds, “That’s real butter on the baked potatoes. Did people use to eat like this?”
“Yes, we did. I had almost forgotten just how good we really had it.”
After a fantastic meal and some great fellowship, Delvin gave Vince a subtle nod and wink. Vince locked the front door to the Saloon, flipped the OPEN sign over to CLOSED, and turned out the lights. He then walked back behind the bar, pulled some Masonite paneling back from the wall, and brought out a flag and a Bible. A copy of the United States Constitution bookmarked the 23rd Psalm. Vince locked the Poker Room door behind him as he entered.
Everyone in the room rose as Vince unfurled The Stars and Stripes. As Darius placed his hand over his heart, he nudged Bobby Ray and motioned for him to follow suit.
After the Pledge, Lieutenant Delvin Smith presided over the ceremony as Corporal Thomas Jackson held the Bible and Operation Iraqi Freedom veteran Vince held the flag.
“Gentlemen, we have been assigned an important mission. Only Marines are invited to this party. United States Marines have defended our Constitution since its’ inception. Our greeting, Sempre Fi, is short for Sempre Fidelis – Always Faithful. Once a Marine, always a Marine.
“Corporals Johnson and Jackson, are these your recruits?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Smith, Sir.”
“Recruits Bobby Ray Skipper, Thomas Johnathan Jackson Jr., and Adam Lee Jackson, do you take this Oath of your own free will?”
All three young men replied, “Yes sir.”
“Place your left hand on the Bible, raise your right hand, and repeat after me,
“ I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."
“Men, you are now United States Marines.”
War Stories
After the Oath was administered, all six Marines retired to the Pony Express Motel. The three new recruits slept in one of the bunkhouse rooms and Delvin, Junior, and Tom took the other.
The three veterans discussed the current situation. The Apaches were a problem, but those Warthogs were a nightmare. Something had to be done with those damned Hogs.
Junior was thinking outside the box, “Those Hogs are fearsome warbirds in the air, but on the ground, they’re sitting ducks.”
Tom continued that train of thought, “If we only knew where they are based, we could neutralize them on the ground, but they could be at Groom Lake, or Nellis, or Indian Springs, or over at Fallon.”
Delvin chimed in, “I’m pretty sure Groom Lake is not operational, but Top Gun is a distinct possibility. Indian Springs or Vegas either one is just too far away for us to launch a ground assault. On my way back to The Bay, I’ll stop over at Grimes Point and scope out Top Gun.”
Junior needed some clar
ification, “What, pray tell, is Grimes Point?”
“As you’re coming into Fallon from the east on US 50, there’s a Native American archaeological and cultural site off to the right. There’s a little hill that is dotted with caves that were occupied by Paleolithic peoples maybe 8,000 years ago, when this area was much wetter.
That’s Grime’s Point. It just happens to be about a mile and a half from Top Gun, you know, the old Naval Air Station.
“If the Hogs are there, I’ll let you know. Keep your strike force small so as not to dilute your forces in the Valley. Then fry those Hogs up like bacon.”
Delvin then pulled a bottle of Tennessee whiskey from his overnight bag, “I’ve been saving this for just the right occasion.”
Junior wasn’t a Teetotaler, but, thanks to his Baptist upbringing, wasn’t much of a drinking man either. He joined Tom and Delvin in a toast, then pulled out a bottle of Red Pop that Vince had given him “for the road”.
It wasn’t long before Delvin was getting just a little tight and Tom was feeling no pain. The small talk inevitably turned to tall tales and braggadocio.
Then Delvin threw down the gauntlet, “OK, Mr. Rambro, who is the baddest Marine you ever knew?”
Junior pondered for a minute, hesitating to speak, “You guys will laugh if I tell you.”
“So, what if we do? Who was it?” Darius had now piqued Tom’s interest.
Junior sheepishly continued, “It was a woman.”
Delvin and Tom both shut up and listened.
“My Resistance contact back in Louisville was a Marine. She was one bad assed Marine. Just as soon shoot you as look at you.”
Delvin responded, “You act like you’re scared of her.”
“Damn straight. She was one mean bitch.”
There was no laughter from Thomas Jackson, “I have to admit the baddest Marine I’ve ever known was a woman. On Okinawa, when the PLA launched that CVX attack, my squad was trapped on the roof of a tourist hotel overlooking Tiger Beach. This crazy helo driver was literally brushing the treetops dodging Chinese AAA. Then she pops that Super Huey up, then slams it back down, right on the roof of that hotel. We scrambled onboard and she took us on the shortest, but hairiest helo ride of my life.”