Surviving in America: Under Siege 2nd Edition

by Paul Andrulis

  “T-M-I John! Too much information. You have already told me this story, and it is just plain nasty, not to mention disgusting,” Joe grumbled.

  “Oh shoot, it hurts to laugh!”

  John laughed again and helped Joe into an upright sitting position. Sue was sitting at the table next to her husband. She was calmly drinking a cup of coffee, only occasionally shuddering.

  “Does it get any easier?” Sue asked

  “Not if you stay sane,” John replied softly.

  “Huah,” Dave whispered softly in agreement.

  “I hope it never happens again,” Joe whispered to himself.

  “Amen to that son. Amen to that,” John said calmly, then poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Sue had made earlier.

  He didn’t want anyone to see that his own hands were shaking

  7. (A Calm Foreboding)

  Kyle and his brother Jonas entered the front door, each carrying identical small drab green rubber coated plastic boxes with a few colored wires hanging out. Kyle’s hands were a mess, grease smeared and filthy, and Sue gave him a warning look just daring him to set the filthy thing on her clean table.

  With a look, Jonas handed Kyle his box, and Kyle held them out for his father to inspect.

  “Dad, we did as you asked, and found these on the Hummers,” Kyle stated.

  “We think they may be lo-jacks. They were hidden pretty good on the frame. If I hadn't noticed the extra set of wires heading up underneath and not going anywhere, I never would have found them.”

  With one look at the devices held in his son’s hands, Dave’s face fell, a look of foreboding overshadowing the worry which had been written there a moment earlier.

  “Shoot! I was hoping they would have to use the comm system to signal their base. We may not have much time... Jonas, you are the fastest. Run like the wind and throw those things down the old well out in the pasture. That ought to block any signal if they have a backup battery inside,” Dave replied.

  Jonas grabbed the two boxes from his brother, and took off running out the door, quickly disappearing down the side of the house.

  “If they guess anything’s wrong yet, their base will know they are here. G.P.S. systems I would bet. I don't fancy taking on an Apache helicopter or two, those things are a little more than we can handle. The thought of a hellfire missile doesn't inspire me much right now,” Joe stated.

  “We need to ditch the Hummers, somewhere that they won’t find them from the air. If that is even possible,” replied Dave.

  “I know the perfect place. That metal sided pole-barn on the ole' Wilkerson place. It’s just a mile away, and full o’ hay... We could drive them in, and pack hay over 'em for cover. Never find 'em, unless your boys missed something else we don’t know about,” John said with a glint in his eye.

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Joe agreed.

  “Ok then, that’s that,” Dave replied.

  “Let's get 'er done,” he said, switching suddenly to a hokey southern accent as he got out of his chair.

  Joe and John simultaneously groaned, and even Sue looked pained from Dave’s horrid attempt at comedy.

  “For better or worse,” she mumbled to herself, “For better or worse,”

  Dave adopted a look of mock hurt, the melodrama practically dripping from the cheesy acting.

  “Why Sca'let, You do give a damn!”

  Sue's head hit her forearm which was on the table. Both Joe and John rolled their eyes, shook their heads, got up, and left without even looking at Dave.

  “No sense of humor,” Dave grumbled trying but failing to hide a grin.

  “Don't quit your day job honey,” Sue said into the table without even lifting her head.

  This earned her a huge grin from her husband.

  Dave followed outside, and joined the other two at the Humvees. Dave got in and started one, and Joe the other while John sat down in his old Subaru and started it. John was happy that the firefight had not destroyed his engine, though the body itself now sported some new 'ventilation ports'.

  They backed out of the driveway and took off down the road, with John taking up the rear. The dirt road was nice and dry and the two massive Hummers were kicking up a huge dust trail, which made John grimace.

  A mile later, they pulled the hummers into the pole barn, and everyone started pulling down bales off of a huge stack and carefully began stacking them around the vehicles. The goal was to completely bury the hummers from sight if anyone drove by. After they finished the task, the military vehicles looked like part of the huge haystack that was already there.

  “That'll do,” John said, pleased at the fact that the stacks blended together nicely, making the whole look exactly like one single stack.

  “Think we ought to make a hole and put in the M16's?” John asked.

  “Bad idea John. If it comes to that, we might well need them and the ammo as well. My question is what do we do with the bodies?” Dave replied.

  “Burn 'em,” Joe stated in a monotone, his face a rigid mask.

  Both Dave and John looked at him sharply, but Joe firmly headed them off before they could say anything.

  “Seriously. We don't have time to bury them, so let's take them to one of the houses that is already burning, and cremate them. The government will already expect human remains in the houses.”

  “Actually, that is a good idea,” Dave said with a quick glance at John.

  “Well then, let's geet 'er done,” Joe said, using a flawless imitation of 'Larry the cable guy' just to get Dave’s goat.

  They all piled into the Subaru and headed back to the farm. Dave rounded up some black plastic from his garage and wrapped up the bodies. It took both Dave and Joe to put them in the back of Dave's Ford F250 diesel pickup. They looked around for the largest smoke pillar in the sky estimating it to be the biggest and therefore hottest fire, and drove off in that direction.

  Joe and John were carefully watching the road, scanning both directions looking for any other traffic, but none was evident. They made it without incident to the chosen burn site, and looked at the remains of the burning farm. Recognizing the truck an old white haired man wearing blue denim coveralls and a green plaid shirt stepped out from behind an outbuilding.

  One thing none of them could miss was that the old man was carrying a large pump shotgun. Though the gun was lowered, it was still aimed in their general direction.

  “Garrison? Is that you?” Dave shouted over the roar of the burning house.

  “Why are you guys here? The actions all over with now,” Sam Garrison asked after walking over to the truck.

  “We have some traitors we need to dispose of,” came John’s surly reply.

  He had never gotten along well with Sam. Two patches out of the same quilt, they irritated each other beyond measure.

  “What you want me to do with them?” Garrison drawled.

  “We want to let them repose in the comfort of your house for a while, if it is not a problem,” Dave stated.

  The old man tossed back his head and gave a short barking laugh. His gray hair and beard fluttered in the hot breeze which was flowing away from the inferno of his former home.

  “Fittin'.... Very fittin',” Sam replied.

  “Be my guest, and show the boys some down home hospitality.”

  The front doorway was awash with flame, but the attached garage was still intact, with the big garage door wide open. They hauled the bodies in and laid them next to a wall.

  Joe searched the garage, and found what he was looking for. He carried the bucket and a container of lawnmower gas over to the bodies. He then poured the gas into the bucket and dumped it over the corpses.

  This was almost their downfall. Shortly after Joe threw the bucket in and they were walking back to the truck a big wash of flame erupted out of the garage, almost singing their hair with the intense heat of the fireball. Sam had watched them the whole time, shaking his head while they were tossing in the bucket of gasoline.
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  A look of intense interest mixed liberally with wry humor painted on his ancient face which was outlined in bright yellows and reds from the intense light pouring from the black oily smoke.

  “Lucky! Dumb lucky you guys are... More emphasis on the dumb part though,” Sam retorted while making an attempt at controlling his laughter.

  “Don't you boys know that gas and fire don't mix?” He chortled.

  “Five thousand comedians out of work, and here you are thinkin' you're funny 'n cracking jokes Sam,” John quipped.

  “How did you escape anyway, Sam?” Joe asked curiously.

  “You have to be... here... to... escape, ” Sam replied sarcastically.

  “I was out on the north pasture when this happened.”

  Joe had been dying to ask Dave a question, but had been reluctant as well.

  “By the way Dave, was the leader we just torched by chance a Captain?”

  “Nope Joe. Just a butter bar Lieutenant, one Sergeant, and some grunts,” Dave replied.

  Joe looked at the fire, and knew there was at least one Captain whose voice he would know as soon as he heard it, that he needed to have a little talk with.

  8. (A time to run, A time to die)

  Sam had no intention of leaving. The old codger would 'get by' as he always had, or so he said, intending to live in his shop building which had a wood burning stove and was on a different electric circuit from the house. Interior water, heat and a means to cook, combined with a solid roof over his head would make a better home for him than most pioneers enjoyed.

  “If you need anything just let us know,” Dave said as he turned to leave.

  Dave and Joe both piled into the truck and left for Dave's farm, with John tagging along behind them in his Subaru. Two miles from Sam’s farm, Joe noticed something odd.

  “Dave, slow down a bit… Pull off quick. Someone’s coming down the road!,” Joe yelled.

  Dave quickly backed the truck into a draw behind some trees beside the road. A few minutes later a small convoy of military vehicles drove past, oblivious to the camouflaged vehicle just yards away. Joe was sweating as they were not equipped right now for defense as all of them had forgotten to take their rifles with them. The only weapon available was Dave's backup three fifty-seven magnum revolver under the seat. Considering that two of the five Humvees which passed them had mounted fifty caliber guns, all three of the hidden men were sweating bullets until the convoy had safely passed out of sight.

  “How stupid are we... On second thought don't answer that,” Joe whispered as the convoy roared less than 20 yards past their hiding spot.

  A wise man picks his battles, yet somehow none of the three felt very wise. Even armed to the teeth, they still would not have been stupid enough to attack the convoy as there were more than fifteen men that they had seen, including the two manning the mounted guns. Fifteen to three was just not very good odds. Having their rifles along probably would have given them moral support if nothing else, especially Dave's three seventy-five H&H shoulder cannon.

  “I pity someone, wherever they are going,” Joe whispered, as the last jeep roared out of sight.

  “That's no joke,” Dave replied, nervously wiping back his short cut black hair.

  “I don't know whether we could have handled that much firepower, even at our farm.”

  None were much concerned yet about Dave's farm as the convoy was heading west, and Dave's farm was south of their position. Carefully, Dave got out of the truck, and scouted the road.

  “Coast is clear,” He replied as he got back in the truck.

  They eased out of their hiding spot, and took the road back to the farm, only noticing one thing out of the ordinary, and it truly was odd. The group came across two dead bodies wearing military BDU's. Both were officers by their insignia, and were laying unceremoniously in the ditch at the edge of the road like bags of garbage.

  Joe was somewhat disappointed as neither was a Captain.

  “Too bad about that,” He stated, giving voice to his disappointment.

  Dave whistled as he examined the bodies.

  “Both majors... I wonder what happened here?”

  Finding nothing else on the bodies, not even side arms, the trio continued with some trepidation to the farm, gratified to discover everything was all right. They pulled up to the house and exited the truck. Dave was about to about to call the boys when two Humvees roared around the corner and turned into the driveway. The two machines covered in military camouflage had men already at the mounted guns, and everyone in the yard remained motionless. It was the convoy they had watched pass, minus two members. Standing yards from any possible cover, Joe felt like a bug pinned to a sheet of paper in some kid’s bug collection.

  “It's time to die,” John whispered.

  A Sergeant exited from the Hummer on Joe’s left and approached the men with his sidearm out in his right hand. There existed a sense of menace from the man, though his weapon was pointed down and slightly to the side. He looked around, taking in everything, his gaze finally pausing on the bullet stitched house.

  “I'll ask you this once, and once only. What happened here boys, and you better not even think of lying to me?” the Sergeant asked, his deep voice growling naturally.

  The man was an impressive figure at least six feet tall, his rugged narrow face an immobile mask, seemingly unmoving as if a statue made of granite. This illusion was broken suddenly as a small gust of wind moved his bushy gray eyebrows, themselves hovering above his motionless and deadly serious brown eyes.

  Joe felt something down deep stir. Believing he was already going to die, he straightened his spine and stared squarely into the eyes of the Sergeant. A clear look of challenge and defiance flashed in Joe's eyes, a defiance met equally by the Sergeant's own cold hard stare.

  “We just sent seven of your traitorous friends to hell Sergeant,” Joe replied with vehemence.

  “They shouldn't have come here. They shouldn't have tried to kill us,”

  With a very challenging look on his ragged face, the Sergeant stared equally hard into Joe's eyes.

  “Them scum weren't my friends. If they attacked here, they were traitors pure and simple, and I hope they received a traitors reward,” the Sergeant said in a relative monotone.

  With that, the Sergeant put his 1911 Colt forty-five back into its holster.

  “Stand down,” he ordered to the soldiers still in the Hummers.

  The trio all almost feinted when they realized they were not going to be shot, and John looked at Joe with newfound respect.

  “Looks like our Joe has developed a little spine! Good,” He thought to himself

  The military men climbed down from the Hummers and approached the group. Before introductions could be made, a weird, faint sound started to echo across the hills. The sound could be heard only on the edge of their hearing, fading in and out.

  ‘Thwap – thwap – thwap’, growing steadily louder as they listened.

  “Cra*. Choppers!” Dave shouted.

  “Must be looking for them Majors we were escorting. We had a slight disagreement,” said the Sergeant.

  “Sue, Boys! Tornado cellar now! Grab the guns and get a move on.,” Dave roared, a hint of panic entering into his voice.

  John and Joe followed suit, grabbing their stuff which had been left on the porch earlier, and ran with Dave and his family to the cellar.

  .

  “It'll have to do,” shouted the Sergeant.

  “Down the hole soldiers. Move it!”

  The Sergeant waited until Sue, and the two boys ran down the hole followed lastly by Joe. As he entered the cellar, the Sergeant’s eyes opened wide, then he smiled when he saw how it was constructed. Obviously thick and solid concrete walls formed the six slabs of walls floor and ceiling.

  The entranceway was protected by a two inch thick steel door with a locking mechanism that looked like it belonged in a bank vault. Solid steel sliding rods an inch thick exited the edge of the d
oor and locked into matching sockets set into in the concrete, two sockets on both top and bottom, and three on each side.

  “Tornado shelter?,” the Sergeant asked in disbelief.

  “Really?”

  “Huge safe door. Antique but usable. Got the whole safe at an estate auction, and had a heck of a time moving it though,” Dave replied, with a grin.

  “I bet,” the Sergeant replied dryly.

  The muffled 'whump' of the helicopter blades approached, getting obviously much closer and louder over time. It was evident that they were coming towards the farm.