Fire From The Sky | Book 11 | Ashes

by Reed, N. C.

  “And that itty-bitty antenna will let me talk to you in Jordan?” the storekeeper’s doubts were clear.

  “It will,” Gordy answered for Greg. “The magnet will hold it to your old air conditioner casing, which will put it up more than high enough to get your message out. Just remember, though, that the batteries may or may not hold a charge for long. It’s possible, but not promised. You may need someone to crank the generator while you talk.”

  “Looks like those rigs on the old World War Two movies,” McCauley nodded.

  “That’s where the idea came from,” Gordy nodded. “The battery will work, even if it won’t hold a charge. The power from the generator will run through the battery bank and power the radio, no problem. I need to run the line and get it hooked up,” he told them, getting back to work.

  “Now, how am I supposed to make any money, or what passes for money anymore, out of this rig?” McCauley asked.

  “You’re not,” Greg all but growled, angry at even the suggestion. “I chose you because you’re practically the center of this whole community and know everyone. Plus, this puts you in a position to hear what else is going on, so long as you’ve got the radio powered.”

  “Seems like I ought to be getting something out of it,” McCauley hinted.

  “Seems like I ought to be busting that still out back into about a dozen pieces and hauling your ass before the magistrate too, but here we are,” Greg replied calmly.

  “Alright, alright,” McCauley held up a hand. “I get it. No need to get personal.”

  “It is personal,” Greg didn’t let up. “If you don’t want to be the one people come to when they need help, tell me now and I’ll take it down. Someone else around here will probably be glad to do the job just so they can know the news from elsewhere.”

  “I said I’d do it, and I will,” the other man promised. “Man has to make a living somehow, though. Not all of us still have a real job,” he took a cheap shot at Greg.

  “I got a job, as you call it, but for nothing,” Greg told him. “Still have to work just like you do, digging my food out of the ground or killing it myself. Tom, I’m not playing about this at all. If I hear even a hint of you holding out on this, to anyone, I will cloud up and rain all over you. I thought you were a better man than that when I asked you about this.”

  “That was a low blow, Deputy,” McCauley shot back.

  “It’s Sheriff now,” Greg reminded him. “Not Deputy. And it’s no lower than you were suggesting that you get money for being allowed to have the only lifeline in your entire community, now is it?”

  That brought McCauley up short as Greg’s words hit home.

  “You’re right,” he admitted softly. “I shouldn’t have even thought it, let alone said it. Was just thinking how to turn things to my advantage. Had to start thinking that way after what happened. Gotten to be a habit, now.”

  “I can well understand that,” Greg promised. “And it may be that one day I can offer you something for the trouble,” he extended an olive branch of sorts. “I just don’t have anything or anyway to do that right now. You’re doing your community a service, though, and I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. So do I. I’ll do what I can to make it worth your while, whenever I can. That’s all I can promise, though. I don’t have anything to offer right now.”

  “I understand,” McCauley nodded as Gordy came back inside to complete the installation. “Like I said, I was out of line. Sorry.”

  “We’re all wore down, Tom,” Greg shook his head, accepting the apology. “We just need to try and pull together. Hopefully this,” he pointed to the radio, “is the start of it.”

  “Hopefully.”

  -

  “-and here,” Greg spotted the final station he had established on the map the twins kept in the Operations room. “That’s seven in all. I don’t have anything in this area,” he pointed to the area north of the farm where the wildfire had ravaged. “There’s just nothing much there right now. Maybe next year, when stuff starts to grow back from the fire.”

  “We’ve been thinking,” Leon said.

  “Now what?” Greg faked a groan before smiling.

  “We were thinking about trying to establish a news broadcast over the radio system,” Leanne told him. “Make it at a prearranged time each day, or maybe every other day or something. Announcements can be made like the street market in Jordan, or threats known to be in the area, that kind of thing. We can also use that time to transmit message like they did back during World War Two. They used radio shows to send messages to resistance fighters behind German lines.”

  “Yeah, I can see how that would work,” Greg was slowly nodding. “I kind of like that idea. Maybe even set up a daily time to send and receive messages. Not silly stuff, but important messages. Even advertise important trades like livestock or equipment. That could work just fine.”

  “We’ll try and work out a proposal for it,” Leon promised. “Keeping those limits on it and trying to establish the best times.”

  “I’m going to deputize the both of you,” Greg told them, smiling.

  “Thanks!” the twins replied in unison, beaming at him.

  “Raise your right hands,” he told them. Both looked stunned.

  “Wait, you were serious?” Leon almost goggled while his sister just looked stunned.

  “Serious as a heart attack,” Greg nodded. “You’re essentially my dispatchers now. All of you are for that matter. Might as well get the title for it. There’s no pay, though,” he added with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”

  “Do we get a badge?” Leanne almost whispered the question.

  “I can get you a badge,” Greg nodded. “I don’t have a way to make an ID for you, though.”

  “We do,” the two replied together as they raised their right hands.

  “Repeat after me.”

  -

  “No, mounting from the left is just a tradition,” Charley Wilmeth shook her head. “The reason we continue to do it now is one of convenience as well as habit. Since most horses are trained that way, we still train to mount from the left.”

  “Why was it that way to start?” one soldier asked, respectfully. They had all been threatened with immense bodily harm if they even looked at the female instructors wrong, let alone said anything untoward.

  “In ancient times, and right up through probably World War One, cavalrymen would have their swords on their left hip,” Charley placed her own hand to her side. “They mounted from the left to prevent the sword injuring their horse.”

  “Wow,” another solider farther down commented. “I would never have considered that being a problem.”

  “You never carried a sword before, either,” the man next to him noted. “We all base our presumptions on what we know. There’s no reason for any of us to have considered a sword.”

  “True,” Charley smiled. “Okay, it’s time to mount up. I know a few of you have apparently rode a time or two, but for all our sake, please forget everything you think you know and let me go through the steps for everyone else. Take a firm hold on the saddle horn, holding both the reins….”

  “Your guys are pretty smart for grunts, Sergeant Gleason,” Clay mentioned softly as the two watched the training.

  “Most joined the Guard to get help with college,” Gleason nodded. “They’re all good kids.” Anyone less than thirty years of age was a kid to Gleason, who was in his mid-fifties.

  “They seem to be good students, too,” Clay added. “Asking good questions and following instructions carefully.”

  “You seem surprised at that, sir,” Gleason looked at him.

  “No, it’s jealousy,” Clay snorted. “We had to teach some of our own how to handle a horse, and most of them are still learning the finer points. Had they been more like your men, we might be done with them,” he chuckled.

  “I appreciate you saying that sir,” Gleason said, mollified now that he knew his men weren’t being maligned.

  “You d
on’t have to sir me, Sergeant,” Clay told him. “I haven’t been a ‘sir’ in a long time, and I lost the right to be called that anyway.”

  “It’s Shaun, then,” Gleason nodded his acceptance.

  “Clay,” Clay extended a hand and the older man took it.

  “How did you lose the right to be properly addressed as an officer?” Gleason asked, curious.

  “Ah, I did something I wasn’t supposed to,” Clay sort of waved the whole thing to the side. “I accepted an ‘Other Than Honorable’ to keep my men out of trouble. It was neck-and-neck to see if I got that much. I had to resort to blackmail to do it.”

  “Blackmail?” Gleason looked shocked.

  “Oh, it wasn’t personal,” Clay assured him. “I threatened to rat out a black program to the hacks in Congress,” he snorted. “Suddenly I found myself out of the Army with a pat on the back and don’t come back. Which was fine,” he shrugged. “It was probably better than I deserved. And again, it kept my men out of trouble.”

  “Takes a good officer to fall on his sword for his men,” Gleason observed.

  “They wouldn’t have been in trouble if not for me,” Clay told him. “Seemed only fair I get them out.”

  “Most officers, especially junior officers, don’t share that opinion, if you’ll pardon me,” Gleason noted carefully.

  “I was a Mustang,” Clay grinned. “Didn’t even get the full ninety days. It was just a convenience.”

  “That explains it then,” the two men shared a laugh.

  -

  “You boys look a little rough,” Titus Terry said as he watched the soldiers moving stiffly about their day.

  “Never imagined just sitting could hurt so bad,” one nodded. “I’m sure you think this is hilarious,” he told Titus and the others around him, one of whom was Corey Reynard.

  “Oh, hell no,” Corey shook his head. “We been there, dude. We literally feel your pain. Some of us are still feeling it. You won’t get no laughter from anybody around here for being saddle sore.”

  “How do you get rid of it?” the young soldier asked.

  “Just what you’re doing,” Titus told him. “Walk it out. I never wanted a hot tub so bad in my life, man. No such a thing anymore. Just had to suck it up.”

  “It sucks right enough,” the soldier agreed. “See you guys later.”

  “Later.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The newly established limited communications systems, (the Duo and their Minions were still working on a better name for it) came into play two weeks to the day after completion.

  JJ Jackson was sitting in Operations reading when the radio began to squawk.

  “Uh…Dinner Plate…no, no, Home Plate, yeah, Home Plate this is Garrett’s Grocery, come in?”

  Looking at the map, JJ realized that Garrett’s was in the extreme southeastern area of the county, near the Alabama line and in a very rural area. It also wasn’t far from Lewiston, as the crow might fly. By road was another matter.

  “This is Home Plate, Garrett’s, please go ahead,” JJ replied.

  “We’ve had a robbery up here, Home Plate. Five men in a working four-by-four have shot two people and taken everything they had on them. One man is dead, and another is in rough shape. We could really use some help up here. Over.”

  “Understood, Garrett’s,” JJ was scratching out notes. “Can you describe the vehicle? And any of the men involved?”

  The man did his best to relay that information while JJ summoned Greg. He arrived just in time to hear the last bit of the message.

  “-just told me they think Chester is dead as well,” the voice on the radio relayed sadly. JJ tore the notes he had made from his book and handed them to Greg.

  “Lewis County tags,” Greg mused. “Tell them I’m on my way, but it will take a bit. If they get you any more information on the guys in the truck, I want it.”

  “Yes sir,” JJ replied and turned back to the radio. JJ had done his job well, Greg realized, when he stepped outside to find the Hummer and MRAP sitting on the pad, ready to go. Amanda Lowery was behind the wheel of the Hummer, with Titus Terry and Kevin Bodee in the back, an M240 mounted on the top. Behind them sat the MRAP, with Corey Reynard at the wheel, Zach behind another M240 mounted in the turret, with Devon Knowles and Petra Shannon in the troop area.

  “We’re ready to roll, Sheriff,” Amanda informed him, her usual humor and sass nowhere in sight.

  “Good deal,” Greg told her appreciatively. “Head out the back way. We’re going a long way and most of it is backroads.”

  “Got it.”

  -

  There was, of course, no way at all for Greg and his team to get to Garrett’s in time to be of any help to the victims. Still, thirty minutes after they had received the call, the two vehicles rolled into the parking lot of Garrett’s small country store, where a group of men stood in a circle around two shroud covered bodies. Greg got down from the Hummer with Amanda and Titus, while Kevin stayed behind on the gun.

  Behind them, Zach turned his own gun to their rear to cover that angle, while Corey, Devon and Petra all dismounted, spreading out around the vehicles but not following the others up to the scene.

  “Bit late on timing, there, Holloway,” one man said before Greg could even open his mouth.

  “We’re a bit late on everything these days, Harley,” Greg replied evenly, refusing to take the bait. “We’re a long way from you even when we’re at the station. Who was it?” he nodded to the bodies. Ransom Garrett pulled the sheets back to expose the faces of the two men on the ground.

  “Chester Parks and Freddie Perkins,” Garrett told him, pointing to each man in turn.

  “I knew Chester,” Greg said gently. “Used to haul hay for him some when I was a kid. Who saw the truck and the men who did it?”

  “The truck just pulled in, shot both, grabbed everything they could get and then took off,” ‘Harley’ told him. “Five guys in all. Three white, two black. The truck was blue, an older model Chevy. Looked like an old K5 Blazer with the top off. Two had them black rifles and the rest had shotguns. One of the white guys had a long beard,” he motioned on himself down to his chest, just below his chin.

  “They hit the Old Stage Road and took out like a scalded dog,” another man who Greg didn’t know pointed to the road in question. The area around Garrett’s was a crossroad of sorts for backroads, with a total of five different roads meeting within a half-mile.

  “Was anyone else hurt?” Greg began asking questions. No one else had been hurt.

  “Have you seen the men or the truck here before?” No one had. “Has anyone been missing anything of late? I’m talking about things probably being stolen?” Three men had and Greg listened as they described the missing items, all of which were easily moved and would be valuable with modern amenities gone.

  “And no one knew or recognized any of them,” he checked once more. No one had.

  “Okay,” Greg sighed. “We’re going to follow down the road and see if we can find the truck. If I do find them, do you think you’ll know the men if you see them again?”

  “I will,” ‘Harley’ promised. Two others agreed that they would as well.

  “What do we do with Chester and Freddie?” Ransom Garrett asked, covering them back up.

  “Same thing we have to do with our dead,” Greg told him bluntly. “Bury them.”

  “Ain’t that up to you to do?” Harley demanded.

  “No, it ain’t,” Greg was moving toward the Hummer, the others already mounting up. “My job is to go after the men who did this. Which is what I’m doing. If we can catch them, we’ll bring them by for you to ID.”

  Before any of the rest could object, Greg was on board and Amanda was moving them toward the road they needed to follow.

  “Rough business, this stuff,” she noted quietly.

  “It always is,” Greg told her.

  -

  “Hold up, hold up,” Kevin Bodee called from the Hummer’s turr
et. They had been slowly following the Old Stage Road for twenty minutes, having gone about nine miles.

  “What is it?” Greg asked.

  “Did he say that truck was blue?” Kevin asked.

  “Yeah,” Greg replied. “He did. Said it looked like an old Blazer with a lift-off top.”

  “Then I think we got a winner,” Kevin told him. “Ahead on the left. Looks like they tried to hide it, but the cover has come part way off. I can see the side of it from here.”

  “What does the place look like?” Greg asked.

  “Got a chain link fence around the front yard and another around the back,” Bodee reported. “I can’t see any dogs from here. I imagine if they have any, they’ll swarm us when we get there.”

  “Yeah, that’s a safe bet,” Greg agreed. “Okay. I can’t just go storming in there, even under these circumstances. Which means we’re going to have to go up there and actually try to talk to whoever is there.” He keyed his radio.

  “Corey, you guys been listening in?” he asked.

  “Got it all, Sheriff,” Corey promised.

  “We’re going to pull into the drive when we get up there,” Greg told him. “I want you to continue just far enough down the road to clear the front of the Hummer and put Zach where he can cover us. Petra and Devon can dismount and cover the opposite flank from the front and rear of the vehicle but using the vehicle to shield them from the house. Copy that?”

  “Copy all. We’re good to go.”

  “Zach, remember that we need to talk to them, first,” Greg added after a moment to think.

  “Why does everybody always remind just me of that stuff?” Zach asked, his voice light. “Why is it no one ever reminds Gordy or Corey or Titus about that crap? Is it personal? Cause it sounds personal. I haven’t done anything to you, have I?”

  “I get it, Zach,” Greg had to fight not to laugh despite the situation. “From here on we’re radio silent other than for urgent business. Let’s go,” he added to Amanda, who put them in motion once more, much slower this time.

  “Is this thing going to stop a bullet?” Amanda asked as she neared the drive.