"This here is Captain Hutchins, he is my S3 and directly oversees field ops. You guys can exchange war stories later. Here is what I want, you all figure it out. Regis, get a roadblock as far forward as the A frame on 985 before heading down into the Bens Creek valley. Use force at your discretion to get there. Set up scouts at the Route 219 interchange. Set up major roadblocks that anyone can see. Let Dave Jones or any other renegade know they will not go any further.
"In no more than two days, we will start to move north, to take back the Jerome and Davidsville farms. Start to recruit and train the men and women you need. Lieutenant Anders will be by to brief you on communications. I have already tasked someone to scavenge for CB radios. Those will be your main local radios. You will also have a civilian counterpart. Their main job will be to bring refugees into our safe area. The more people in our safe area, the less people in the danger area."
"What is all this talk about taking in the refugees? That sounds like a lot of trouble General. How we gonna feed em and take care of em." The captain asks a bit doubtful.
"Look around captain. What do you see, look as far into the distance as you can."
He looks at me as if he is being treated as a disobedient school kid. But he reluctantly scans the horizon. "I see a lot of trees and then the mountains in the distance. What good is that, general?"
"Look through the trees and below the mountains, all you will see are farms, Captain. Producing more food than we need, enough to feed the survivors. Those farms are going to need manpower to run them and guards to protect them. That is one reason we need the refugees.
"The second is even more basic. We can help them or we can fight them. The more of them we can help, the less we have to fight. You have been in the sandbox, Captain. You know fighting is not glamorous, it is evil. We are going to win the minds and hearts of as many people as we can. Those who wish to bring evil to our lands, they will be dealt with."
After looking around with wider eyes, Captain Regis turns to me. "I was skeptical General Mays, but I like your plan. You can count on me and my men." With a broad smile I shake his hand. We go over a few more tactical and operational issues before I am finally able to get our convoy heading east, back home. Through the CB I request a civilian refugee crew to be sent out with a strong guard. My leg is throbbing again and I need rest.
Chapter 7, Moving Forward
Central City, PA
09/25
As we come up to the Flight 93 Memorial, I have our convoy pull off. I need to stretch my legs, well, leg, and get some fresh air. I also need to think without a crowd around, without the pressure of people waiting for decisions and orders. It has been over two weeks of almost nonstop chaos. It is wearing on my body and my mind. I know once we reach Central City there will be more people to meet with, more decisions to be made, more chaos to deal with. I need some time to think and reflect. Some time to let me enjoy God's great creation and understand my role in his plans.
There is a small roadblock at the entrance. They tell us they are guarding a cleanup detail. Some of the refugees we rescued from here wanted to come out and begin to make things right. We drive down the wide road to the Memorial, pulling off at an area where we can overlook the broad valley. Word passes that we are taking a short break. Larson and three others take up guard positions as the rest of the convoy relaxes. Col. Britt checks on everyone. With no military training, she displays great tactical acumen and leadership. I smile as I watch her, a mother hen guarding her flock, most of whom she barely knows, but genuinely cares for.
I half lean against, half sit on the guardrail alongside the roadway. Below, I see several dozen people working. Some are digging graves. Some are moving the bodies of the people who did not survive the seven days of chaos while entrapped here. Some are just working to clean up the mess that those several thousand trapped people left behind. It is eerie to see the parking lots full of abandoned cars yet only a handful of people on the grounds.
I look at the crater where Flight 93 plowed into the earth, killing 39 people who stood against chaos. Thirty-nine people with almost no hope of survival fought back against evil. Four men wished to bring chaos to millions of free people. The terrorists failed, thanks to the valiant efforts of the people honored here. Now, chaos had been unleashed due to more men who wish evil upon free people.
Brit has joined me and I discuss these thoughts with her. Tears start to roll down my cheeks. Did these thirty-nine patriots die for nothing? Is evil going to win? Is chaos the new normal? No, it is not! God has already won this battle. But we need to play our part. Love will defeat hate, unity will triumph over chaos, good will prevail over evil!
Pushing off the guardrail, I stand wobbly on my one good leg. Brit stands and puts her arm around me to keep me from falling. Looking to the sky I shout out. "Lord, these people did not die in vain. They fought chaos, they fought evil. We will continue that fight! We will not allow your world to fall. When you return Lord, you will have faithful servants preaching love and grace, fighting chaos and evil. You got my back Lord. I promise you, I got your back. You are my God and I will proclaim you to the end of my days."
Brit gently allows me to lean back against the guardrail as I continue to gaze upward, tears gently moistening my cheeks. "Guide me Lord. You put me here. Help me. Give me strength. Lord I pray, give me strength."
I sit on the guard rail for several minutes in silence with Brit beside me, her arm around my back, keeping me stabile, giving me strength. I glance over the work crews once again and it brings a smile to my face. These people respect this place and what happened here. A glance to the sky lets me know the day is moving towards evening and we need to get rolling.
"Sorry for all the self-reflection Brit. I am just a bit tired," I say.
"We're all tired, Mark, but you are carrying a heavy load. And you only have one leg to carry it with." She laughs at her own joke and it makes me smile. As I begin to rise I find Larson at my side, helping me. He hands me my crutches and we head back to the old van. I look up to Route 30 to see a heavy convoy heading west; our civilian refugee envoys heading towards Jennerstown.
The rest of our guard peals back to their vehicles as we turn around to head back to Route 30 and home. I reflect on the last few minutes and thank God for answering prayers.
* * *
Twenty minutes later we pull into the bustling Central City VFW, the militia headquarters. As I hobble through the door, Colonel Fisher takes one look at me and shakes his head.
"You look like hell, General. You're doing too much. Your leg is still healing, your body needs rest. Larson, make sure he gets to the doctor’s office and then get him home," he states. "Britt, I mean Colonel, I want you to stay here. We'll get you home later. I've heard good things about you, and you need read in on everything that is going on. I want your input and how best you think you can help out. You and Captain Hutchins can brief me on what happened in Somerset and Jennerstown."
I look around at the bustling room. People are coming and going with purpose. Orders are being given and people are responding. I hear chatter coming from the communications room in the rear and I want to get an update from Lt. Anders, but I am weary. I stand just inside the doorway, struggling to stay upright on my crutches.
The Mayor comes in with a report for Colonel Fisher on manpower needs. He sees me, and smiles broadly for a second. The smile turns grim. "Mark, you don’t look good. You need some rest, son." The mayor is seventy eight years old; I could be his son.
Larson gently helps me out the door and down the street to the clinic. I am ushered right in without hesitation. The formerly belligerent nurse smiles and chats kindly as she takes my vital signs. One of the PAs checks me over, including a thorough examination of my stump leg. She brings the doctor in briefly, who also checks me over.
"You need rest Mark. Your body is trying to heal and you keep pushing. I know you have antibiotics; stick to the regimen. Do you have vitamins?" he asks. I nod. "Take them
, and slow down a bit. I know you have serious responsibilities, but traveling across the county, leading revolts against martial law and building alliances is wearing you out. Delegate, you have good people around you."
I look at him in surprise. "How do you know about the Somerset uprising and the alliances?"
"Word travels fast around here. I hear you led thousands of people against a wannabe dictator," he says.
"Well, there were a couple of thousand people, but I didn't lead it. The people just rose up with a little encouragement from their own leaders. And the wannabe dictator was just following misguided orders. He's on our side now."
The doctor laughs. "I believe your story, Mark. But the people around here think you single handedly disarmed a company of Special Forces invaders from Russia. You're getting quite a reputation."
"I'm just a humble servant of the Lord, doc, doing what I can with what he has blessed me with, just like you, using your talents to heal. Neither of us has super powers, we just have the talents God has gave us."
The doc nods while smiling. "As you say Mark, as you say. Get some rest."
I do need rest. I return to the farmstead, and my wife and family. Big Hairy gently helps me into the house as Larson parks the van.
* * *
While Marks Mays is resting, the chaos around him grows. In Davidsville, Dave Jones continues to gather a following, offering food and hope as the survivors of the societal collapse move out of Johnstown. Johnstown is a wreck. Even the drug lords and gang bangers realize that their time there is limited. They ransack every house and store around, but food becomes even harder to find.
A few enterprising mercenary groups have started killing cattle in the countryside and trading with the gangs still in Johnstown for liquor, cigarettes, drugs and other contraband. Pockets of resistance in the countryside remain, but they are slowly giving up and moving out. The word spreads in Johnstown of stability in some areas of the countryside which gives other city folk courage. Some of these people end up enticed by Dave Jones and his growing movement. Some of these people make it to the lands controlled by the Laurel Highlands Militia. If they find stability and food, they are happy.
Unknown to most of the people of the Stoneycreek Valley, just west of them more serious chaos reigns. The farms surrounding Johnstown can support the survivors. To the west of the Laurel Mountain ridge, the people of Pittsburgh pour into the countryside. Tens of thousands have died or have been killed already due to lack of medicine, the spread of disease or rampant violence. But that leaves hundreds of thousands of starving, desperate people moving into the surrounding farmland.
This mass movement of people is more than the countryside can sustain. A farm may be overrun, the victors happily gorging on their spoils, only to be overrun by a stronger group. Death by violence overcomes death by lack of medicine and bad water. Only two weeks after the power went out, battles rage for control of the farms. The urban areas are becoming ghost towns. The people are moving to where the food is, and will take lethal measures to get the food, control the food.
This same scenario is played out across the nation. Where FEMA has tried to help, they are quickly overrun. They are designed to help thousands of people. Tens of thousands of people are showing up. They are plagued by the same problems that the EMP caused to the civilian population, no communications, limited transportation, no computers, no way to control the chaos.
Where the military tries to help, they too are overrun, even at large loss of life. Many in the military refuse orders to fire on civilians. Entire companies and battalions defect. Some form roving bands out for survival. Some try to find an enclave they can protect. Most head out alone, or in small groups, to try and make it to wherever they call home. Oath Keepers make up the majority of those who leave their posts, unwilling to institute martial law without constitutional orders.
A few major military bases stay intact, rural bases like Fort Sill and Fort Benning. A few Navy and Air Force bases manage to keep running as well. But they are confused as who to report to. Washington D.C. is gone, along with America's political and military leadership. The Secretary of Commerce was the top ranking survivor. He issued martial law, but soon died because of lack of medication. Three members of congress and a senator vied for their claim on the presidency, which resulted in a small war in the suburbs of Virginia.
Now the HAM radio only reports mass confusion. There is no national leader. Mark sleeps soundly as the chaos spreads. He has the only leader he needs.
Chapter 8, Progress
Central City
09/27
I feel rested. Rebecca, Brit and Daneel kept the chaos away from me for an entire day. I didn’t go more than a hundred yards from the front porch, spent time with my family, and ate well. Now, my time of rest is over. Larson, Brit and my guard contingent pull into the bustling VFW parking lot. I say a short prayer before walking into the militia headquarters.
The guard sergeant loudly calls out "Attention!" as I hobble through the door.
Even at six AM, the place is crowded. Much to my embarrassment, a round of applause breaks out along with a few cat-calls and whistles.
"At ease people!" I holler. Which only brings on more cheers.
"At ease, as you were," I say again in my best command voice. And the room quiets down. I glance around to see who is there. Half of the people I don’t even recognize. "Captain Hutchins, Captain Devers, my office right now, I want an update." My office is an open corner of the large room with two partial walls for minimum privacy.
"So what's the latest gentlemen? A lot can happen in thirty-six hours. We are supposed to be ready to move on the Davidsville farms. If that's not ready, no problem, it's my fault for not being here."
Captain Hutchins smiles at me. "You have no idea what has happened over the last twenty-four hours, do you?" I look at him, very confused. "The preacher's missionary plan worked. People are moving to our side. Jerome and Boswell have taken in over two hundred people each, many with good skills including medical people. Captain Albright and the Somerset militia has rallied and are blocking the marauders from moving south. They are coordinating with all the locals and are rounding up or chasing down looters still on the loose. And this Captain Regis from Jennerstown has been giving the farm occupiers hell. He's liberated three farms already. Everything you put in motion is working, Mark. That's why everyone was applauding you. I’m not a religious man, but I am starting to think God is on your side."
"God is on the side of love and compassion. If we have it, if we truly demonstrate love and compassion, then yes, he will be on our side," I reply. "Go on."
"Unfortunately, reports from our scouts and refugees are that the group in Davidsville is growing. It is run by a guy named Dave Jones. They are strong and getting organized. Some of the elected leaders from the city have taken up with him. The first sign of hope people see as they flee Johnstown is his group. They have set up kitchens to feed the mobs. Being desperate, the people are joining him. Some of these people include the tyrants from Richland that looted the armory. He has people joining him who have firepower, and tactical skills.
"With our more aggressive stance, they have figured out they are not the only game in town. So they are setting up roadblocks between our positions and their lands. There was a serious firefight last night north of Boswell, but our guys held their position. Jerome is now essentially surrounded by this group. Our plan for today is to open Route 601 between Boswell and Jerome."
"Huh," I grunt. "That's a lot of information." Our corner of the room is quiet for a minute as I look at the map on the wall and contemplate what I have been told. "This guy in Davidsville, Jones, he has a strategic position over us. People desperate for food will walk right into his camp. If he can feed them, they will do his bidding. And this is the guy who ran off all the farmers. His group could turn into a plague of locusts, raping the land until it can no longer feed them, then moving on. They don't have the skills to make the land productive
."
"Our reports can confirm what you just said. Some attempts are being made to work the land, but for the most part they are just butchering animals and harvesting what they need. Our scouts tell us they can hear dairy cows bellowing because they have not been milked."
"He's going to ruin those farms. He has to be stopped. God gave us the earth to manage, nurture and tend. That is common sense to sane people. But to desperate people, living to see tomorrow is their goal. Sustaining the farms for the future is not on their minds. But this Jones guy, he has to have that figured out, unless he plans on moving on after each farm is depleted. What are your thoughts on this?" I ask the group.
After a short discussion, it is determined his intent is to be a locust not a farmer. He has to be stopped or he will gather his firepower and move further south, leaving behind a ravaged land. It is decided that additional surveillance will be put in place to better determine our foe.
* * *
A clanging bell lets us know breakfast is being served. This morning's fare is cornbread with sausage gravy, maple syrup and sliced apples. A pastor from the local Lutheran church says a blessing as a line forms. My officer corps watches from the stoop as our soldiers get served. After we are served, there is still food left. It will be offered to locals and refugees in return for cleanup help around town, or other chores that need taken care of.
After we have eaten, Captain Hutchins meets with our crew that is going to Boswell to help open Route 601. The small contingent consists of four farm trucks, two with SAWS mounted technical style, and two dozen men and women. Two EMTs are in the group as medics. They are to meet up with a group from Somerset and another from Jennerstown. Captain Regis will be the commander. Then Captain Regis and I give them a short pep talk before they head out.
This group is going on an offensive mission. The first coordinated offensive mission of the Laurel Highlands Militia since it was formed. I say a silent prayer for them. I want to go with them, but know that I would slow them down, distract them from their mission. Captain Hutchins wanted to go too, but he is as worn down as I was. He is taking the rest of the day off, orders of Colonel Fisher. We are running loose, but we have to rely on the people we have recruited to get the job done. Captain Regis will run the show and we have to trust in his abilities.
Righteous Sacrifice Page 5