With that, Adrian walked over to sit with Roman, Sarah, and Linda.
The buzz of talk started slowly, but built into a loud murmur. Roman and Sarah were quiet, their decision already made. Linda looked at Adrian with piercing eyes, her jaw jutting out slightly and said, “I have just one question. Are you planning on coming back alive if you don’t win?”
Adrian smiled at her, enjoying her directness. “Not a chance. If we lose, it won’t be because I gave up for any reason short of being killed. We simply cannot afford to lose. Nothing short of winning is acceptable. If we lose we’ll all die at their hands anyway, it’ll be better to go down fighting than to go down begging.”
Linda replied, “I just want to know—my son’s life is largely dependent on you and these men. I could leave right now, taking my son with me. We traveled before and it was rough, but not as rough as staying here to fight is going to be. We could make do, find another place to live.”
Adrian asked her, “Why aren’t you going, then?”
Linda replied, “Believe me, it’s tempting. But wherever we go, we’ll likely face raiders again at some point. Eventually we’ll be in this spot again, but I doubt we’ll be in a place with this many people that can fight back or with leaders that know how to fight back effectively. Our odds of winning are better here than anywhere else I’ve been, and if we win this battle against this many raiders, I doubt we’ll ever be attacked by anyone again. Our people will be battle experienced and organized and the news of this victory will spread everywhere. After this battle, if we win, this will be the safest place there is. It’s also a good place to raise Scott.”
Adrian nodded. “Good logic.” Then he sat quietly, waiting.
Adrian had more doubts than Linda did. He didn’t know the true capability of these men. They were tough; they had to be to survive. They were definitely survivors, but survival and war are elementary opposites. In war, a man is called upon to do the exact opposite of what a good survivor does. Survival mostly consists of avoiding trouble whenever possible. War requires a man to go directly and deliberately into harm’s way. These men who demonstrated strong survival instincts just by their still being alive—would they overcome that instinct and fight instead? He wouldn’t know—couldn’t know—until it was far too late to change strategy.
He didn’t know the capability of the raiders in a pitched battle, either. They had at least demonstrated a desire to kill, to face other people and deliberately kill them. Whether they had ever faced a truly tough enemy force or not, he didn’t know. Maybe they would fold at their first encounter with a determined and armed enemy, or maybe not. They had the advantage of numbers. Adrian’s men were outnumbered two to one, and by men who were vicious beyond description and would show absolutely no mercy. Well, neither will I. He was confident on at least that point.
One of the possibilities was that the raiders could engage the villagers in battle and then split their own forces. They could send a hundred men against the village while keeping the village men in the field fighting. He couldn’t see the shape or the outcome of the battle, whether it would go for or against them. The stakes were as high as they could possibly get; losing would mean the death or slavery of every villager. Survival was tough enough without the raiders, but it would become extremely rough and uncertain under their cruel captivity.
Adrian also had recurring doubts about his own ability to lead. He had successfully led small groups of extremely skilled and dedicated soldiers on strictly defined missions. He had led the Colorado villagers successfully against the cannibals. He had also led the original Fort Brazos inhabitants against that crazy ex-wrestler Mad Jack, but back then he had been cocky, had had no doubt of his own invincibility. What they had pulled off then had been based largely on luck and an unbelievable amount of confidence. Confidence that in hindsight he realized they didn’t own, but had borrowed. This was different, though. Before this, the largest stakes he’d had in a battle were his and his men’s lives. In the previous Fort Brazos battle, he had been blind to the possible consequences of failure. In Colorado, it was the lives of people he didn’t know. Here, the stakes were his family, his friends, and his village. Here, the stakes were everyone and everything. This was literally a do or die situation; there would be no outside help, no cavalry coming to the rescue, no one to back these men up as they fought for their existence.
Adrian didn’t know if he and his men were truly capable of pulling this off. He mulled over these doubts, knowing that the last thing he could do—or would do—would be to show his doubts. The only thing he was positive about was that if anything defeated these men and women, it would not be their leader showing doubt—they deserved better than that. If he showed doubt, it would inject fear into them that they didn’t need to deal with. That kind of fear would be debilitating, if not annihilating. They looked to him for confidence, placed their trust in his confidence. He knew that this was the biggest acting job he had ever taken on, so he would do it well. If nothing else, he would do that one thing well. That included not sitting here looking morose, he reminded himself. So Adrian sat and waited patiently, allowing no shadow of a doubt to flicker across his face as his people kept turning to look at him while they talked it out amongst themselves.
Shortly before the hour was up, the talking slowed to a near stop. Adrian took that as his cue to resume, then stood up and walked back to his spot. “Most of you don’t know me, so personal questions are fair to ask. Who wants to go first?”
From the back of the crowd came a woman’s voice. “Is it true you sired bear cubs up there in the mountains?” Adrian’s face immediately turned bright red from embarrassment, and the tension of the last hour was broken with an uproar of laughter from the crowd. Adrian raised both hands in defeat and the laughter slowly died down. Adrian said, “I didn’t mean that personal.” It was the right reply, and the crowd roared with laughter again. Adrian, knowing they needed this break in tension, took it on the chin and waited, smiling.
A tall man with ramrod posture stood up in the back and said, “I have a question, but it’s not for you, it’s for everyone else. We need to get started on this, and I just want to see a show of hands of who’s willing to go out and fight.” He stuck his own hand up high and was quickly followed by every man, woman, and child in the village doing the same. Then he turned to Adrian and said, “Ok, now that that’s settled, General Bear, what do you want us to do and when do you want us to do it?” The crowd murmured in approval.
Adrian let them go on for a moment and then raised his hands for silence. The crowd quickly settled down, and for a brief moment, it was dead quiet. “Here’s the plan…”
MARCH 10, EARLY AFTERNOON
Adrian counted the men. Ninety-seven able-bodied men with whatever arms they owned were in the town square. Nearly half were from outlying farms outside the village, but dependent on it in one way or another. Adrian addressed them, “Here’s the drill: we’re going to break up into five groups, each with a captain and a lieutenant. I’ve already selected the captains. They will immediately begin to train their groups. These ten captains are all solid leaders, some with previous military training. They will choose their own lieutenants from among their men. Every man’s name has been placed into a hat. The captains will take turns drawing names at random and calling them out. As your name is called, fall in behind the captain who called it. At the end of the process, I may switch some men around to even things out in terms physical fitness or fighting skills. I want each group to be as evenly balanced as possible. When that’s settled, you’ll go off and train in separate areas. At the end of the second day of training, your captain will choose one of you to be his lieutenant. Any questions? Okay, captains line up, pass the hat back and forth, and start calling out names.”
Adrian then walked over to the women’s group. Addressing them, he said, “I count forty-four able-bodied women. You’ll be under the command of Colonel Fremont. She will organize you however she sees fit. Once yo
u’re organized, I’ll be in temporary command as your drill instructor. When the training regimen is underway, Colonel Fremont will take over full command again and continue the training. She will choose the captains and lieutenants in whatever manner she considers best. Colonel Fremont, you are in command. I’ll return in an hour to begin the training.”
Linda spoke. “General Bear, may I have a word with you?” She lowered her voice so that only Adrian could hear her. “Really, Adrian? Colonel? You only made captains of the men, and—” Adrian interrupted her. “Yes, Colonel. You will be acting autonomously; you will not have the benefit of counsel or a higher leader to turn to during battle. Your rank is higher than the men’s because they will have those two advantages and you will not. You’re going to make hard fast decisions without anyone to help you make them. You will be entirely on your own. These women need to know that you have a higher rank because you command a higher rank, given the situation that you and they will be in. Believe me, when the fighting starts, they will trust you with their lives, and they want to believe—have to believe—that you can be trusted; that you won’t do something stupid that will get them killed without reason. They’ll be watching you like a hawk in this training phase, and if you don’t act the part, they’ll get scared and won’t fight half as well. If you have to, fake complete confidence for their benefit.” Adrian didn’t add that he was doing the same.
Adrian took two steps back and snapped a salute to Linda, turned on his heel, and marched back over to the men. She watched him walk away with mixed feelings of doubt and confidence. She knew his advice was right; she would have to hide her doubts from her troops.
CHAPTER 8
MARCH 10, LATE AFTERNOON
ADRIAN HAD SPENT SEVERAL HOURS with Linda’s troops setting up a basic training regimen. He gave her a sheet of paper with the training plan he wanted her to carry out with the understanding that she could change it as she saw fit. Linda also watched the men training and realized quickly that there was little difference between the two regimens. The men spent more time on attack tactics than the women, who spent more time on defensive tactics. Given their respective assignments, it made sense.
Linda had chosen her second in command, Shirley—Sarah’s daughter—based on observation. Shirley was aggressive and confident, taking to the drills as though it were second nature to her.
Linda explained to Shirley, “The most important skill we can learn right now is firearms competence. Each person has to be able to use their weapon with enough skill that they can hit a man at a hundred yards. So we’ll spend enough time practicing to make that happen. First, we run them through the basics of shooting without ammunition. Dry firing because we need to conserve ammunition. After they have the basics down solidly, they’ll be issued twenty live rounds to sight in and to practice with. If they can’t make it with those twenty rounds, they’ll be washed out. Better to not have incompetent shooters when the time comes than to waste ammunition.”
After several hours of basic rifle and shooting instructions, Linda had a fair idea of who would be successful, and only four or five women that she didn’t expect to make the cut. Those women would become field medics, given different training from Jennifer’s medical group.
On the firing line, Linda shouted, “Remember BRASS: Breathe in and let half your breath back out and hold half in your lungs; Relax your major muscle groups, as tense muscles will cause you to miss; Aim by picking a small portion of the target you want to hit, aim for a button if you can see one, or choose the center of the largest part of the target, and do not aim at the whole target; your Sight picture should be the alignment of three things, the rear sight will be aligned correctly with the front sight, and the target point you have chosen will be directly above and sitting on top of the front sight; and Squeeze the trigger slowly while maintaining your sight picture until the rifle fires. If you do it correctly, you’ll be somewhat surprised when the rifle does fire. If you jerk the trigger, you will pull the rifle off of the target and waste the shot.
“Then put another round in the chamber unless you’re using a semi-automatic rifle, acquire another target, and repeat the process. It is critical that you do not rush or get panicked. Slow, consistent, accurate fire is far more effective than slinging bullets and hoping for the best. You’ll be under intense pressure—worse than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life—when they’re coming at you shooting. Your adrenaline will be pumping, your mind will be panicky, and your fine motor skills will be out the window. In the heat of battle, you may develop tunnel vision. Presence of mind is what will kill the bastards; the bullet you send will be the agent of your presence of mind. How accurate and deadly you are is a direct result of remaining calm and following a sound shooting procedure. Remaining calm and following procedure is the most powerful weapon you have. Any questions before we commence the dry firing exercise?”
One hand went up. “Yes? Your question?”
One of the women stood and said, “I’ve heard that dry firing can damage a gun, is that not true?”
Linda replied, “That’s a good question. Sometimes, yes, it will, but most times it won’t—it depends largely on the type of gun you have. To be on the safe side, we have taken an empty casing for each of your rifles and replaced the primer with a piece of melted plastic for the firing pin to hit. Those will be issued to you momentarily. Any other questions?” After a moment of silence, she said, “No? Captain, pass out the practice rounds.”
MARCH 10, EVENING
Adrian, Linda, Jennifer, Sarah, and Roman were seated around Sarah’s dinner table. The dishes had been cleared and stacked in the sink. Adrian and Roman were sipping Roman’s reserve whisky without ice. The women had all chosen hot tea.
Adrian said, “Roman, this is the best ever. You’re a distilling genius.”
Roman replied, “Practice, practice, practice. That’s all it takes. Next year, I’m going to make wine from the wild mustang grapes, then distill that down into cognac. I think it’ll be good. How did the training go today?”
Adrian replied, “For the men, at least, it went well. We began covering advance and cover techniques. We only spent a little time on actual shooting technique because these men already know how to shoot. Hell, they’re all hunters, or they wouldn’t have survived this long. What we covered was taking the time to draw a bead and squeezing it off while under fire, not getting excited to the point that they get buck fever and just start banging away. Hunting is one thing; shooting while being shot at is something intensely different. We spent most of our shooting time on that concept. Tomorrow, we’re going to work on advance and cover some more, then start on simple ambush techniques. The men are extremely motivated, so the lessons are going faster than I had hoped they might.” Adrian looked at Linda and asked, “How about your troop, Linda?”
“It went quite well. As I had guessed, there were four who couldn’t hit the target to save their lives, literally speaking. What I intend to do is make them medics. It’s not that they aren’t brave, and with enough time and ammunition I’m sure they could learn to shoot well enough, but there isn’t enough time or ammunition for that. Jennifer, tomorrow those four will be at the hospital for basic trauma training. Would you see to it that they are versed in that and provide them with field kits to work with?”
Jennifer replied, “Certainly. I’ll need at least a week with them. But I thought the nurses and I would be performing that duty? Not that anyone said so, but I did assume it.”
Adrian spoke up. “Actually, what we will need you to do is act as a field M.A.S.H.-type unit. The field medics will do what they can in the field, and then the wounded will be carried to you for more advanced treatment. From there, they will be carried back here to the hospital for continued care. It’s a three-step system that will provide the best possible chance of recovery. My thinking is that you’ll set up a temporary field hospital between the battle site and the village. You’ll need to be at that field hospital to rec
eive and treat the incoming wounded. Once they are stabilized, they’ll be carried to the village hospital for continued care in a better setting. What do you think?”
“Sounds reasonable, but who is going to do all that carrying? You’re going to be pulling able-bodied men away from the fighting to do that, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but just as Linda has recognized a better use for some of her soldiers, so have I. Just because they are male doesn’t mean they are automatically fierce fighters. Before the grid dropped, the majority of America’s men would not have made good fighters. After the grid dropped, those men mostly died off. The men who did survive, for the most part, were the ones who had the fighter instinct. Not all of them, though, and a few of the men would be more dangerous to us than to the enemy in a fight. I don’t have a lower opinion of those men than the others—they are just different, and it’s probably the result of factors they had no control over. As Linda said, it’s not that they aren’t brave or that they don’t want to fight. Medics are, in my estimation, the bravest of all. Their mission is as critical and necessary as any other, but they are even more exposed to a hostile line-of-fire environment and risk their own lives solely to help their comrades. So, in short, I’ll assign some of my men to act as medics and stretcher-bearers. I’ll have these men at your hospital in a couple of days after I’ve identified them all.”
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