MacArthur's Freehold
Enak Nomolos
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Title - Part I
Chapter   1
Chapter   2
Chapter   3
Chapter   4
Chapter   5
Chapter   6
Chapter   7
Chapter   8
Chapter   9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Title - Part II
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Title - Part III
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79


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Chapter 11 -- WGEIRBYOULPUJBMECIHOD

Carter joined the two dozen or so other people assembled near the covered shooters stations at the rifle range. He and Jessica had gotten up early and driven over after breakfast, prepared for the beginning of the week's activities. He knew there would be a considerable amount of weapons practice, as well as physical conditioning work. Although most of what he had come to call the resistance were from rural and small town environments, there were a few who lived, as he had, in cities where it was not possible to walk out the door and take a hike through the woods - they would probably find this trip a refreshing diversion. He knew how much he had enjoyed the change from the crowded, noisy city.

Several people wearing hats that looked like the ones worn by many state police, including those of Missouri, he knew. Jessica told him that they were the ones who would be conducting the practices.

"Generally, military training instructors wear these, so with many of us having military connections, it's something we're used to. Makes them easier to find when we're all dressed pretty much the same."

Their own attire was the usual, but almost everyone was wearing baseball caps. They were of different colors and had letters on the front, identifying their organization. He and Jessica had navy blue with with the letters MGF in white. They hadn't worn them at home, and he first saw them when Jessica produced them when the trip began. There were a total of twenty-nine visitors, including instructors.

A couple of them waved toward the group, indicating they should gather around them in a close group. The two of them, a man and woman who appeared to be in their early forties, got the group formed into a semi-circle about two deep, before they began.

"Hello everybody," the man began. "Glad you all made it safely. Since there are a few of you here for the first time, I'm William Randall, and I go by Bill. And this is my lovely wife Melissa."

Except for the paramilitary look of their outfits, they could have been an average suburban couple at the mall. Carter had yet to see anyone who looked crazy or even eccentric. He had often seen news about various alleged white supremacists or religious fanatics plotting against the government. There was video or photos of people who looked like misfits and derelicts, badly groomed and dressed, and otherwise unpleasant-looking. He knew there were amateur rebel groups, usually small and without much money, and not usually thinking far beyond the fact that they were angry about something. But he also knew that the government had a habit of planting agents provocateur in such organizations in order to create an incident of some sort. He supposed they could provide a useful distraction while the organized and disciplined outfit he was part of remained well hidden. Perhaps they could create such diversions if they were not already occurring.

The other instructors were introduced and the session got underway. First was target shooting on the handgun range. Apparently the others had, like Jessica and him, not brought weapons. Jessica had her personal gun in the car, and had a carry permit. As a convicted felon he could not, although she had assured him that if the time came when it was necessary, he could count on being able to do so without any worries.

Here the guns were issued to the shooters. The range had only ten shooter stations, so they would spend some of their time watching. The first group took their positions, and he watched as they completed firing and scoring. They were using revolvers that sounded like .357 Magnums, and went through a cycle of target practice type exercises, shooting for score. Next they fired all six shots as rapidly as possible, double action, while putting all shots in the kill zone.

He and Jessica were in the third group. A young man and woman, both fairly young, gave them their guns and ammunition. They were indeed .357s, Rugers with six inch barrels. As they were scoring their targets, the young woman wearing a name tag with 'Hannah' on it told him looked at his targets, then smiled.

"Nice," she said. "Thought you were one of the new ones."

He had put all of the slow shots in the the ten ring, and the rapid fire hits were not off by much. It wasn't difficult, even after not having practiced in seven years, outside of some informal practice with Jessica and Tommy.

He grinned. "I'm a little rusty."

He noticed that he was only a little better than Jessica in the rapid fire, and not at all in the slow part. They went on until it was time for lunch, using .40 caliber auto pistols for a round, and then a session with .44 Magnums.

Over lunch, sandwiches and chips with bottled beverages, arriving in a couple of vehicles presumably from headquarters, he and Jessica chatted with the others. He found himself talking to Hannah again, along with the other instructor, whose name was Steve.

"Seems you already have some proficiency with weapons," he said. "Military experience?"

"Ex-cop." Carter replied.

"Lot of those these days," said Steve, "given the way cops are being treated. Is that why you quit?"

"Not exactly. I was given an extended vacation and not invited back."

He paused. Not having associated with anyone other than Jessica and her family, he hadn't had occasion to discuss what had happened to him.

"You remember the King case in St. Louis, seven years ago?"

"Oh yeah - that was you? There've been so many of them it's hard to keep track. Drugged-up thug sliced your partner, you got filmed holding him down the wrong way, or something. That was one of the worst - no reason at all except the mobs and the bureaucrats."

"Yeah. The perp was the wrong color, and so was over half the population. They had the usual days of riots and burning and looting, so they made the usual sacrifice. Throw a cop or two overboard."

"Yeah," Steves aid. "And now no one in his right mind will be a cop. So the the urban jungle dwellers are killing each other off at a greater rate. Sorry it happened to you. Is that what brought you over?"

"Actually I didn't know you existed. I figured my life was over and I was going to use what time I had left to go back and kill the people who did it to me."

"I've often wondered why none of the cops who got railroaded like you have ever tried to that," Steve said. "I don't think I could go on living without some sort of retribution. Maybe we've become the kind of people who no longer have what it takes to set things right. We're hoping that's not the case. But how did you get here?"

"Tommy brought him in," said Jessica. "He's a pretty good judge of character, didn't want to see Darrell throw away his life that way. And someone who was that determined to pursue justice might be a good fit."

"He did well, I believe," said Steve. "Are you as good with other weapons as with handguns?"

"I didn't train that much with long guns," Carter replied. "We had to be qualified with all the weapons we used, but unless you were on some special duty like a SWAT team the emphasis was just handguns, tasers, mostly."

"Well, in that case you can learn something. We have a combat range over there that is probably something like police departments use in training. And then there's the rifle range. We can't make everyone into a special forces operative, or even a competent soldier, but we try to prepare for as many situations as we can. In the end, we have no way of knowing how things will end up. All we can to is try to be ready."

After lunch they went to the rifle range, spending the remainder of the day practicing with several types of rifles. There were several M1 Garands of recent manufacture and a number of sporting rifles chambered in .308 an .30-06, and a couple in .300 Winchester Magnum. The rifles Carter had trained with were in .308, and he shot reasonably well with one even after years of not using one. After a while he got five shot groups down to under four inches at 400 yards - nothing spectacular but with regular practice he would probably improve. The shooters passed the guns around in an informal manner, each of them shooting several of them in each caliber.

They departed the range in time to eat at the cafeteria at headquarters, or the 'mess hall' as Carter heard several of the former military guys call it. He had seen a number of them who seemed to have military experience, both from their handling of the weapons and their camaraderie. He and Jessica shared a table with two of them, young men from Arizona.

They had each done a four year enlistment and while enjoying the knowledge they acquired were unable to deal with the degradation been done by political and social pressures. The knowledge that the nation's defenses was so compromised was one of their motives for joining the outfit. It was operated, as many apparently were, by a group of fairly wealthy individuals who had sufficient means to finance it. Carter wondered if all of them were organized that way, or if any were made up of individuals in a democratic process.

"There aren't many," Jessica told him. "Of course, I don't have the entire picture. Only the Council knows it all. But I do believe there are one or two that fit that description. They would have to be very tight, in terms or the reliability of their members, so they can't be penetrated by the enemy. I know they exist only from things Dad has said, and I'm not sure they have the same status as freeholds. Maybe more like associates, allies."

The Council, Carter knew, was the the top of the operation. It was made up of the leaders of the various organizations. Jessica's father was a member, and was away for meetings at least once a month.

After dinner was over they moved over to empty section of the dining area where a couple of long tables held coolers of iced beer and some bottles of wine. Although about a third of those present were women, only a couple of them were drinking wine, drinking beer from the bottles like the men. Jessica was one of those choosing beer.

The gathering broke up after just a couple of beers for most of them, enough time for some more conversation. Jessica introduced him to a few more people, and they headed back to their cabin. After the day's activities they were both ready for a shower and bed, and with that accomplished, he fell asleep almost as soon as he lay down.

The next day featured sessions on the combat courses. The first one Carter found familiar, as it was similar to those used in some police training. While going through a course simulating an urban environment, targets would suddenly be presented from various places, depicting either armed assailants or harmless citizens, and points were scored for shooting the dangerous ones and not any harmless ones. His cop training came in handy here, and he easily got a perfect score.

The outdoor range was similar, with targets presented behind vegetation or features of the landscape. Instead of a handgun, however, the participants were given a .40 caliber carbine. Carter enjoyed using the little weapon and despite having seldom used one that way, he easily mastered the course.

After lunch they practiced throwing grenades on the outdoor combat course. They of course used inert practice grenades, as live ones either had to be legally permitted and taxed, and of course acquiring them in quantities would be difficult. However, practicing for the accurate delivery of them suggested to Carter that they would be available and perhaps used in the event of what he thought of as the 'big one'. Later he asked Jessica, and she told him that the freeholds did indeed have them, and many other proscribed or traceable weapons.

He knew that there were large stashes of weapons on the MacArthur farm, in hidden compartments buried under tons of corn. The huge circular storage bins would have to be emptied to access them, but even if the farm ever came under suspicion and was raided, they might escape detection if no other evidence was found. And if they ever were needed, that would be a minor inconvenience. He also knew that in a fenced yard of several acres along one of the roads well away from the houses, were several powerful demolition machines, some of them modified to carry weapons. Disguised as rusty and dirty old trucks and tractors, they waited for a time when they would be needed.

They ended a little earlier this day, and after dinner he and Jessica watched television for a while. Most of the time they were together they were working on something, or Tommy or her father was present. Now, however, with the only distraction being the television, he began to wonder about their relationship. She was not married, he assumed, and had given no indication of having a boyfriend or whatever they were called these days. She worked with her father, Tommy and him on various projects, mostly involving upkeep and security for the farm, and various types of preparations for the expected crisis.

Perhaps, he thought, after being out of it so long he didn't know how to act. He had had a series of relationships in the past, some of them fairly long but eventually ending, probably because he never could make the commitment most women would want eventually. Which, he thought, had turned out to be a good thing. But, he found himself being attracted to her, at least in wanting to be with her as much as possible. The last thing you need though, he told himself, is to become emotionally involved. He had hardened himself thoroughly against having any feelings beyond his desire for retribution, and that was now fading against his new position.

He looked over at her, just in time for her to turn and look in his direction. He had a slight suspicion she had been stealing a glance at him, something he had observed lately, and the fact that he was doing the same thing had caused his thoughts about some sort of relationship outside of business might develop, and what its effects might be.

"You're quiet," she said. "More than usual."

"I am?" he asked. "Yeah, there's so much stuff to think about, suddenly. Do you get used to it?"

"I guess I have," she replied. "I pretty much grew up with it. And it happened gradually - it was after mom died that dad became serious about the situation we were in, and as he began exploring possibilities he met others who thought like he did. So he was in at the beginning. By the time I was out of school it was in its beginning phase, and so it's been my life."

"You never married?" he asked.

"I did, but it didn't work out. Fortunately it didn't work out fairly quickly, so it didn't waste much of my life. Now I don't know now if I could have a relationship with anyone outside. The need for secrecy makes that difficult. You never know if you can trust someone that completely."

Carter wondered if she was trying to tell him something or if that was just an innocent observation.

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

He looked over at the television. Jessica had turned the sound down and they had been reading chyrons on the bottom of the screen. It was a news channel and normally there was little worth watching, much less listening to, considering that most of the news channels had nothing except propaganda punctuated by banal items of interest only to the dormant minds of the majority of the population.

Suddenly everything disappeared from the screen to be replaced by a large image proclaiming "BREAKING NEWS", accompanied by presumably dramatic music. Carter always wondered how much the audience was impressed by the color and sound. Probably, he thought, anyone watching this stuff every day was easily impressed.

They watched the bottom of the screen as the suitably young, well-groomed, female person appeared and began to speak. One of Carter's former colleagues, who had been born in and grew up in England, told him the people who read the news on television were called 'news readers'. As long as he could remember they were called reporters, anchors, correspondents and other aggrandized terms. Of course paying a bimbo, male or female, millions of dollars a year to read a teleprompter said as much as about the state of the business as anything.

'DEADLY POLICE SHOOTING' was announced in large bold letters across the bottom of the screen. Jessica turned up the sound.

"Police are investigating an officer-involved shooting this evening on Quincy Avenue," the young blonde news reader said. "We have few details at this time, but it is confirmed that one person has been taken to taken to UAMS Hospital, his condition is not known at this time. We go to Marie Myers, who is on the scene now. Marie?"

The scene switched to mostly deserted street, with several police cars sat, lights flashing, with cops walking or standing around. The screen split to show another young woman, holding a big microphone with the station logo.

"Sarah, I'm here at the Quik Shop on Quincy Avenue," she said. "About an hour ago police were called to a suspected robbery in progress here. Witnesses tell us that two men had attacked the clerk, whether it was a robbery or something else we don't know at this time. One of them was holding the clerk from behind with a knife at her neck, and the other was behind the counter as well.

"Do we have any new information on the perpetrators?" Sarah asked.

Marie put her hand over one ear and did not speak for several seconds, then said "We are getting a report now that one of them was dead on arrival at the hospital, and the condition of the other is unknown."

As the conversation continued Jessica and Carter looked at each other, both with probably the same thought. He said it first.

"They haven't gotten to the most important part," he said. "What color was the perp, and the cop?"

"The only important part," she replied. "That will light the fuse."

"It's near the point now where it won't matter much," he said. "Cops shoot white people all the time and it's not news, but before long even black cops won't be safe if they shoot someone of the wrong color. They're moving beyond just trying to create racial division - they want it to be between law and order and the law of the jungle. Any excuse to get a riot started, burning and looting, to tear down the civil society. The cities, of any size, are mostly beyond saving."

Before long they were out of material and went back to the regular news. Carter and Jessica sat silently for a while, with nothing to say that hadn't been said before. He supposed one reason he didn't watch television much was because of the news. It was earlier to read the articles on the news web sites a couple of times a day - he got the information without the annoying, preening humans.

It was getting late, and he and Jessica said their good-nights and went to bed.