Jessica and I had slept in, something we had never done with any great frequency, and since the beginning of the war we had seldom had the luxury of choice. But when Alex dropped me at the perimeter it was already past midnight, and I had another two hours of negotiating the buffer zone in the dark. Jessica was waiting up, even though I asked her not to. As always.

So in this case it wasn't a choice anyway. The first light woke me, but no way neither of was was moving. It was almost noon when we did. Jessica slipped out while I was still intermittently dozing and returned with two cups of coffee. Hot black coffee.

When we met, just over four years earlier, she was living with her father and grandfather at Emerald Ridge. They all drank coffee with cream and most with sugar. When I got her to try it straight she immediately wondered why she ever drank it any other way. She's the only woman I ever converted. Of course, women who adulterated their coffee usually didn't end up spending much time with me anyway.

We sat on the edge of the bed, blowing and gingerly sipping the elixir until it was drinkable in normal doses. We didn't talk much, just got ourselves awake and off for the morning rituals with showers and toothbrushes and all the other things we resent for taking our valuable time, but wouldn't want to live without.

Not that we didn't have to pretty regularly. But days or weeks out in 'Injun country' as some of the old-timers called it, made getting back to some small comforts of civilization the more enjoyable. Still we had it better than the inhabitants of what remained of the United States, by now little more than a third of its original size. I suppose if you considered Alaska still a part of it it was considerably more, but as Alaska was both strategically useless and as unfriendly as the large areas of the west and southwest that were still technically not yet part of either the Republic or the Alliance it was effectively less. And about three-quarters of the population concentrated there.

Worse, almost the entire three fourths of that three fourths was useless, or worse. Before the war non-productive consumers of the output of the working population was being confiscated, in the form of taxes, and redistributed to the non-producers. Now the non-producers were still there, most of the former taxpayers were in rebellion. The government was using most of its military and security apparatus to maintain order in the cities.

And now the vital supply corridor across Kansas had been cut. I wondered just how much longer they would hold out. Best to check in and see where things stood. Just before dropping me off the night before Alex had received a high-priority message. I waited until he read it.

"Looks like we'll be getting together soon." he said. "Get some sleep, and recuperate as much as you can in the next few days. This looks big."

I had been too tired to care, and whatever it was could wait a half day. I needed at least two days for the various contusions and abrasions to heal a little. At least there weren't any lacerations of broken bones. Anyway, about time to get to it. We went inside to our operations center.

We met on the back deck a couple of hours later, with a second cup of coffee. Near the woods, a couple of hundred yards away, three deer grazed calmly. Among the scattered trees near the house an occasional rabbit stopped to nibble at grass, while squirrels scampered among the old oaks which were beginning to cover the area with acorns. It was looking like a good crop this year. Jessica and I would collect a few bushels to add to the emergency stash. It was unlikely we would ever get that desperate for food, but they were there, and there was no sense in wasting them. If things got really bad we could harvest the small game with a .22 rifle.

Our estate - a section of mostly forested hills on the east side of Crowley's Ridge - is accessible by off-road vehicles, and knowledge of the circuitous unpaved course through the woods. Even from the air it is difficult to see as the few buildings are camouflaged. The square mile is one of several hundred parcels of land, most are larger. Our 640 acres is bordered on one side by a secondary highway, decent surface and little traffic. Our house is close to a half mile deep, so getting there - even if you know it's there - takes a bit of work. As they say in the south, you aren't going to get there by accident. Unless you're snooping around in places you have no business. In which case we'll decide on how to deal with you when you arrive. When Jessica and I are both gone we have someone come out and keep an eye on the place, and they know what to do.

In our 'command post' we fired up the array of computers and comm gear. My old habit of leaving everything turned on all the time had ended with the beginning of the war. Electronic equipment doesn't break as readily if it isn't turned on and off often. Generally if it's going to fail it will do so when it's powered on, so don't turn it off. But even in our remote location, well within friendly territory, advertising our presence electronically wasn't a good idea.

Alex had told me to take a couple of days to recover, but he knew I wasn't going to wait to see what he had. I debated waiting until the next day but not for long. I fired off a message and turned to other matters, and checked on what Jessica was doing.

"Forest fires all over the west coast." she said. "Imagine that."

"Suddenly?" I asked. I hadn't been seeing much news the past few days.

"Very. There had been the usual handful, but yeah. Suddenly, all up and down the west coast. They're always near the limit of their ability to deal with just the normal load. This looks like ten times that."

"Maybe they'll become desperate enough to actually take some preventive measures." I said. "Too late, but if they'll actually bring the bulldozers in. They'll probably have to in order to get them under control. If they can."

"That's the problem. I suspect they can't. This is really bad."

I looked at the map. It looked bad, all right. I wondered if the partisans had overdone it.

"Going to be a lot of refugees." Jessica said. "They always have a lot, and now they don't have the resources to deal with this."

"They were already in trouble with the cities. Those people are on the edge of starvation, and they're getting in just enough food to keep them from eating each other. I wouldn't want to be on the cordon that's keeping them inside."

"I'm guessing it won't for long. The south Chicago zone has been breached a couple of times, and sooner or later they won't be able to plug it."

"Good thing we're safely away from it." I said. "The people that couldn't get out, going to be bad."

"I suspect few were trapped. Except by their own failure to pay attention. And you can still get out, of California or anywhere else. None of the fed areas are preventing people from leaving. They want to get rid of as many as they can."

"Yeah, everyone should have been well away by now. Unfortunately, there are always those who just can't be helped. Guess it's just going to get pretty ugly."

"Well, not our problem." Jessica said. "We've got plenty. What do you think Alex wants?"

"I suspect it's something big." I said. "We're getting close to the point where the only thing left is to move in on the capital and finish them off."

"I don't suppose you're privy to the master plan."

"To the extent that there is one," I said, "the recent developments on the west coast may be an indicator. The idea was to put them where they are about now, and then a massive overload. The forest fires were a part of it, as was burning the wheat fields in the main areas. Of course taking Kansas took a big piece of that. I don't know if they'll go after any of the other areas. Probably will, it's easy enough. And then another major assault on what transportation and energy infrastructure is left.

"And then, move the assets into place to secure the capital. Cut off the head of the snake."

"Literally?" she asked.

"If you mean killing them, yes. But I'd expect they would capitulate rather quickly, when you have the entire government locked up in there, you wouldn't have to shoot too many of them before the others decide to save their own skins, whatever the cost."

"Most likely. They are cowards with no moral convictions to motivate them. Exactly the opposite of us. What part does Alex play? Or us for that matter? We, and he, don't really have any official position."

"Good place to be." I said. "We, like Alex and a handful of other operators are in demand because of our abilities. They have missions that require people like us, and they call. He said it wasn't urgent, so I can contain my curiosity for a while if you can. I was thinking of taking a trip out to Brushy Lake."

"Sounds like fun. How about going on over to see Mary and Dalton?"

"Yeah. What I was thinking. It could be a while before we have another chance."

Mary and Dalton Bittinger were an older couple, old being relative. I'm fifty- two, a "spring chicken" as my grandmother said. Great-grandmother for Jessica, I suppose. She's just over half my age. She's a country girl though, grew up not far from the place we were going to visit.

That place being the old home place of my family. When he returned from Korea my father purchased a small farm near Vanndale. It was small, 160 acres, the usual size of a homestead when the area was first populated in the early nineteenth century. Over time he expanded it, buying several adjacent plots and some more nearby. Farming became problematical in the eighties, and rather than join the madness that so many other farmers pursued, accumulating debt and becoming more enslaved by government handouts he retired. He rented out most of the land, but left the original place uncultivated. It's an interesting and enjoyable place to visit, and Jessica and I both would like to spend more time there. Maybe after the war. We decided to visit Mary and Dalton first, and then spend a couple of days at Brushy Lake before returning to that war.

The Bittingers live on a small spread not far from Brushy Lake. It's a mostly wooded area on the west side of Crowley's Ridge, where the land levels out. It's next door to a place I happen to own. My place is a flat quarter- section with a paved county road running past it, but a few miles from the nearest humans other than Mary and Dalton.. We decided to have a look at it on the way back.

They were on the front porch of their modest house, Mary on the swing and Dalton in an Adirondack chair. A real wood one, not one of the injection- molded ones from the local home and garden store. They're both in their seventies, actually Dalton is pushing eighty hard if he isn't already there. Mary is a few years younger, I never can remember how many.

"We were wondering when you'd get out this way again." Mary said, after bringing out a couple of glasses of strong, sweet tea. "We're having quite a crop of honey this year."

They kept bees. A lot of bees. The hives were near the edge of the woods next to my place, and the hundred and sixty acres of undisturbed vegetation provided a bountiful crop of flowers for the bees. Whenever we visited they always insisted on sending back large quantities of honey. More than we could ever use, but any visitors to our place were gifted with the surplus.

We talked for a while, mostly about the war. Mary and Dalton, well inside Republic territory and not spending a lot of time following the news, were not worried as the direction was clear and we would apprise them of any threatening developments. They were like many, especially older people, who enjoyed relative peace of mind. Something that was in short supply in the fed-controlled territory. We ended up staying for lunch and then left to do a survey of my place before going on to Brushy Lake.

From the road it looks like the surrounding land of the flat Mississippi flood plain. Only the wide ditches around the edges indicate the boundaries. When I bought it years before I had considered a small fish farm, but with the prospect of food shortages in the future decided to leave it for cultivation.

There was still a good supply of fish though. The half mile by half mile square had wide ditches around the edges, joined by two more running east to west and north to south, dividing it into four forty-acre plots, each of which was further divided into four equal parts by smaller ditches.

The outer perimeter ditches were about fifty feet wide, and when originally constructed about twelve feet deep. Bill Clayton at Pine Ridge had a handful of Steiger Panthers from the 1980s, restored to their original lime-green glory and pulling twelve yard dirt pans. He brought four of them out and we spent a few weeks in a luxurious travel trailer watching his men work. They were all Freeholders, and the project was part of the preparation for the expected conflict, so it was a relaxed atmosphere. We set up a big tent for meals and after hours drinking. We put the up at motels in nearby Forest City, and had a bus to transport them to and from work. Jessica and I, with Bill and his wife Mindy, were happy to 'rough it' in the tranquil countryside for a few weeks, but to the extent that Forest City, population twenty thousand or so, represented civilization we wanted them have the opportunity to enjoy some of it.

The network of big ditches was joined to smaller ones which subdivided the small 40 acre sections into quarters. These were somewhat narrower and not as deep, but still hosted a considerable population of small aquitic and semi- aquatic life. Crawfish, or crawdads as we country folk called them, were abundant and we occasionally trapped a batch of them for parties. Bullfrogs were plentiful, and when I had time I would occasionally spend some time hunting them with a .22 rifle. Thoroughly illegal, but you could see a game warden coming a mile away out there.

I opened one of the gates that blocked the road to the interior and parked the truck just across the bridge. We spent the next several hours walking over the area, watching fish, birds, rabbits and other small wildlife. But eventually it was time to go, and well before dark we headed over to Brushy Lake.

Brushy Lake is a narrow strip, relatively speaking. Only a quarter mile wide and a mile long, the terrain varies considerably from one end to the other. At each end are what must have been Indian campgrounds or settlements of some sort - when I was young I picked up hundreds of arrowheads there. One of those areas was a hill overlooking the ancient riverbed that ran along the place for most of its length. After my father no longer used the land for farming he enclose the 80 acres or so with a levee and flooded it to a depth of close to ten feet. We stocked it with catfish, bass and crappie and often fished there. I still do when I have time.

There's no time now though. We to to the house long enough before dark to take an old Polaris Ranger for an inspection tour. We hadn't been there in over a month, but there were no signs of vandalism or of squatters, so we had a quiet dinner and went to bed. We'd take a longer look in the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day we dressed in light-weight outfits, with long trousers tucked into rubber boots. There was always mud in some places even in the summer, and ticks and other unwelcome crawling things everywhere. Chiggers were the worst, and we sprayed each other liberally with repellent. I didn't need to begin a mission dealing with that.

We each had a Glock 24 in vertical shoulder holsters, balanced with a pair of spare magazines on the side opposite the gun. They were not as heavy as the long-slide 1911-type .45s I had favored in earlier years, and the .40 was now the de facto replacement for the .45 ACP, as Colonel Cooper had intended back in the 1980s. That it came in the form of the .40 S&W instead of the 10mm was irrelevant. The ubiquitous Glocks ruled, and you went with what worked.

That there was a good selection of .40 caliber long guns was a plus. We each took a Ruger carbine that used the same magazines as the Glocks. They would handle any threat we might encounter. Except the human kind, and we were in no danger there. The area was sparsely populated and might have been attractive to derelict homo sapiens in another time, but these days they were all in another part of the country. Republic territory, whether in the cities or the country, is near as safe as most of the countr was sixty years ago. We might encounter a cougar, or perhaps a small bear, in the wooded areas but even one of those would not be resistant to our combined firepower.

A walk around the perimeter was two and a half miles, but our meandering route would take us further. By the time sunset was near we were ready for a rest. We were almost back to the house when the red phone rang.

I wasn't actually red, although it did have a small round sticker to make it readily identifiable among several other similar phones.

"Have a good rest?" Alex asked when I answered.

"Pretty good. What's up?"

"Ready to get back to work?"

"All set. You want to pick me up? I'm still at Brushy Lake."

"Yeah. You be ready tomorrow?"

"Noon OK? Have lunch with us?"

"Can do. See you then?"

"Do you think this is it?" Jessica asked.

"I suspect so. It has to be getting close."

"I know. All along I've been expecting it, thinking I was ready." she said. "Are you nervous?"

"Of course. We wouldn't be human if we weren't."

"You'll be away for quite while."

"Very likely. You'll be all right. Roger will be in on it, so Rebecca will be alone as well. We'll get messages through as often as we can, and at least one of you should hear from us regularly."

"Has he left already? I haven't talked to Rebecca lately. Maybe I'll go out there, or see if she wants to come out here."

"Good idea. It's not that far, you can spend some time at both places."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakfast was coffee and a couple of toaster pastries. We sat out on the front porch with a second cup before going in to prepare lunch. By the time Alex arrived a little before noon, and after lunch it was time to say goodbye. Jessica held me a little tighter than in our many partings in the past, and letting go was not as easy.

"Be safe." she said. "Both of you."

Alex had driven out in one of the old 1970s-vintage trucks many or us favored. The old Chevy was from a simpler time, with very little electronics. The engine design was relatively unchanged from the 1950s, and as long as parts were available would run as near to forever as any vehicle. I had a pair that my father had bought to use on the farm a few years before he retired from the business, and I had kept them for use in the country.

Alex drove to our estate where I prepared for the mission. Everything I needed would be provided, but some personal gear was preferred, especially weapons. I packed a couple of bags and we headed over to Alex's place.

"We have about an hour." Alex had finished a conversation with someone. I knew our transportation would arrive on the runway a couple of hundred yards from the house. Alex and I had been delivered there just a week earlier, returning from a mission that took us into east Tennessee. The newly liberated territory made access to the Carolinas easier - South Carolina was effectively already lost - and bases several hundreds of miles closer to the capital were now in use. We would be flying across Tennessee to one of these forward operating locations.

Alfred, Alex's major-domo, is not actually named Alfred. He is English, however, and the nickname was a running joke. He name is Hugh Dowling, once a member of the Yorkshire Regiment of the British Army. When he retired he could not get out of the U.K. fast enough. He had been shopping for land in the area when he meet Alex. After learning something of what Alex was about went to work for him.

In a manner of speaking. He had some money, and a military pension for what that was worth. But being a resourceful man, he had along the way acquired a bit of wealth. Serving in foreign parts, particularly during the constant adventures of the American and European hegemony that dominated the world until finally challenged by the Russia and China as the century progressed, offered a number of opportunities for acquisition.

As Alex and I knew well enough, during conflicts all sorts of valuable items became disassociated from their owners. Military equipment, including weapons, and supplies were commonly available. And currency, both the fiat currency at whatever its current value or the gold, silver, and gemstones used in the black markets, flowed freely.

The darker side of conflict commerce was ugly. Drugs of course, and people. Human trafficking was already common, and growing, in the rotten western societies and in the east where it had never ceased or even been mitigated. But we, and Hugh, stayed far from those types, only being aware of who and where they were so as to avoid contact.