Chapter 7 xhvbapibxakogqjoslilvhvvquvfuvbmqulmtmbozcxlkzlrfgxndoovsab Matthew led the group out to a group of Bobcats, small off-road vehicles, and they boarded three of them, with Matthew taking the wheel of one while the twins assumed the driver position of the other two. The remainder of the group found seats and they were off. Myles noticed that the vehicles had smooth tires with a shallow diamond tread, like lawn maintenance equipment. He guessed they were going off-road but not into rough terrain. Indeed, they traveled on smooth roads of crushed rock and eventually into a wide green field of closely cut grass. Myles could see a small group of men on horseback, with what looked like a couple of wagons, each pulled by a pair of mules. They stopped and exited the vehicles, and Matthew led them over to the group. As they came close, Myles could see that most of them were young men, boys really, about fourteen or so. Matthew confirmed this as they stopped a short distance away. "These are some junior high boys," he said. "Fourteen to sixteen years old. At sixteen it's time for them to begin working with adults for most of their training. "They'll be doing some horsemanship exercises and later some target practice," he continued, "hence the wagons. Weapons, targets, and lunch. Later they'll be hiking through the woods for a few hours." There was some sort of activity among a small group of the riders, a couple of them pointing at something out in the field. The adult supervisors went over to take a look. Shading his eyes from the sun, Myles could see some sort of small animal which seemed to be the object of their attention. "Armadillo" said Matthew. "Unfortunately they've moved further north in recent years. Not only a rather vile creature, but they're always digging up the place. Not as bad as a skunk or possum, but that's not saying much. All pests get short shrift around here." As he spoke, one of the men handed a rifle to one of the boys. They moved closer and Myles could hear the conversation. "Can you make a head shot from here?" the man asked. "We'd rather not make a mess." The rifle was a .30 caliber carbine, a small military rifle that had remained in service well into the Indochina conflicts. The straight-walled cartridge was, for military use, usually loaded with a 110 grain bullet which would exit the muzzle at around 2,000 feet per second. The ammunition in use here would have been manufactured locally, probably with a slightly lighter bullet with a flattened nose. At what seemed to Myles to be a range of perhaps sixty to seventy yards, it would certainly penetrate the armadillo's shell, but would likely scatter armadillo parts around. That would make disposal of the dead animal less enjoyable. Not that it mattered. Being able to make a head shot was a matter of pride, and none of the boys would evade the challenge. Nor would the adults, thought Myles, with witnesses. Marksmanship was a matter of pride in any freehold. The boy shouldered the rifle and sighted it on the animal, which was walking around digging in the turf. If he missed there wouldn't be a second chance - a startled armadillo could move fast. He watched it for a short time, calculating the time it was still while it had its nose in the ground, and fired. The animal fell over without so much as a twitch. Several of the boys got shovels from one of the wagons and went out to bury the armadillo. "Don't want it lying around to attract scavengers." said Matthew. The burial finished, they rode around the field for a while, practicing riding fast in a close group, performing various maneuvers. Many of the freeholders, where sufficient real estate was available, maintained large numbers of horses and practiced equestrian exercises. The mules and wagons were also a common presence. Like the horses, they were a preparation for possible time when motorized vehicles might become unavailable or travel across areas with no roads might be come necessary. After watching for a while, they returned to Matthew's office for some final discussions before retiring for the night. They planned to visit the other freehold, Tango Zulu, in the morning. Sir Walter and Myles then repaired to their rooms. Myles found that he was quite tired, and fell asleep immediately. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The drive to Tango Zulu was not much over an hour, and they again took a convoy of three vehicles. Arizona was a relatively safe place for their activities, with a conservative government and the considerable influence of their wealthy backers there was, at least for the time being, not much need for security outside the freehold territories. Tango Zulu, like Alpha Romeo One, occupied a large area. Twelve sections of mixed grassland, forest and near desert made up the freehold territory - three miles by four miles. Formerly part of a large ranch dating back to the days before the first steam trains, it was one of the parts inherited by the founder's descendants. Near the end of his life, twenty or so years earlier, he had set up a trust to transfer the property to his only son with minimal tax penalties. The son would become the founder of the freehold, and he was waiting to greet them when they arrived. Joshua Harrison was a rather ordinary-looking man of about forty. On the short side of average height, he was nevertheless wiry and athletic, and had the look of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors and worked with his hands. He wore moderately faded jeans and a khaki shirt of the sort Myles favored, with a black cowboy hat. The had had a flat crown and brim, a style often called a gunfighter hat. He might well have been an old west gunfighter, wearing a pair of pistols in hip holsters. They were large-frame double action revolvers, with plain wooden grips worn and discolored as if from much use. He was accompanied by a pair of younger men, with an ex-military look to them. Mid to late twenties, Myles judged. After the introductions they went inside and the now sizable group assembled in a conference room. Joshua had sketched a couple of large maps on portable whiteboards, and went to stand by them. "We have some men on the ground over near Penn Creek," he began. "From a tactical perspective, it's a good setup. As you know, this community is a small clearing on the edge of a scrubby forest. Several thousand acres burned off about fifteen years ago or so, and there's practically no traffic out there, which is probably why the commune chose it. We hope to get a number of rooms rented at motels in several small towns around there, as well as on at the intersection of I-66 and I-39. There are a lot of motels around there. We should be able to disperse our men sufficiently they won't be noticed, at least by the locals. "Once the operation is imminent, we'll assemble our force in the forest a mile or so out, if necessary camping overnight. We can keep them under surveillance until the government force starts doing whatever they are going to do." He paused. "Sound good so far?" "Looks good" said Sir Andrew. "As long as we all remember that battle plans are irrelevant once the engagement begins. We have no idea how they will initiate the raid, or how they will react when we intervene. Effective communication with our men, with their ability to react quickly, is essential. "There seem to be a number of former military men among both forces." he continued. "This should put us in a good position to present the disciplined presentation we will need. We'll be reacting to whatever is happening, which always puts one at a disadvantage. Quick, clear communication with the force leaders is essential. "Matthew and I have organized our men into 25-man squads. I'm guessing you'll divide your men the same way? he said, looking at Sir Walter. "Correct," said Sir Walter. "Eight squads should give us the flexibility to handle pretty much anything that comes up. I would guess, and hope to be right, that they will show up with a two or three lightly armored vehicles, and a truckload or two of men. There aren't likely to be more than a couple hundred people there, including children. They most likely will consider even a few dozen men to be overkill. They'd be right, if we weren't there. "So we'll need several anti-tank units - we're bringing enough, but if you want to send one or two, better too much than not enough. And presumably all our men are up to the usual marksmanship standards, so dealing with the personnel on an individual basis shouldn't be a problem." Myles suspected they were all expert marksmen and then some. He had just seen a teenaged boy shoot an armadillo in the head at sixty yards or so. Not a difficult feat with an good rifle and scope, but still a very small target for an offhand shot at that range. Experienced men with superior equipment would likely be more that adequate. "John at Sierra Delta has a handful of AT360s," said Matthew. New ones, with a good supply of ammunition. He's sending two teams. So we're at a fairly impressive overkill factor, if you're right about their equipment." "I hope I am," said Sir Walter. "And I won't ask how they got them." Matthew grinned. "Interestingly, they haven't been missed, because officially they don't exist. We've had some success at infiltrating the manufacturer. You'd be surprised at how sympathetic some of the corporate types are. Or perhaps not." "I suspect time is running short," said Sir Walter. He had been looking at the table computer on his knee as he talked. He nodded toward the whiteboards. "It looks like you've done some recon work." "Right, then" said Matthew. "As you know, the community is a small clearing of about forty acres, cut out of the large forest along Highway 163. It's a state highway, not heavily travelled - locals going between the smaller towns and the larger cities in the area, along with some truck traffic. It's a good road, smooth with wide lanes and shoulders. "The area itself is square, so at forty acres it's about a quarter mile wide and deep. There are about twenty or so houses, small but well built. They're kind of like some of those sects, Quakers, Mennonites, and so on, who live very simple and quiet lives. They don't reject technology - they have cars, electricity and pretty much everything other people do. They don't seem to be rigidly religiously based, they just like to live with people like them and to be left alone. "There is a church, which most or all of them seem to attend on Sundays. No sign of meetings on other days. And there are a handful of metal barns, the quick-build ones you see all over the place. A few small mobile homes and travel trailers, in neat rows further back. The buildings only occupy about ten or so acres. The back part of the area is mostly gardens and orchards, with a few acres fenced. Some goats and poultry - they seem to be largely self-sufficient in food production. "There are two entrances from the highway." Matthew was now pointing to one of the maps. "About as wide as a two lane road, the ditch is fairly wide and deep, with two large culverts under each drive. We must hope they don't decide to come in through the woods." "Quite unlikely" said Sir Andrew. "They don't have that kind of creativity. And they want to put on a show for the cameras. Where do you expect the, ah, journalists to be?" "The is a hayfield across the road." Matthew replied. "It was cut recently, a lot of the bales haven't been moved yet. The grass is maybe knee high. Most likely the television trucks and other vehicles will be parked over there. It would seem they will probably drive their armored vehicles and troop trucks into the two driveways, blocking them, and then do whatever they intend to do. This is for public consumption, and they like incendiary affairs for that." "Given that there are some solidly credentialed psychos and sociopaths in high positions now, I'm not optimistic about it being easy." said Sir Walter. We've all seen what they do. There are some well-documented reports about a lot of killing around New York, people violating curfews, arguing with cops, and so on. There is no longer anything resembling accountability, especially at the federal level. Even out here in the hinterlands you have people being made to disappear for saying things they shouldn't. Which should give us an idea of what they'll to to us once they get an idea of what we're doing." "They'll certainly try" said Matthew. "But that's what we're here for. We always knew it was likely to get bad before the end. "It's getting late. We should get an early start for Sierra Delta tomorrow. Dinner should be about ready, with maybe time for a drink before bed." They got up and followed Matthew to the dining room. A pair of staff opened the doors and they went in. "It should be about fifteen minutes or so," one of them said. "Time for a drink if you wish." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After dinner Matthew's people got the now sizable group to their quarters in a guest wing of his house. Myles suddenly realized how tired he was, and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a day or two. But he held out long enough for a quick shower, and was asleep in seconds after lying down. Unfortunately, his mind was not cooperating. Normally he was not troubled by bad dreams, aside from the usual nightmares about snakes, drowning, or the other usual horrors. Tonight, however, a series of dark vignettes chased each other through his mind, vivid as real life. He relived the assassination of the old politician days earlier. As before, he watched the target slump and fall to the slate floor, and quickly packed his gear and departed. But this time, as he arrived on the ground floor he was met not by his assistants, but a large group of black-clad men. He dropped the rifle case and tried to draw his handgun, but they were too close and swarmed over him and quickly pinned him to the floor. He awoke, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead, his pajamas damp, and the pillow as well. He resisted the urge to get up and look for a towel, turned the pillow over, and quickly fell asleep again. He was back at his own home now, having just awakened. On the bed behind him Sarah was still sleeping. He walked over to one of the windows and looked out over the meadow beyond. The perimeter fence was about four hundred yards away, almost a quarter mile. He opened the doors and walked out onto the balcony. This part of the house had only two floors, but was raised considerably above the surrounding terrain, and he had a good view of the back side of the estate. Looking to his left he could just see the road to the main gate, and the gatehouse, where two or three cars were usually parked, and security personnel could regularly be seen coming and going. As he looked at the gate he could see a large vehicle approaching. A truck, he thought. Before he had time to wonder if it was one of his vehicles or a delivery, another appeared behind it. They were painted flat black. Military vehicles, he thought. A third one appeared just as the first one passed through the gate. They were M60 APCs, he could now see. Half a dozen men inside, gun ports on the sides and a heavy gun on top - usually a machine gun or an automatic grenade launcher. Or a flamethrower, he thought. Like the commune at Salem Heights. A fourth vehicle arrived, with the guns laying down covering fire while the men emerged with rifles. He saw Frank and several men running out, armed only with rifles, unaware of the number of attackers or their location and armament. He saw Frank go down and lie without moving, as others fell around him. Over the forest beyond the perimeter he saw a black military helicopter, followed by another. A halo of smoke appeared in front of one of its missile launch tubes, followed by a flash of flame as the missile cleared the tube. A second missile followed from the other side. He awoke again, this time without the sudden spasm of alarm. He opened his eyes and looked into the darkness, looking for any light. The room was well blacked out, but a faint light was visible at the bottom of the door. Another bit of light emanated from the bathroom. He knew there was a night light in there. Calm slowly returned, and he lay quietly. Never able to sleep on his back, in what he called the coffin position, he always lay on one side, usually with one arm under the pillow and the other on top. He often switched sides several times during the night, and wanted to do so now, but didn't yet want to move. Interrupt the routine, he thought. Stay awake for a while. You've just started a civil war - why wouldn't you be spooked. It's just beginning to hit you. I don't want to sleep again. But slowly fatigue did its work, and he closed his eyes again, but not intentionally. This time he didn't know where he was. Not at home, not at the freehold. The men in black were back. They had Sarah and were dragging her out the door to a waiting car. This time they didn't seem to want him so much. He had the big .45 pistol in his hand, firing at the ones who weren't close to Sarah. One went down, and another. A couple of them opened up with their M18s, bullets splintering the door frame behind him as he ran out, amazed he hadn't been hit yet. But running seemed more like walking now, as he saw Sarah pushed into the back of one of the black cars. The remainder of the men, those still living anyway, got into the cars and departed, leaving their dead and wounded behind. The last thing he saw was Sarah's terrified face, with the big bearded man holding her arms behind her and laughing maniacally. This time he didn't sleep again. He checked the time on his phone. It was almost 0300. They would probably get up at about 0530 anyway, so he got up and began to prepare for departure, then sat down in one of the big chairs. If he dozed off again, he thought, maybe he wouldn't dream. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Shortly after breakfast they left for Sierra Delta, the final stop before deploying to Penn Creek. With the increasing proximity to serious action, the cars left at intervals and took different routes. A little over an hour later they converged at Sierra Delta. The leader , John Bradford greeted them, accompanied by his own second in command, a younger man but not as young as Myles and the MacDonald twins. His name was Roger Morris, and he looked to be in his late thirties. He also resembled John enough to be his son. Both he and John were outdoors types, average height and build, weathered and strong. Myles knew John was a native of Arizona, and like Sir Andrew, he was a third-generation rancher. He had built the freehold site in the middle of the thousands of acres of grazing land, and left some of the cattle ranch in operation. Since many of the freehold members were from the west, there was no shortage of men to manage the livestock. John had been moving his men into position since the plan had been devised. They had gone in pairs, traveling in inconspicuous off-road trucks which blended easily with the local traffic. Sir Andrew's men and those from Mike Charlie were also arriving, and the leaders all had synchronized databases on their computers showing where they were. "Just about all are in place," said John as they reviewed the information. "It looks like just a few of the Mike Charlie men are still in transit, with arrival expected by tonight." "None too soon, it appears," said Sir Walter. "We're getting indications of increased activity around the federal building in Prescott." Prescott was the state capital and the only large city, with a population of just over one and a third million. Only a couple of other cities made the hundred thousand mark, with the remainder of the state's three million or so residents scattered among some small cities and towns, and only a few in the rural areas. "In addition to the government activity, which looks like mostly FBI with some DEA and Secret Service thrown in," Sir Walter continued. "Most likely we can expect one or two personnel from each of various other agencies. The DEA and Secret Service will be involved in case they need to fabricate a case of drug trafficking or illegal weapons, or something similar. "In addition, we have reports from a couple of informants in the news business. One is one of our people at NBS, the other is a paid informant who does good work. Apparently there is considerable buzz at NBS, but details haven't leaked yet. It seems, though, they are expecting a major scoop shortly. "The paid source is in Prescott, where all the major news organizations have offices. He indicates they have some TV trucks and other vehicles on standby. Prescott is only a couple of hours away, so they will likely send crews from there, rather than depending on a local affiliate this far out. So it looks rather like we may about to see some action." "If we're ready to move, then we should probably start as soon as possible," said Sir Andrew. "Is everyone ready?" "All ready here," said John. "I'm guessing you all are as well?" "We're all set." said Sir Walter. "The sooner we get there the better. If the news organizations are on standby they are expecting the signal to go soon, and are just being careful not to show up too early. The affair at Stony Ridge was so ridiculous you would think people would see through it. They had news crews out there the day before the scheduled raid, then they didn't have the good sense to call it off. Which Shows how confident they are of getting away with anything." "Well", said Matthew. "That's what we're setting out to fix. This is the real thing. I know the operation that precipitated this required careful planning and execution, but this is much less predictable, and capable of being even more bloody. Let's hope this phase at least doesn't get too messy." Myles took the opportunity to observe the reactions of the younger men. The older men, particularly Sir Walter and Sir Walter with their combat experience, would be calm no matter what the circumstances, if only to reassure the younger men. Jeff and Joey were unreadable - military experience was probably partly responsible. Justin and Roger looked calm as well, but Myles wondered if they were feeling what he was. Hours from now they might be in the chaos of close quarters combat, and neither he nor they had ever experienced anything like that. The assassination he had carried out earlier had been stressful for more than one reason, but it was a controlled situation. He wondered if they had had dreams like the ones he had had.