Forgotten Forbidden America:: Patriots Reborn (28 page)

Running across the road, Nelson moved to the back side of the hill and eased around the building with a large parking lot that sat on top of the hill. Easing back into the trees, he heard laughter far off and engines crank up.

Slowly moving down the northeast side of the hill, he stopped just below the crest beside a boulder sticking out of the ground between two large trees. He looked over at the camp and saw two school buses pull back out on the highway and cross the bridge.

Getting to his knees behind the boulder, Nelson dropped his pack, watching the area. The building that was being used to monitor the roadblock looked like an office of some kind for the lodge. The lodge and building were both lit up with electricity, and he could hear the generators.

Leaning around the boulder, Nelson saw the buses dropping off people at the prison area and leave, heading back across the bridge. The buses pulled back into the area they left from, but there were too many trees for Nelson to see where they parked. From the sound alone, he knew they weren’t more than four of five hundred yards away.

Looking at the boulder he was hiding beside, Nelson pulled out a small, folding shovel from his rucksack. “Hope you don’t have a lot of friends around you,” he mumbled at the boulder and slowly and very quietly started digging. Off toward the camp, Nelson heard several women screaming.

***

As Nelson started digging, Gerald was moving around houses, closing in on the lodge the military was using for a camp. All the houses he saw and passed were empty and had been ransacked. Getting closer to where he heard the buses shut down, Gerald heard voices and slowed his pace to a crawl. Coming around a house, he saw a clump of trees and carefully moved across the backyard.

Stopping in the trees, Gerald saw a small field with rows of parked buses, and on the other side were rows of semi box trailers with their doors open and stairs at the doors. The last trailer in the row wasn’t a real box trailer; it was a shipping container mounted on a trailer frame. On the far side of the trailers was a large pile, but he couldn’t make out what it was. On this side of the row of trailers was a long horse trailer sitting next to four tanker trailers.

On two of the tanker trailers, a large letter D was painted on the side, and the other two had a large G.
Civilization falls, and you still have to account for idiots not to mix up gas and diesel,
Gerald thought. Wanting a closer look, he glanced around and eased around the edge of the field toward the trailers.

Beside the tankers were hundreds of fuel cans of various sizes with G or D painted on them. Reaching over, Gerald touched a few and felt they were empty. Moving under the box trailers, he duck walked under them to the other side and stopped, looking at a pile he couldn’t identify, and his jaw dropped open.

It was guns—a shit load, big ass pile of guns. Looking from one side of the pile to the other, he guessed it was fifty yards and an easy fifteen feet tall in the center. “Only in America. Too bad the people didn’t get to use them,” he sighed. “Their plan worked pretty damn well for separating people from their guns.” Studying the pile, he saw it was mainly civilian hunting rifles, hunting shotguns, and muzzle loaders with a lot of revolvers.

Glancing around, he eased out from under the trailer, moving to the back, and eased up the steps and stopped to stare at the stacks of rifles and boxes in the trailer. Unlike those on the ground, these were ARs, AKs, and other civilian copies of military rifles. In other stacks were fighting shotguns and precision rifles. Peeking in a box, he saw it was filled with semi-automatic pistols. “Hate to rain on their parade, but the pile outside is just as deadly as the ones in here,” Gerald mumbled. “I’ve trained people to fight with both.”

Hearing Duke give a low growl, Gerald spun around and eased out on the steps. On the other side of the field, he saw two soldiers walking side by side. He dropped down and moved under the trailers with Duke beside him.

The soldiers walked to the middle of the field, looked around, then walked back toward the highway.
Bet they are from that guard post at the checkpoint,
Gerald thought as they walked out of sight. Against his better judgment, he eased back out and moved to the next trailer and saw it was stacked with cardboard boxes.

Stepping in, he saw at the end of each box, a caliber was written. He looked in the first box and saw boxes of ammo like you bought in stores. Glancing back at the small aisle down the middle, Gerald shook his head at all the ammo they had pulled out of houses.

Moving from trailer to trailer, he found another loaded with ammo and another with guns like the first, two loaded with canned food, and one with toiletries. Another three loaded with boxes and bags of food while another held boots and shoes. Getting sick to his stomach with the knowledge that a lot of this was pulled from homes, Gerald moved over to the last one and eased up the steps then froze in his tracks.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he moaned, looking at the clear plastic bins stacked floor to ceiling with, like all the others, an aisle down the middle. He could see gold coins in one box. The box above it held gold necklaces, and the box above that one held gold rings. Looking at the end, he saw the hand-written label like all the others. Moving down the aisle, he saw silverware, gold watches, gold rings, bonds, stocks, silver coins, and precious stones. He stopped and stared at all the stuff and realized he didn’t see cash.

Quickly climbing out, he moved to the horse trailer and found it held boxes of gold, silver and jewels. “Bet anything this trailer is for the group here,” he mumbled and moved past the row of trailers into a row of shrubs. Kneeling down, he pulled out a notebook and made a sketch of the area and labeled it. Putting the notebook away, he moved up toward the lodge, stopping well away from the fence.

He could see a few soldiers walking around, drinking. When he saw two men dressed like contractors, wearing dark polo shirts with khaki tactical pants with body armor, Gerald fought the urge to bring up his rifle and shoot them. Seeing the hill Nelson was set up on across the highway, he eased back and followed the river south.

When he was far enough away from the camp, Gerald eased out into the river, sucking in a breath from the cold water. Pushing off, Gerald slowly swam across as Duke swam past him. “Yeah, but I’m carrying a lot of shit, Duke,” he growled in a low voice as Duke left him behind. Thankful for the air trapped in his rucksack, Gerald prodded along.

Getting out on the other bank, he moved through the trees until he reached the road that paralleled the river. “Wonder why they call it Brown Road?” he mumbled, following it south. After walking for a mile, Gerald pulled out his map and looked up where a ridge sprang up on the side of the road, running up into the forest.

“Hope we can get the buggies through that, or this fight is going to suck ass,” he said, patting Duke and walking off the road, following the ridgeline up.

Chapter Fourteen

Nelson sat in his foxhole, watching the camp and prison area and refining his notes. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was exactly 10 p.m. and continued writing as Zeus sat beside him in his hole. Sitting on his rucksack, Nelson could see over the piles of dirt through the glass he had brought down out of the building behind him.

After digging his hole the night before, Nelson looked down at the building where the troops manned the checkpoint to see a man wearing tan pants step out and raise his rifle, scanning around. Seeing the man move his rifle off the road to his hill, Nelson dove face-first in his foxhole. The only part that the man could really pick out would be his head and hands, but Nelson wasn’t going to take a chance.

He eased his head up and peeked around the boulder and noticed the man was aiming at him, making Nelson jerk back. With his back to the boulder, Nelson saw Zeus looking at him, panting and sitting on the edge of the foxhole. “Oh shit,” said, grabbing a stick and tossing it up the hill. “Zeus, find and stay.”

Watching Zeus run up the hill, Nelson peeked back around the boulder and saw the man laughing as he lowered his rifle. When the man walked back inside, Nelson crawled out, heading to the building at the top. He found several small windows and used his knife to remove the glass. Taking the sheets of glass, he carried them to the foxhole and shoved them in the piles of dirt around the forward lip.

Then he pulled out his sniper tarp and covered his hole and the glass, using sticks to prop it up. Before dawn, he moved over the hillside, gathering dead leaves and digging up small plants and finished camouflaging his sniper hide. He knew he had done a good job when he walked by it, not seeing his position as he carried an armful of dead leaves.

Looking back up in his binoculars, Nelson rechecked his drawings. Hearing a small moan from Zeus, he looked down. “Hey, I’ve got to piss too, so shut it,” Nelson whispered. “It’s not fair when the other side has cool toys too.”

Zeus just looked up at him with sad eyes. “Oh alright,” Nelson sighed, packing his gear away. After looking around, he shoved the rucksack out and lifted up the back edge of the tarp. “Out and sit,” he whispered. Zeus crouched down and leapt out of the foxhole.

Looking back at the prison and camp, Nelson made sure nobody saw Zeus then climbed out. Making sure his snipe hide was covered, Nelson put on his rucksack and moved up the hill. Taking his hand off his AR, Nelson lightly tapped his leg, making Zeus move to his side and match his pace.

Reaching the top, they both moved off to pee. Feeling much lighter, Nelson watched Zeus move over to him and started walking down the back side of the hill. Since he was ahead of schedule, he moved closer to several houses behind the hill.

They were all empty and ransacked, but in a shed behind one, he saw a nice four-wheeler. Easing over, he saw the keys in it and turned it, smiling when the small lights came on with a full tank of gas. Moving back to the side of the house, Nelson passed a nice Lexus and noticed the fuel tank door was open. Investigating, he saw the fuel cap lying on the ground. “They jacked the fuel?”

Moving across the road, he saw other houses that were ransacked, and every car or truck he came across had its fuel door opened. “There is no way in hell they are that short of fuel that fast,” he mumbled then headed toward the highway.

Stopping at the tree line and not seeing anything, Nelson took off running. Bursting into the trees on the other side, Nelson stopped and tried to slow his breathing. Looking up at the steep ravine he had to climb, Nelson groaned and headed up.

When Nelson reached the top, he looked at his watch and saw he still had half an hour before midnight. “Let’s eat, Zeus,” he said, moving to the back door. Walking in, Nelson stopped, looking at all the shit now on the floor.

“It was bad but not this bad,” he said, trying to move through the shit without making too much noise.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he saw Gerald standing in the hall. “How do you like Ronald’s detection system?”

“Pretty damn good,” Nelson said, letting his AR hang across his body. “I thought they had come and ransacked the house again.”

Seeing Nelson about to start taking off gear, Gerald held up his hand. “Hold on, we are moving to the basement so we can compare notes.”

“I have to walk through that shit again?”

Gerald shook his head. “How in the hell do you think I got up here?”

“You two could’ve met me downstairs,” Nelson snapped.

As Ronald walked out carrying his rucksack and gear, Gerald pointed to the room Nelson had slept in. “Grab those blankets so we can cover the windows.”

Letting out a huff, Nelson walked in and grabbed an armful of blankets off the bed. Walking back to the hall, he followed Gerald and Ronald down to the basement. Moving over to one side that was walled off, Nelson followed them through a door and grinned. “A man cave,” he said, looking at the remnants of what was left.

“Yeah, it used to be a nice one,” Ronald said, setting his stuff on a velvet-covered, wooden, octagonal card table.

Dropping the blankets, Nelson saw the monster TV screen still intact and looked around and saw an open safe on the wall that had been hidden behind a painting. “Motherfuckers are persistent,” he said, dropping his rucksack beside the card table. “Guys, you’re not going to believe this, but they are siphoning the gas out of cars.”

“Hey, I can take you to the tankers they are pouring them in,” Gerald said, dropping his rucksack and grabbing a blanket.

“Gerald, there is no way they are short of fuel this far in,” Nelson cried out, grabbing a comforter and covering another window.

“Nelson, quit thinking like a person, and think like those fascist pigs,” Gerald said, folding the blanket up and covering the window again, tucking in the edges.

“Um,” Nelson hummed as he looked off, trying to think of a reason, any reason. “I’m at a loss, they have huge stores to rely on and are being resupplied. They don’t need to stockpile.”

“Nelson, if they remove the fuel people can get to easily, they stop movement. When people are out of fuel, they will have to go to the government to get more or move by foot,” Gerald said, inspecting his work on the window. “They have manpower. Granted it’s forced labor, but they have manpower for that medial task, and they are doing it. For every gallon they take away, someone has to look harder for more. They aren’t taking it to use it, they are taking so we can’t.”

Slumping his shoulders with a sigh, Nelson looked at the window he had covered. “This devious thinking shit gives me a headache,” he groaned.

After they covered the windows, Gerald headed outside to make sure no light escaped. Satisfied, he headed back in and found Nelson and Ronald sitting at the card table with an electric lantern hanging off the overhead light. They were laying out notebooks.

“Hold on, guys, I have to get out of this cooking suit,” Gerald said, stripping off his ghillie suit.

Jumping up, Nelson started pulling off his. “Yes, that is a great idea.” Nelson dropped his suit then pulled off his tactical vest, tossing it on a coffee table. Nelson didn’t stop until he was barefoot, wearing a tank top and his multicam pants.

“There is a lot of glass around here, Nelson,” Ronald said, looking at Nelson’s feet. Smiling, Nelson dug in his rucksack and pulled out a pair of flip flops. “And I used to yell at my troops when they packed more than one book. Shit, you pack for a vacation.”

“Girly man has to have comforts,” Gerald laughed, sitting down and looking at the drawings Ronald and Nelson had made. “Holy shit guys, we just needed sketches, not works of art.”

Looking over at the sheets in front of Gerald, Nelson smiled at the squares and rectangles labeled with lines for fences and circles for trees. “I don’t like labeling my work; I like others to see what the hell it is,” Nelson grinned.

“Eat me, punk,” Gerald snapped as Nelson looked over, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Those trailers are loaded with stuff from the patrols?” Nelson asked.

“Hell yeah, and you wouldn’t believe the shit,” Gerald said and explained what he found in the trailers. “I know they are collecting cash, but I didn’t see any,” he finished, pointing at the empty safe on the wall.

“Oh, they are burning the money and playing poker with it in the guardhouse by the checkpoint and the tent beside the prison,” Nelson said, and they looked up at him in shock. “I wanted to know why in the hell they needed a burning barrel going. It isn’t cold.”

Ronald looked down at Nelson’s drawings and noticed several of the camp, prison, and guardhouse all from different angles. “You left the hill you were on?”

“Well, how else can I do recon if I don’t move my ass?” Nelson asked, shaking his head.

“I had thermal on that site all night last night and again after the relief passed by tonight until Gerald got here at ten. How did you cross over without me seeing you? Did you go under the bridge?”

“Hell no, I went over it,” Nelson said, grabbing a picture from the stack that showed a view of the prison from the bridge and another of the camp from the bridge.

“Your hands and face aren’t covered by that thermal blocking shit, and that handheld thermal can pick up a human target at three thousand meters. That’s almost three miles. That bridge is only a mile away,” Ronald said in wonder. “I saw something on the bridge around 3 a.m. last night, but it didn’t look like a human shape, just a blob that was almost the same heat as the bridge.”

“Oh, I have mittens for my hands,” Nelson said. “I just make sure my hood is pulled over really well, and that’s about the time I was on there. I was moving real slow, so I’m sure the heat off the road covered me pretty good.”

“Nelson,” Gerald asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squinted his eyes closed tight. “Why in the hell did you leave your spot?”

“Hello,” Nelson said, raising his hands. “Recon and I can’t recon unless I move around to get the entire picture.”

“That’s why there are three of us,” Gerald said, releasing his nose and opening his eyes.

“Hey, I didn’t go into your area much,” Nelson said. “I really wanted to know what they were laughing about as they threw stuff in that barrel. Then I realized there weren’t many young females in the prison area and only a few pretty MILFs. I heard screaming from the lodge, so after the camp, I eased over the bridge and went over the fence. I found forty-three chained up in what looks like a restaurant for the lodge. I know there’s more because of how many screams I heard coming from the rooms.”

Gerald and Ronald just stared at him with wide open mouths as Nelson dug out a drawing of the lodge from the back, showing all three landings with the doors leading to rooms. Like all his others, it was in exquisite detail. Gerald really wanted to frame the drawings. “The doors that I have a red X on I know are occupied. I tried getting a count of the women when they brought them out in the morning, but the guards that were on that night were pulling more out. My best guess is seventy to eighty.”

Shaking his head to clear the shock, Gerald looked down at his notes. “How many troops did you count?”

“Oh, that was an easy one,” Nelson said, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Seventy-eight troops and eight Homeland contractors.”

Gerald raised out of his chair, looking at the sheet of paper, and noticed columns of names with rank and unit patches. At the far bottom corner was a description of the eight agents. “You wrote down names and rank?”

“Well yeah, it lets me know how much experience is there,” Nelson said, looking up. “That isn’t one unit. It’s  just a group of soldiers from regular Army, Reserve, and National Guard units from three different states. Hell, they even have three airmen with them. I don’t know Air Force patches,” Nelson said, showing Gerald the list.

“I saw a second lieutenant. Did you see anyone higher ranking?” Gerald asked.

“Yeah, a captain,” Nelson said, looking at his list. “Captain Woodrow from the 1
st
Infantry Division.”

“You know all the unit patches?” Ronald asked, taking the list.

“Hey buddy, as an MP, you better know unit patches when you bust up a fight,” Nelson snapped.

“How many prisoners inside the prison wire?” Gerald asked.

“Three hundred and forty-four. Two hundred and fifty-three were removed for that reclamation patrol,” Nelson said, looking down at another sheet of paper. “As far as guards go, they drive a Humvee east at seven the same time one heads here for the lookout down the road, so I’m thinking they have a lookout to the east as well. That’s twenty troops for both lookouts for both twelve-hour shifts. The checkpoint guardhouse has five for both shifts as well but also two Homeland agents. During the day at the prison, there are three guards and at night, six. That’s thirty-nine total. When they roll out with the reclamation patrol, thirty-two troops move out with them along with three agents. I have no idea what the seven troops left over do unless they rotate out with the others. The other agent just moves around the camp. He’s seems to be in charge. Black hair, six-foot-six, about two forty.”

Jumping up out of his chair, Gerald glared at Nelson. “Why in the hell didn’t you join the teams?”

“Ah, I wasn’t re upping for another six years, dog,” Nelson said. “I saw which way the wind was blowing and didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. Going on missions only to turn the ground gained back over. Getting yelled at by Washington for returning fire and killing bad guys or worse, having to radio back to get permission to fire when people were shooting at your ass.”