Trace of survival trilog.., p.7
Trace of Survival Trilogy, page 7
If you think we were stealing by taking their things, you would be wrong. There was no longer any production of goods and clothing that we would need to survive. Scavenging or salvaging was now necessary. They no longer had a need for their stuff. We or good people we helped would need these things.
While Zimmer and Eastland found a good spot where they could hide the Humvee and watch the road, Reggie and I familiarized ourselves with the MRAP. It wasn’t difficult to operate. Reggie had used one in the sandbox years before. He showed me the controls. There were several belts of ammo for the .50 cal. Total number of rounds was about 400. We loaded our three Keltecs and Berettas with ammo for them, and a case of MREs. Before we left, I thought of something.
“Reggie, this thing has a top-of-the-line GPS system in it. Can that be used to track us?” I asked.
“That’s right,” he replied, remembering that also. “Let’s get it out and leave it here. No doubt the NSA can feed tracking info to DHS from the satellites they control. I’m sure they’re part of the DHS system now.”
After that was accomplished, we were ready to roll. I couldn’t operate the M2 with my injured hand, but I could drive. I took some pain killers from my first-aid kit to help control the pain, and wrapped the finger so I could still use my hand. Reggie manned the M2 in the turret. We radioed Zimmer and Eastland with a hand-held we were using. They were in place so they could over watch the Trace bridge approach. It was time. We rolled out.
5
As I headed the MRAP over the bridge, Reggie broke out a couple of MREs and opened them. He handed me one so I could eat while I was driving. Also opened a couple of waters for us. As we neared the high point of the bridge, he test-fired the .50 cal out over the water. We had headsets on and plugged in the intercom for the truck. He warned me before he fired. As we were leaving the bridge on the south side, we could see the parking lot of a boat launch to our right. We stopped briefly, and Reg glassed it with his binoculars. There were several dozen autos but no people.
“Isaiah,” he observed. “I think this is where they are putting the vehicles they seize when they detain people to put in the detention camps.”
“Most likely,” I replied. “Let’s keep moving.”
A few miles south of the bridge, we exited the Trace onto Highway 72. This would take us through Cherokee, and into Tuscumbia. This was where Josh and his family lived. As we drove through Cherokee, we saw smoke coming from a few houses, but we saw no people. My guess was they were hiding from the MRAP we were in, thinking we were DHS.
As dawn approached, we neared the Tuscumbia city limits. Fortunately, there were no road blocks. I called my son on the two-way we were using. “Joshua, you there?”
“Right here, Dad,” came back immediately. “We are ready to go.”
“Good,” I replied. “We’re getting close. The vehicle we are in will surprise you. I will back up to your garage door. Reggie’s with me. He will open a hatch for you to use. I will radio, and you and the family need to open the garage door quickly, start throwing your bags to us to put in the truck, and then get in so we can close up and get out of here.”
“Great,” he said. “But hurry. I can see military cargo trucks on our street, about two blocks down from us. I’m watching with a telescope. They’re forcing people out of their homes. I saw one woman and her husband come out of their house with pistols firing at the soldiers. The soldiers shot them down with machine guns, I think. Please hurry.”
“Hang on,” I told him. “We’re almost there.”
I gunned the accelerator as I made the turn into one of the residential areas near Josh, made several turns, and was on Josh’s street in minutes. As I pulled up and backed into his drive, I saw the DHS cargo truck a block and a half away. They were accompanied by two black Hummer2s.
I stopped and told Reggie to open the back hatch and get ready to help them get loaded. I called Josh and told him to open the door and get out of the house.
As they were loading their bags, I heard a radio call on the DHS radio frequency. “Unidentified MRAP on Maple Street. Who are you and what are you doing? I can see you are loading into your rear hatch. ID yourself and your mission immediately.”
I ignored them as I was stowing bags that were being tossed in by Reggie and Josh. After the bags and a few boxes of assorted food and gear, they and the others climbed in quickly. They also had a dog; a Lab named Sallie. She jumped in behind the others. As I looked toward the DHS vehicles, I saw the two H2s head our way.
“Reg, get on the .50 quickly! We got a problem!” I shouted.
“Not for long,” he shouted back. “I’m on it!”
As I put the MRAP in gear and started out of the drive, the H2s pulled in front of the drive to block us. I swerved to the right into the grass, as I heard the .50 cal cut loose above me. The kids and women in back of me screamed. Josh had climbed into the passenger seat beside me.
Reg tracked the rounds of the .50 into one H2 and then the other. Apparently, they weren’t very well armored. They were soon riddled with holes and were occupied by dead and dying DHS troops. Kevlar helmets and vest plates won’t stop a .50 cal round. I clipped one H2 as I pulled out, and it was thrown against the other. Reg swiveled the .50 to the back as we drove away and kept firing. He must have punctured a gas tank and caused some sparks. The H2s were suddenly a ball of fire. If anyone was still alive in them, they were quickly roasted.
“Let’s get outa this town, Isaiah!” Reggie hollered as he stopped firing.
We backtracked to Highway 72 and went west. As we were headed out of town, we heard radio traffic from the DHS.
The cargo truck radioed its HQ and informed them as to what had just happened. Their HQ replied, “We have something to take care of them. Don’t know who it is. Satellite is not tracking an MRAP in your area. We’re sending a new team to accompany you on your mission.”
********
We drove out of town and were nearing Cherokee when Reggie thought he saw something in the sky.
“Oh, crap,” he uttered. “Something’s in the air and headed our way.”
“Any idea what it is?” I asked.
“Not yet. Just keep driving. I’ll let you know when I can determine what it is.”
About two minutes later, Reggie was back on the intercom. “Looks like a small drone. Hope it’s not armed.” He swung the .50 to the back so he could track on the drone.
It flew over us at about 500 feet. It was not armed. It was too small. It was used to find us. It probably had infrared or radar and cameras…I don’t know. Then, from behind came a “THUMP, THUMP, THUMP” sound.
“Chopper!” Reggie yelled.
All at once, there was the sound of bullets hitting the MRAP. Reggie had ducked down and secured the upper hatch of the truck.
“Isaiah, looks like we’ve got a small bird with a minigun, probably firing 7.62. No missiles were fired, so I don’t believe he’s armed with them.”
“Can we withstand the hits?” I asked.
“The armor can, but the tires will puncture, and we’ll be riding on the hard inner core.”
“Roger that. Can you fire the .50 at him?”
“Only if he stops firing and I can open the hatch and get my gun in operation,” Reggie told me. “We need to get concealed so I can get ready.”
“Okay. There’s a large, metal building with a garage-type door coming up. I’m going to crash through the door, go inside the building, and see if the chopper stops firing. If so, get on that gun and we’ll see what we can do to get in position so you can put some rounds in him.”
I made a sharp left-hand turn and crashed through the door. Once inside, I quickly stopped. The chopper hovered overhead and started pouring rounds into the building. The building was empty except for us. Some of the bullets were bouncing off of us, but the rest were just riddling the building. After several-hundred rounds were fired, the minigun shut down.
“Get ready, Reg,” I called.
Reggie popped the hatch and manned the .50. He aimed towards the door we had opened with the truck. The chopper circled the building once, and then settled in front of the open door to get a look inside. When it came into view, Reggie cut loose with the .50 cal. He didn’t fire many rounds before the chopper pulled up and banked left, rolled over, and crashed into the highway. Its fuel caught fire and it exploded.
“Dumbass,” was Reggie’s only comment.
I backed out of the building. I looked at Josh. He was as white as a sheet. The women were crying, and my grandsons, Rand and Samuel, were holding their hands over their ears and shaking. Reg looked in the sky for more choppers, but saw none. He did see the drone still flying above us.
“The drone’s still up there,” he observed. “Looks like it’s flying in circles.”
“Let’s move on and see what it does,” I said.
As we continued driving west, I realized the rear tires had been hit and the inflated portion was down. I kept on driving. This was the way the truck was made to ride. Just drive on the hard core until the tire could be changed out. We weren’t thinking about changing them. We just wanted to get on down the road. As we headed west, Reg kept watching the drone. It just kept circling in place.
“The drone’s not following us,” he finally said. “I’m thinking it’s controller was in the chopper and it will probably just circle until it runs out of fuel.”
“Good,” I replied, and drove on.
********
We continued west and took the ramp back onto the Trace. As we were pulling on, we received a transmission from Zimmer.
“Do you copy, Isaiah?”
After using authentication codes to verify I was talking to Zimmer, I asked, “What’s up Zim?”
“I don’t know where you are at, but we just had three black H2s roll past. Don’t know where they came from. They stopped briefly at the blockade camp. We heard a shot, and then they headed south. They have M60s on top.”
“I’m headed your way. Fall in behind these bums and follow them. Stay behind them enough so they don’t see you. Let’s box them in and take them out. I’ll let you know when we make contact. Pull up when I say so. Don’t want you to take any of our .50 cal rounds.”
“Roger that. On my way.”
Within five minutes we made contact, but they hadn’t stayed on the road. They had pulled into the trees on a slight rise on the east side of the road so they could catch us by surprise, they thought. They almost did. Reg saw one of them just before we got to the rise.
“Tangos to the right!” he called over the intercom.
“Copy. I’m going to stop. You give ‘em hell with that fifty. You got enough ammo?”
“I’ve got about 250 rounds left.”
“Will have to do,” I replied.
I radioed Zimmer and Eastland. “Zim, you can come up now. Tangos on east side of road. You’re free to engage when you see them.”
“Copy that. Be there soon.”
As Reggie started firing, the troops in the H2s did. Reggie’s first burst took out the gunner on the first H2. He swung to the second H2 just as the Guard Humvee came on the scene. One of the H2s was firing at us, and the other started firing at the Guard truck. It was a short firefight. The DHS thugs apparently weren’t trained very well. The M60s and H2s were no match for .50 cals and heavily-armored vehicles. When our .50s finished with the gunners on the two remaining vehicles, we ceased fire and waited to see if the drivers would try anything. After a few minutes with no movement or gunfire, Zimmer and Eastland went in and checked them out. Shrapnel and rounds from our guns as we were taking out the gunners had hit the drivers. Two were dead, and the other almost dead.
Reggie, Josh, and I got out and walked over to the H2 with the driver still breathing. I asked him, “Where did you come from?”
He just looked at me with pain in his eyes. “Finish it,” he gasped in a weak voice.
“Sorry. You’re bleeding out anyway, so I’m not going to waste another bullet on you.” I turned to the others and said, “Let’s see what we can salvage from these trucks.”
We searched the vehicles and found more 9mm carbines and handguns and the mags for these. One of the troops in the H2s was holding an M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, or SAW. It was a 5.56mm belt-fed light machine gun. Apparently, he never had a chance to use it, we lit them up so fast. Also ammo, some first aid supplies, extra fuel in five-gallon cans, and some MREs. Took the boots and the body armor that wasn’t ruined. They also had personal radios with throat mikes. The SAW and the personal radios came in handy in some of our later escapades. Apparently, this was a rapid-deployment team, and had some operator-type gear. Reggie and I got these radios and SAW. I knew I could charge the radios with my solar setup.
Two of the H2s were hit badly enough to make them un-drivable. One was still road worthy. We took the M60s from the H2s we were leaving behind. They would be good for our defenses at home. Had to wipe out some blood and cover the driver’s seat with a poncho before Josh would drive it. The last driver died while we were getting stuff out of the vehicles. We left the bodies in the vehicles, punctured the fuel tanks, and set them on fire. Then we drove north.
“Isaiah, have we declared war on DHS?” Reggie asked.
“More like they have declared war on the American people. Do you have any regrets?” I asked.
“None, and Rules of Engagement no longer apply!” he stated.
“Fine by me,” I agreed, and continued driving. My pain killers were wearing off, and my hand was throbbing.
********
When we got back to the DHS camp at the end of the bridge over the river, we stopped and finished up there. The JBT that we had interrogated was dead. He had a bullet hole between his eyes. We hadn’t shot him, so it must have been the team that had tried to ambush us that killed him. We put all the bodies in the tent, put the SUV next to it, punctured the fuel tanks, and set them on fire. Then we drove on. We stopped and got the trailer with the ATV and other gear we had loaded on it.
We crossed back into Tennessee. I tried calling Sgt. White on the Guard frequency. He came back immediately.
“How’s Crow?” I asked.
“He’ll make it, Isaiah. The bullet went through his side and hit nothing vital. The bleeding is under control, but the doc here has no antibiotics. We had some in our medic bag we carry. I found the doctor holed up in a small clinic. He’s pretty much out of meds. Most of the people here are gone. There’s not much agriculture here. This place is surrounded by mostly paper company forests. People have been leaving the last few weeks. The ones left are living on wild game they kill, and what grains and canned goods they can scrounge. Doc wants to know if he can relocate near us, and bring some of the people left here.”
“Yes! We need a doctor nearby. Can he bring any of his equipment? Also, you need to make sure the people he brings are good people.”
“Yeah. We will find some vehicles or trailers, and load it and bring it with us. I‘ll check the refugees out myself.”
“How soon can you make this happen?” I asked.
“He doesn’t want Crow moved for a couple of days,” answered White. “We’ll be getting things loaded and ready to move out then. I need my other Humvee here, though.”
“I’ll send them your way and then I’ll get my family home. See ya in a few days. Out.”
“Roger that. Out here.”
We encountered no more problems on the way home. What a way to spend Christmas Day!
6
A few miles from the house, I radioed and let the rest of the family know we were on the way in. Didn’t want a panic when the MRAP and H2 rolled up. Someone would be on over watch at the homestead. We had established several hidden Observation Posts near the property. We did guard duty in teams of two. We rotated pairs every four hours at night, and one eight-hour shift during the daytime. If I remembered correctly, Paul and Evers would be in hidden locations either on or near the entrance to my property and the camp across the road. I had a plan to improve our watch system now that we had the MRAP.
