Going Home (31 page)
The binos were up to my face when it thundered directly overhead, going straight out into the field in front of me. It was a Kiowa Little Bird. When the pilot made a hard bank, I saw him. There were no doors on the ship, and he and his observer were looking down. I sat there still as stone, with my head turned down slightly so the bill of my hat would cover my face from their altitude. The helo made a wide loop and turned back the way it came, the sound slowly dying off. It felt like my heart was going to pound its way out of my chest, I heard my pulse in my ears. I was scared shitless; I don’t know if they’re looking for me, but I sure don’t want to find out.
Sitting there trying to relax, letting my heart rate drop, there was a tickle on my neck. Reaching up with my left hand instinctively—fuck!—I slapped at my neck and saw something fall to the ground. I jumped up, knocked my hat off, tripped over the carbine that was at my feet, and landed on my back. My hand was on fire; there was a small red dot in the fleshy part of my palm just below my index finger. Looking on the ground where I saw it fall, I found a damn scorpion almost three inches long. Florida has a lot of scorpions; most of them are small, but this one was huge. “You little bastard, if I was “Bear” Grylls, I’d eat your ass,” I said out loud. I settled for grinding him into the dirt and pine needles with the toe of my boot.
Fortunately, the sting of the small scorpions in Florida feels worse than it actually is. Some people can have swelling in the affected area, but other than that, the sting isn’t too bad—hurts like hell, but that’s about it. I squeezed the little red spot. I don’t know why, but what else could I do?
The sun was starting to go down, and I really needed water. Shouldering the pack, I headed out across the field to what looked like a dock. Just as I hoped, there was a small pond in the field with a dock on one side. Cautiously approaching the pond, I dropped the pack and took the filter and empty containers to the water’s edge. The pond sat in a small depression, so I wasn’t visible out here. However, I couldn’t see around the area either. The water in this little pond looked kind of strange. It was sort of a milky green color. Scooping a handful up, it looked clear in my hand, so it must be the bottom. It was either lime rock or an old phosphate pit. At the moment, I didn’t care. I needed some water.
It didn’t take long to get all the containers filled and everything stowed back in my pack. I was moving again about twenty minutes after stopping. Checking the compass, I headed out on the southeasterly track. The area was all scrub, broken up by the occasional swamp or bay head. Going around these to keep from walking through them took me on a route that resembled a drunken snake. I constantly had to verify my direction with the compass. Fortunately, there was zero sign of people out here, save the occasional dirt road, none of which ran the direction I wanted to go.
After Morgan and his crew left, Mike and the guys sat down to brief Linus on what they knew. Their mission was to make contact with the sheriffs of Levy, Dixie, Columbia, Gilchrist, Lafayette, Taylor, and Marion counties. They were to do this without being detected by the locals. If they were compromised, they were to eliminate any witness to their presence. Once contact was made with the sheriffs, they were to determine their willingness to work with the federal authority, assess their needs, find a suitable location for advance bases of operation, and get them to relinquish their local autonomy to the incoming federal presence.
Any sheriff that refused was to be noted and relayed back to the operations folks, where contingencies were being developed for dealing with them. They had been inserted close to shore in Levy County, in a very rural, sparsely inhabited area. After the briefing on their mission, before they even left for their insertion, the guys had decided they wanted no part of this. The talk of “contingencies” to deal with any sheriff that didn’t go along with the plan bothered them. Most folks do not realize the power the sheriff wielded. He or she was the supreme elected leader in the county. The sheriff’s money might come from the commission, but he or she was the Big Yamma Yamma.
Once inserted, the guys proceeded with their mission as planned, with the exception that they laid out the fed’s plan to the sheriffs. Most of them had some colorful words for what the feds had planned. The only ones that were eager for the intervention of the feds were the sheriffs of Alachua and Marion. These two contiguous counties had rather liberal sheriffs. They were particularly excited about the prospect of disarming the citizenry of their respective counties and implementing the new “Aid Distribution Assistance Monitoring” plan, referred to as ADAM. The stated goal of the plan was to provide aid in the form of food, water, and clothing to those in need. The real intention was to remove any means of self-support from as many people as possible and make them completely dependent on federal aid to survive.
This plan had been under way for many years, in various parts of the country, with varying degrees of success. This opportunity presented the perfect chance to catapult the plan downfield toward the ultimate goal. By a perceived fortuitous set of circumstances, an event of a magnitude the administration could only dream of fell in their lap, and they would be able to paint a certain segment of the society as the culprits. When the news of who did this reached the cold, hungry, scared people, their reaction should turn them right into the open waiting arms of the federal government. The only problem was the guns. The American people possessed enough guns to arm half the armies of the world, and those were just the ones the .gov crowd could account for. But there was a plan for that too.
After the guys had made contact with the various sheriffs and knew who stood where, they decided to go rogue and help the other side. By informing the sheriffs that had their heads screwed on right, they won the support of them. By letting them know where some of their counterparts stood, they were able to help draw up a defensive plan for them. They had purposefully saved Dixie County for their last stop, knowing Sarge was there, and they could depend on him, so long as their reason was sound. If not, he would be the first to turn them in. After they laid everything out for him, Linus was pissed. He always suspected the shithead ’n chief would try something like this if given half a chance; well, now he had it.
It was shortly after Morgan and his crew left that Ted spotted an observation post on the far side of the river from Sarge’s house. It was upriver near the bend on a high bank on the inside of the curve. They watched it for two days and, using their radio and encryption codes, were able to determine that they were under surveillance. They had identified their hide and had a count of three men. The situation became a point of contention as to what they needed to do about it. Sarge wanted to go out and kill the occupants; Mike and his guys weren’t on board. After all, they might know these guys, and they might not even know who they’re watching.
The plan that they developed was for Mike and Ted to go out and around them on this side of the river. They would cross the river upstream of the observation post and come at them from the rear. Ronnie and Sarge would keep their attention by having a barbecue on the deck, complete with plenty of beers to make ’em thirsty. The mission would be carried out at night to minimize any chance of accidental encounters with civilians.
The plan was to find out who was there. If they were guys that Mike and Ted knew, they would try to persuade them to break off their mission and come with them. If they weren’t so inclined or were openly hostile, they would be neutralized. Ronnie had Sarge’s scoped M1A in the shed on the back of the property. The window in the rear of it faced the river and had been transformed into a sniper hide. When the guys were in position, they would key the mic on the handheld ham they had with them. Ronnie would go to the hide and offer cover for them.
Mike and Ted each had a Taser in addition to their weapons. They carried these with them on their mission from the start as a way to deal with civilians if they were discovered. These would be used first if it came to it; live fire was the last resort. Using a game cart, they transported Linus’s canoe to a landing upstream and crossed over. After crossing the river, they approached the hide from the rear at an oblique angle. Once they were within sight, they observed the three men for a while. They didn’t recognize any of them. Their identity was revealed when they made a radio call to give a SITREP. The call sign they gave was for the DHS unit operating out of the same base they deployed from, Junkyard.
None of the guys in their unit liked having the feds there. They completely segregated themselves from the troops, going so far as to have strung barbed wire and posted armed guards. None of the troops were allowed anywhere near them. It was a very uncomfortable situation; the tension of having two groups of highly trained and armed men in such close proximity to one another was dangerous.
Once they determined these guys were from the wrong side of the tracks, they came up with a plan. One of the three was in a sleeping bag, another was preparing food for himself, and the third man was on watch. They would get within range of the Tasers and hit the one on watch and the support man. The one in the bag would be dealt with in whatever manner the situation required.
Mike keyed the mic twice on the handheld. The radio in the OP squawked twice, drawing the attention of the support man and the one on watch. They looked at one another, and then the support man went to the radio. Just then a rapid series of pops started coming from downriver. The one on watch pulled down his NVGs and started looking toward Sarge’s house. The second man had a headset on and was actively looking for the source of the transmission. “Firecrackers. They’re lighting firecrackers.” The one on watch said over his shoulder.
With these two distracted, Ted and Mike moved the last couple of yards, a Taser in one hand and a suppressed 1911 in the other. They fired the Tasers almost in unison, both finding their mark. The two men went rigid, the support man falling over on the one in the bag. The sudden impact caused the one inside to cuss and try to fight his way out of the bag. When his head popped out, he was looking into the suppressor of Mike’s pistol. The five seconds timed out, and the Tasers released their victims. Both of them released the triggers and pressed them again, sending the stricken men on another five-second lightning ride.
Thad instinctively jerked the wheel hard to left. The block struck the top of the windshield at the roof line. Half of it crashed through the glass and landed on the bench seat, tearing a huge hole in it. The other half bounced over the roof into the bed. Thad slammed on the brakes in response to the impact. The windshield was spider-cracked across its full length. The truck went into a skid, the rear coming around on the left. Being a truck driver, Thad knew how to counter it; letting off the brake, he steered into the skid. This straightened the truck, and he floored the pedal again. The driver’s window was open; he stuck his big arm out, giving whoever dropped the block the international peace sign. They responded by taking a couple of shots at him.
Ocala was just ahead. There was no way Thad wanted to drive through it during the day. Ocala was a major population center, the only one he had to go through to get home. If there was going to be any trouble, it would be there. This stretch of the interstate was bordered by pastures for the most part. Ocala is well known for the horse ranches that are all over the area. Driving along, he kept his eyes open for some trees. If he could find a good hiding place, he could lay up for the rest of the day—moving again after dark to try to get through town.
A few miles past his little incident, Thad found what he was looking for on the northbound side. He crossed over under another overpass and drove off the shoulder of the northbound lane. There was a fence along the interstate. Pulling up to it, he stopped the truck and got out—his shotty in one hand and his Gerber multitool in the other. Standing in the open driver’s door, he took a minute to do a look ’n’ listen. Satisfied there wasn’t anyone in the immediate area; he went up to the fence, cut the field wire at one of the posts and pulled it back out of the way. Climbing back in, he drove the truck through and parked it under the trees.
