R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

Dranko let it subside before proceeding. The others gathered around him, in a small semi-circle. Cooper had never seen him like this before, confident and in command around others. Here, Cooper knew they were on his terrain. Firearms and weapons was a subject that Dranko was an expert in; at least relative to everyone else in this room. Dranko spread his feet shoulder width apart, folded his hands together, and began.

“As a matter of fact, Freddie, the first rule is not to talk about what I have. To anyone. Wives too.”

“Why not?” Calvin queried.

Cooper answered so Dranko didn’t have to, “One word: security. You tell someone and then they tell someone. Before we know it, some bad guys find out there are some weapons here and they’ll come looking for them. And, they won’t be coming to politely ask for them. Weapons are in short supply right now—everyone will be looking to get their hands on them.”

Cooper could tell that Dranko was about to move on, so he stopped him. “Everyone understand this? Silence is the rule. When we leave here today, our story is we each had this weapon put aside or you tell them you got it from me. Everyone agree?”

Cooper looked around the room, making each man nod his head. When the circle had been completed, he allowed Dranko to continue.

“The rest is pretty simple. You will all leave here with a rifle and a pistol of your choosing. We’ll do this organized. I’ll explain each of the firearms as best I can and then you’ll choose which ones you want. Got it?”

A series of grunts and nods was his response. “These weapons are now your responsibility. Don’t lose them. You keep ’em on you or locked up at all times. You sleep with it next to you. You shower with it. You lose one, I will be very unhappy and you will not receive a replacement. Understand?” Everyone did.

“Let me add one thing,” Cooper cut in. “If there’s a fight, and I think there will be, we are going to be the difference. Those with the military-style weapons will be bringing firepower the bad dudes won’t be counting on. Remember that. Surprise is key. If you’re joining a fight, come in from a different direction and lay down as much fire as you can. They will think they’re being hit from their flank by a much larger group. For everyone else, you’re the steadiest hands we have in our neighborhood, so be smart and use your rifle or shotgun to best effect in the fight.”

The smiles and giddiness left the men’s faces as he talked. Straight lips, furrowed eyebrows, and clenched jaws replaced them. Cooper knew they felt the same tightness in their bellies that he did in his. Contemplating a firefight in your own neighborhood, where you had played ball in the street with your kids and had bar-b-q’s in your backyards, was a terrifying thought.

Dranko moved to the wall holding the pistols and began explaining the main differences in function between revolvers and automatics. Cooper knew most of the basics and his mind drifted to other needs.

Two hours later, the group was finished kitting itself out. Cooper hoisted Dranko’s prized possession—a FAL with a folding stock. The FAL was a Belgian-made assault rifle that fired the .308 round that was popular in a lot of hunting rifles. At the right distance, it was powerful enough to drop an elk. Against man, it was a devastating round. When he took it from Dranko’s hands, he could feel the resistance when it came time to let go. Cooper took it because he knew his marksmanship would make better use of the harder-hitting round the FAL fired, rather than the lighter-weight M16 round. It had a twenty-round magazine, so he didn’t feel as if he’d lack for ammunition supply. He kept his own pistol. His was chambered in the .357SIG caliber, which was a good pistol round for penetrating car doors and windshields. He suspected that could come in handy.

Dranko kept the M16 assault rifle for himself. Freddie had a Dirty Harry-looking .44 magnum revolver on his hip, while Mark had chosen a .45 auto. Remembering the grocery store, Cooper decided not to mention how that pistol had come into Dranko’s armory. Calvin was pleasantly shifting the weight of a wood-stocked, semi-automatic, AK-47 back and forth between his hands.

“Being a black man in politics, I’m always accused of being a revolutionary. I guess I might as well look the part!” He let loose deep, booming, laughter and the others joined in.

“Maybe back in college they called you that, but you have a house and mortgage now!” Freddie laughed. It was true, ‘revolutionary’ was the last word you would ever associate with Calvin. He was as mainstream as they came.

Calvin had a no-nonsense Glock, in 9mm, holstered to his hip. Jake had been given a tricked out Ruger 10/22 that used the diminutive .22 round but looked like an M16 with a synthetic stock, pistol grip, and forearm grip added on. Jake was beaming from ear to ear. He feels like the big boys now. The other men were leaving with an equal mix of hunting rifles with scopes on them and shotguns.

When they were ready to go, Dranko handed them each a slip of paper with names and a time. “These will be the people you will most likely be doing patrol and guard duty with. Tell them each to be at Cooper’s house at their scheduled time. I will give them weapons and ammunition then.”

“Why Cooper’s?” Freddie asked.

“Like I said before, misdirection. If anyone does find out we have some gear, they go to the wrong house,” Cooper answered. When he saw the look of worry on Jake’s face, he winced. He knew there was nothing he could do about it now. My father told me about the burdens of leadership. He never told me they could involve your son shouldering the burden too. In truth, he hadn’t needed to. Cooper had learned that truth first-hand, while growing up. A shiver ran down his spine thinking that his own son might have to learn it the hard way as well.

Dranko received many thanks as they dispersed. As the group made their way upstairs he called after them, “Thank me by using it all well out there, God forbid the need arises,” he paused, “and keeping your damn mouths shut about where you got any of it!”

After everyone else had left, Cooper turned to Dranko, “I have to say, you are one cunning bastard. How’d you keep all of this,” he said with a wide sweep of his hand, “secret from me, your theoretical best friend?”

A sheepish smile swept onto Dranko’s face, “Damn, I just had to keep this from everyone. Too many problems with people knowing.”

“I wouldn’t have told anyone about it.”

“True. I trusted you not to tell anyone. Except one person. You would have told Elena. Every man tells his wife everything. He has no secrets from her—except his mistress or his gambling, of course” he laughed at his own joke. Turning serious, “And, I had no idea who she might tell.”

Cooper looked at his shoes, “OK. You got me there. Well, it’s a damn fine thing, you having all this.”

“Exactly.” Dranko paused and then the same smile he’d worn before crept back onto his face, “There’s just one more thing.” Cooper cocked his eyebrow as he watched Dranko move to a corner of the room and open a locked cabinet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaimed as Dranko turned around, revealing what he had recovered.

Dranko was smiling like a boy who’d stolen a cookie from his mother’s jar, “I only had one extra, so I had to wait until everyone else had left.” Dranko crossed the room and handed it to him.

Cooper took the vest, heavy with bulletproof armor plates, “Well, thank you, Dranko. I appreciate your trust.” Cooper nodded to Dranko and the warmth of friendship lingered between them.

The two men held their gaze for a long pause. Then, Dranko interjected, “Hell, brother, it ain’t trust. I just know you’re a lousy soldier and you’re liable to be shot a dozen times for every one you dish out. You need the protection more than anything else!”