Glen Tate - 299 Days - The 17th Irregulars

“Not to mention,” Bennington said motioning to the guards, “some of them.”

Bennington shrugged, “All that violence just because we want to ‘arrest’ someone for hanging some druggie dirt bags?” Bennington shook his head, “Nah. Not a good deal for us. We don’t really care about the hanging thing. It’s just that Winters wants to know you’re loyal out here so he can tell Olympia.”

Rich realized that Olympia thinking Pierce Point was “loyal” would be good for Pierce Point, so he was willing to risk getting arrested for that. Besides, Rich was fairly confident Winters was actually afraid of the “fifty Marines.” Wow, that little story was paying off.

Rich knew that if he refused to go see Winters that Winters might try to attack Pierce Point, for his pride, if nothing else. Did Rich really want his community attacked just because Rich was scared for himself? No way, Rich thought. When this whole Collapse started, Rich had mentally considered himself dead. He just happened to be alive right now. He’d be dead soon, he kept telling himself. Might as well die with your boots on.

Rich pointed toward Frederickson and asked, “What’s for breakfast?”

Rich got out of the police car and flashed the number seven with hands, another meaningless hand gesture mean to imply deep tactical meaning. When he got over to Dan, he quietly said, “I’m going to see Commissioner Winters. Everything is cool. Winters got faxed the newspaper.”

Dan mouthed the name of the person who must be the spy, and Rich nodded. “We’ll need to talk to him.”

“So, that’s why Winters wants to see you?” Dan asked.

Rich rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, he wants me to pledge Pierce Point’s loyalty.”

Dan laughed and said, “Kind of hilarious, given our conversation last night with the green team.” Rich smiled and walked back to Bennington’s police car.

Dan turned to the guards and gave them the signal not to shoot. This was a real hand gesture.

The ride in the police car to Frederickson was quiet. There was chatter on the radio. Rich missed that. He felt like he was back on the force as he rode in the Crown Vic and listened to the radio.

Rich was observing everything he could on the ride in. He noticed that there was only one other car on the road. No trucks. About half the houses and cabins on the way to town looked empty. There were abandoned vehicles on the side of the road. They had been looted. One was burned down to the frame.

They came up to the Blue Ribbon Boys and the checkpoint at the Frederickson city limits.

Rich said to Bennington, “I don’t have my purple arm band with me but, let me guess, I don’t need one when I’m with you.”

Bennington nodded.

The Crown Victoria police car slowed down, but didn’t stop at the check point. The guards just waved them through. Rich was amazed at what he saw. The Blue Ribbon Boys were a pathetic unit. They were goofing off. One was pretending to shoot another one with a real gun. They looked tired. Exhausted, actually. One was nodding off in a lawn chair. Then Rich saw something amazing.

Some of them were passing a bottle around. On guard duty! In the morning! It was shocking and troubling.

The Blue Ribbon Boys looked like a gang, not a guard unit. They were the complete opposite of the Pierce Point guards Dan had whipped into shape. Rich could tell these guards were barely controlled by whoever claimed to command them. It was only a matter of time before they ceased to be a functioning guard unit and instead were a bunch of thugs camping out. Maybe there were already there.

Bennington didn’t say anything to Rich as they passed through the checkpoint. Rich assumed Bennington, who was a decent guy, was disgusted with the Blue Ribbon Boys, but didn’t want to admit that Commissioner Winters was not invincible. As they went into town, Rich saw a military Humvee escorting a semi- truck.

“Morning delivery to Martin’s,” Bennington said, referring to the town grocery store. “Good. They’re late. They missed yesterday’s delivery and we got a little nervous. So did the crowds outside the store.”

So some food was getting into little places like Frederickson. But, sporadically, and under military escort. How long could that be sustained?

Rich was getting the impression that the Loyalists’ hold on Frederickson was tenuous. The guards and police were too tired, scared, and stressed out to do much, except boss around a largely unarmed population.

The Blue Ribbon Boys and the lack of regular police in Frederickson reminded Rich of his one and only bar fight several years ago. Everyone had been drinking for hours and it was 2:00 a.m. They had tons of energy at the beginning of the fight. As they started getting hurt and tired out, their energy level went down. Way down. After a few minutes, everyone was exhausted and just sitting on the floor trying to get the energy up to keep fighting. But no one was. They just sat around looking at each other.

A handful of cops walked into the bar. They were outnumbered about five to one, but weren’t afraid in the least. Those few cops managed in about one minute to take over that bar. How? Because they were fresh and knew what they were doing (and had guns and backup). That small number of fresh cops could have beat a group of tired, drunken idiots outnumbering them five to one.

Fresh and skilled fighters can beat a much larger force of tired amateurs, Rich thought. Then he thought of Ted and Sap and smiled. Rich could now see that a small group of Special Forces-trained Pierce Point fighters could breeze through Frederickson.

Then Rich saw something that changed his mind about breezing through Frederickson as Bennington turned down Silver Street toward the courthouse. It was a fortress, barricaded with guards two blocks out and a machine gun nest one block out. There was barbed wire—two rows—around the courthouse itself. Pierce Point fighters couldn’t take that place.

Rich looked at the courthouse fortress, which looked weird. There was the courthouse he’d seen a million times—but with barbed wire and guard stations. It looked like something out of a movie.

Ten years ago, when things were humming along in the economy and everyone was happy, it would have been absurd to think the courthouse would be a fortress. Five years ago, when things had started to really go downhill, it would have been unlikely—but not impossible—to think of the courthouse as a fortress. Two years ago, it seemed possible. But, even today, it still seemed hard to believe.

“I miss America,” Rich thought. He’d seen that spray painted on a building as he was coming into town. “I miss America,” he repeated to himself as he looked at the now-fortified courthouse.

Bennington drove right through the barricades and through the open gate. It seemed like he or people like him were the only ones to get into that place.

The guards at the courthouse and surrounding area were more disciplined. About half were in National Guard uniforms or FCorps helmets. They looked halfway professional. They looked almost as good as Pierce Point’s guards, but with way better equipment, like belt-fed machine guns and good radios.

As they got closer to the courthouse, Rich noticed the parking lot was empty of the usual cars. Now the parking lot was full of military vehicles and two semis. There were two military fuel trailers, the smaller kind that could be towed by a Humvee. They held several hundred gallons apiece.

Bennington was pulling in toward them. “Do you mind if we gas up while we’re here?” he asked Rich. “Commissioner Winters isn’t expecting us for a few minutes, anyway.”