Glen Tate - 299 Days - The 17th Irregulars

Aircrews had “lost” some of their nuclear bombs and air-launched nuclear missiles. They didn’t have the codes to launch them, but they physically had the weapons and, once again, there was the rumor that they could be manually detonated if someone knew what they were doing. And some of the people who had defected to the teabaggers knew how to detonate them. That was the rumor, anyway.

The scariest nuclear rumor Jason knew of involved the teabagger national military commander, Gen. Warrilow. Jason only got bits and pieces of this from his briefings, but what little he knew was alarming. Gen. Warrilow had informed Washington, D.C. that he had several operable nuclear devices and asked if they needed a test detonation to confirm this. He asked them to pick the location. Of course, they wouldn’t, so he picked a spot off the East Coast where the winds would take the radiation out to sea toward Europe. The Patriots sent the latitude and longitude in the Atlantic to the Feds and an hour later, a satellite picked up a bright ball of fire and steam.

This changed things. At first, the Feds were convinced that Warrilow would use the nukes on a northern city or somewhere in California, which was the heart of the area still loyal to the federal government. They were getting ready to surrender.

Then a Loyalist spy in Warrilow’s camp distributed a communication that Warrilow was not prepared to use a nuke on American soil. The feds tested this by daring Warrilow to detonate one in the U.S. He declined, so they knew that he wouldn’t use the nukes—at least not yet. It was a stalemate. A nuclear stalemate on American soil. Great. But at least it was a stalemate.

Even if a domestic nuclear war were off the table, Jason still worried about other things. Food production was not what it needed to be. They were distributing stored food now and basically living off warehoused quantities of food. They couldn’t get the fuel and fertilizer to the agricultural areas fast enough to grow the next crop. And even if they did, they couldn’t process it fast enough into flour, corn meal, etc. And even if they could process it, they couldn’t distribute it quickly enough. Even if they could distribute it, much of it would be stolen by corrupt officials. The list of “even if” problems went on and on.

Thank God, Jason thought, that some people were growing their own food. Another relief from the supply problem was that the federal government quit delivering food to the Southern and mountain west states that “opted out” of the United States. As everyone seemed to know by now, the Feds also quit trying to get much, if any, food to the disloyal parts of the loyal states, like the rural parts of Washington State. Besides, Jason thought, the rednecks in the South and other disloyal areas were good at hunting, fishing, and gardening, right? They better be. It wouldn’t take care of all their food needs, but would lessen the blow of not having federal semis rolling in. The last thing the Feds needed was massive starvation, even in the teabagger areas.

Things were better in the loyal areas, but not perfect. The people in the cities were in for a very lean winter. They were doing well now, but that would be over soon, just in time for winter.

The Feds had no plan. Well, no plan for fixing things. They had a plan for themselves: they would hunker down and defend themselves. Officials, and the people they did business with, would get enough food and would build up defenses to keep the regular people out. The regular people were on their own. Jason chuckled at the teabaggers: They didn’t want the government and now they got their wishes. They would be on their own this winter. We’ll see what’s left of the country after that, he thought. That was the federal “plan.” They would feed themselves during the winter and see what’s left of the country in the spring. This wasn’t going well long-term.

Jason was working on the Washington State portion of this plan. They would evacuate the key personnel to Seattle from Camp Murray, which was on the very southern end of the Seattle metro area and dangerously close to some teabagger rural areas. They would keep Camp Murray and the surrounding Ft. Lewis in the hands of the Legitimates. They had a massive military facility at Ft. Lewis that was the only place they could house various equipment and personnel; they couldn’t move those assets. They also had a massive prison at Ft. Lewis and couldn’t just let all those teabaggers and criminals go. Besides, the Legitimate military brass insisted on having a big base to defend. They didn’t want everyone else to evacuate to Seattle — and leave them alone to fight off the Patriots. The military would try to literally hold down the fort. They insisted on having a giant “last stand” military base and that was Ft. Lewis.

As a second priority, the Legitimates would try to build up the defenses for Olympia, the state capitol and a key stronghold. But, try as they might, they all knew they probably couldn’t keep Interstate 5 open all the way from Seattle down to Olympia, which would be the first city they would abandon when the teabaggers started the attack everyone was waiting for.

Up in a remote inlet of the Puget Sound, the waterway surrounding the Seattle metropolitan area, Joe Tantori’s radio crackled very early in the morning. He was in bed, just waking up. Crap. Would he ever get a full night’s sleep?

“Visitor coming straight at us,” the voice of the dispatcher said. “Armed vessel. High rate of speed.” The dispatcher was trying to be calm, but it was obvious he was nervous.

“Battle stations!” Joe yelled into his radio. He jumped out of bed, got some pants on, and told his wife to get the kids and go into the safe room. His wife was already out of the bedroom and heading for the kids’ room, just like they’d practiced over and over.

A second later, a siren went off in Joe’s compound. People were scrambling around, grabbing rifles and donning gear to go out onto the patrol boats. This was the first time they’d had a real “battle stations” call. They’d practiced it, but it was pretty much chaos now that it was for real.

We might die today, Joe thought. Things had been going so well that it was inevitable that something bad would happen. Joe and his guys had been guarding the new bank in town and making a mint. They got a share of the safe deposit fees and were paid in gold, silver, ammo, food, and other valuables. Morale was sky high. Joe’s Marines, military contractors, and ex-law enforcement guys had just about the best jobs in the whole county.

But Joe—an Oath Keeper and Patriot—had decided to take the huge risk of being a privateer, making him a person who basically stole Loyalist and pirate goods on the water and gave a portion to the Patriots. Like in the Revolutionary War.

This obviously made the Loyalists and pirates very mad. And the amount he kept wasn’t much, making it not worth the risk, if business was all he cared about.

But Joe wasn’t a businessman. He was a Patriot who made an honest profit. Well, “honest” in the sense of stealing from people who stole it from others. The Loyalists and the pirates were the same in Joe’s mind. One might steal from taxpayers via the law, but the other one stole it the old fashioned way.

“Military vessel!” the dispatcher said. “Heavy machine guns fore and aft!”

Oh crap, Joe thought. Probably the Loyalist Navy. Probably the first vessel in a wave of attacks. They were hitting at dawn, which made sense.

“Second vessel,” said the dispatcher. “Civilian vessel with machine guns,” he said calmly. The dispatcher was calming his voice down so he didn’t worry the men, but his voice was the only part of him that wasn’t terrified.