Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Preparation

Seeing an inevitable future, Grant would try to think about a Happy Meal costing $100. It was hard to imagine at first. Then he realized that the problem was thinking about a Happy Meal. Store some pancake mix or, better yet, grow your own food. Trade something with a farmer for some fresh beef. Get out of the system of debt and Happy Meals. People would be happier (and healthier).

After forty plus years of thinking that a person needs Happy Meals and had to pay for them with dollars, it was hard for people to adjust their thinking. Quite honestly, most people would have no reason to think about it if they didn’t know how fragile the whole system is. But once they realized how fictitious all this, people would have a reason to think about these things. It was frightening.

Grant was going to Capitol City Guns at lunch a few days a week. He loved hanging out with “normal” people instead of the bureaucrats who hated him at his State Auditor Office job. Capitol City was an oasis.

For some reason that Grant never fully understood, the guys at Capitol City really liked having him around. He was a lawyer and, now, a kind of high-ranking government official. Grant wasn’t the average gun store guy, although the regulars at Capitol City included other white-collar guys. He viewed Capitol City not as a gun store, but where some of his best friends were. He brought food in and remembered guys’ birthdays.

Grant shared stories with the gun store guys about all the government corruption. The guys couldn’t believe it was that bad. When he started mentioning things that would then appear in the newspaper a few days later, they realized he wasn’t making the stuff up.

Another reason they probably liked Grant at Capitol City was that he bought a fair amount of guns and ammo there. He traded in his Winchester 1300 shotgun that he never really liked for a tactical Remington 870. The 870 had a recoil-reducing Knoxx pistol grip and stock. One of the reasons Grant didn’t like the Winchester was the recoil. This tactical 870, though, was easy to shoot. He got pretty good at reloading it quickly and using it aggressively at short ranges.

One of the coolest things about Capitol City was that they assembled AR-15s there. They had a shop in the store and, with nothing but a bunch of spare parts, assumed a few ARs at a time. Grant started to learn how an AR fits together from the guys. He learned that AR-15s were like Legos, and that the pieces fit together and were customizable. Pretty soon, Capitol City gave Grant and a handful of other regular customers “shop privileges.” They could just walk into the store and go back to the shop and make ARs. Capitol City got free labor out of the deal and the guys got to learn how to make guns. It was very cool.

Grant’s AR was fine. It was a standard A2 like the kind issued in the Gulf War (but not fully automatic, of course). Grant wanted a really customized one. He started collecting pieces — a bolt here, hand guards, a trigger assembly — and began putting them together with help from Chip. He got exactly what he wanted; the Magpul UBR stock that he loved, the stainless steel bolt carrier group that cleaned so easily, the Yankee Hill hand guards. He got a special barrel that Chip was working on. Everything was just the way he wanted. He had never had a gun built for him, by him.

When he was done, Grant had a totally fabulous AR. Chip was getting him parts at wholesale. It cost much less than Grant thought it would. He was very proud of it because he helped build it.

He got very, very good with that AR, going to the range every other weekend and practicing. He would alternate between his cabin and range time on the weekends. He was getting very good at shooting, and his cabin was looking great. He could truly relax on the range or at the cabin. That’s where things were “normal” and he didn’t feel like a weirdo for thinking about how America was on the brink of a collapse.

One day, Grant was on a lunch break from work and had a suit and tie on. He was working on an AR in the shop. He had the gun in a vice and was using a metal punch and a hammer. Chip came up to him and said, “A lawyer and a gunsmith. Wow. You don’t see that every day.”

Then Chip came up to Grant and whispered, “What are you doing this Sunday?” Grant thought Chip was inviting him to some weird church or something.

“Not sure,” Grant said cautiously. “Why?”

Chip looked around. “Some of us do a little tactical shooting at a law enforcement range. Steel targets that pop down when you hit them. It’s very realistic training, and a total blast. I don’t want the others to get jealous by hearing me inviting you. We only let cool guys know about this.”

This sounded like fun. It would be like Joe’s range.

“Sure, I’m in,” Grant said.

“When and where?” Chip gave him the details.

Grant got up early on Sunday morning and got his gear together. He put on his 5.11 pants and his hillbilly slippers. He would look like a dork in jeans and tennis shoes and would lose his footing and not have any cargo pockets for magazines. Thank goodness he had his 5.11s and hillbilly slippers. At least he wouldn’t look like a lawyer out there.

Grant felt like he was trying out for a sports team. He hoped his gear was cool enough, although he never tried to buy the latest and greatest tactical gear. Besides, he was in his forties and was a lawyer. He wasn’t going to try to be a twenty-something tactical bad ass. He was an old white-collar guy who happened to shoot pretty well. He didn’t want to turn into a mall ninja. Or, worse yet, a middle-aged mall ninja.

Grant got a dozen doughnuts — it was a law enforcement range — and headed into the sticks outside Olympia to one of the two rifle ranges in the county. His usual range was the other one so he was unfamiliar with the one he was going to.

When he got there, he saw a sign that said “Restricted. Law Enforcement Only.” There was a white civilian Hummer parked there and an Asian guy standing next to it. He was tall, probably six feet, and looked to be in his mid-twenties. He was a tough looking guy, like from a martial arts movie, but one of the good guys; not a thug. He looked familiar. Grant thought he’d seen him at Capitol City but, for whatever reason, never met him.

The Asian guy saw the doughnuts and smiled. “You Grant?” “Yep,” Grant said.

“Chip couldn’t make it but said you’d be coming to join our little group today,” the Asian guy said.

Grant thought this guy was a cop, maybe a Fed. Oh well, Grant didn’t have any illegal guns, so he wasn’t concerned.

“I’m Bill Kung,” the Asian guy said.

“My friends call me ‘Pow.’”

“Pow?” Grant asked.

“Yep,” he said. “As in ‘Kung Pow’ — you know, Kung Pow chicken, the Chinese food. Some stupid attempt to mock my Korean heritage,” he said with an even bigger smile. This guy was cool.

“Well, Pow, pleased to meet you,” Grant said shaking his hand.

“Time to gas up,” Pow said and started to load up magazines. He had about two dozen of them, AR and Glock mags. Pow had a Glock in a cool Kydex holster and a high-end AR with an Aimpoint red-dot sight. He loaded the magazines smoothly and quickly. He did a press check of his pistol and rifle, which is a check to see if there is a round in the chamber. He did it efficiently and without thinking, like he’d done it a thousand times. He probably had.

Some pickup trucks started to come down the road. There were three of them; a Ford, Chevy, and a Dodge. “The rest of the Team,” Pow said.

Team?

What had Grant got himself into? He didn’t know, but he liked it. Then he wondered if he was good enough for these guys. He was pretty good, but these guys were probably at a whole different level.