William Weber - Patriots

“But none of that can happen,” Marshall said, “until John and the others find and neutralize the source of the jamming.” He looked at John. “Once things get hot, you’ll have less than thirty minutes before we run out of ammo, so whatever you’re going to do, you better do it fast.” Marshall took a deep breath. “All right then.”

It sounded like the meeting was over. “What about the back brief?” John asked. “And rehearsals? A large operation involving this many moving parts…”

“We’ll have to skip it,” Marshall growled. “We can’t let those armored units move out of range.”

A grease-stained Patriot named Erik took his cap off and slid a forearm across his hairline. “We may have a problem,” he said.

Marshall’s brow furrowed. “We don’t have time for problems.”

“The way I count it, we got close to two hundred men and women prepped and ready to assault the town, but no more than twenty vehicles to get them there. Unless my math is wonky, most of these folks will be walking.”

“What about the other cars and trucks we have?” Marshall barked. “We counted them this morning and there were close to fifty.”

“Fifty-three,” Erik replied. “But only twenty are operational.”

Marshall tore the camo-pattern cap from his head and swore. “I don’t believe this.”

“There may be a solution,” John told them. “What about the rigs? They’re just sitting there, loaded with goods. If you get a team over to unload one or two, you can load people in. Send one rig with each branch of the attack.”

Marshall was nodding. He turned to Erik. “No reason that shouldn’t work.”

“No reason at all.”

“Good, then grab twenty men and unload the two rigs that have the most fuel and are the least shot up. I don’t want one of those beasts breaking down along the way.”

“Will do,” Erik said, scanning those gathered, looking for the group he would commission for the task.

“All right,” Marshall told all of them. “Take care of any last-minute preps. Make sure your gear’s on properly. Weapons loaded and stowed safely. We move out in a few minutes.”

The crowd dissipated to attend to those last remaining details.

Marshall came up to John, Moss and Rodriguez to give them a final briefing on their mission.

“These are the last two hand-held radios we have,” Marshall told them. “We been saving them for a special day. There’s only so much a man can fit in a single Faraday cage, after all.”

They all let a burst of uneasy laughter.

“You remember Reese you met the other day up on the hill overlooking the city?” Marshall asked John.

“The former Foreign Legion soldier. How could I forget?”

“We’re gonna run the other walkie up to him. He’s got that Remington 700 with a box of .30-06 black-tip armor-piercing rounds. You run into a fix you can’t get yourself out of and you call it in. His handle is Eagle Eye. Yours will be Mole One. That way he’ll know it’s a friendly calling in support fire and not one of them Russkies. We’ll also let him know where you boys are gonna be so he’ll be dialed in and keeping an eye on that area.”

“That’s good to know,” John said.

“You worried?” Marshall asked.

John swallowed hard. “A man who stands to lose everything dearest to him should always be worried.”

“What I mean is are you up for this? I know most of these other folks don’t have the combat experience you do. I’d hate to send them in for such an important mission, but I need to know you’ll be able to keep it together. Especially if you see the Chairman.”

John tapped his AR. “If I see the Chairman, he’ll be the last to know. There’s no need to pull any punches now that we know he’s a spy. It just worries me to think what might happen if the line along the Mississippi doesn’t hold. We might find ourselves speaking Chinese, Russian or North Korean.”

Marshall smiled. “Well, at least we’ll have options.”

John clapped a hand on Marshall’s shoulder and squeezed. “See you in Oneida then.”

“Godspeed.”

A few feet away, John spotted Gary.

“I need you to do something for me,” John said.

Gary’s thin frame made his shirt look like it’d been draped over a skeleton. “What is it?”

“I need you to feed George for us while we’re away.”

“Us?”

“Brandon’s coming along. His mother and sister are in there. It’ll be dangerous, I know, but I’m gonna keep him close. Besides, he’s good with a shotgun.”

“I’m not worried about his age,” Gary said. “These aren’t the good old days where parents can afford to coddle and dote on their kids’ every whim. We’ve gone back in time, John. Back to when children needed to grow up real quick, whether they liked it or not.”

“You’re more right than you know,” John admitted. “He and I have had a few talks about that very thing. It’s not my place exactly, but now that he has no father, he looks to me for guidance and…”

“Acceptance,” Gary said, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly as he swallowed.

“Yes.”

“But I’m afraid I can’t bird-sit for you, John. I’m going in with Marshall and with my bum luck I’ll be one of those poor dregs crammed into that Russian-made eighteen-wheeler.”

The look of surprise on John’s face must have rubbed Gary the wrong way.

“I’ve got just as much riding on this as you do,” the skinny man hissed. “My son’s in there, John. Eight years old and all alone. At least your kids have their mother.”

“Not anymore,” John told him. “She’s set to be executed sometime tomorrow.”

Gary crossed himself. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“We all have a lot at stake, Gary. Don’t worry about George. I totally understand.”

“I thought you were gonna eat that thing anyway.”

“So did I,” John said and winked. “Be safe out there. Just remember, you’re not just going in to liberate your son, you wanna make sure he’ll have a father when all of this is over and done with.”

Neither of them said anything about the invading army pushing east and the bleak prospects for the future. Both men knew on some level that you fought wars much the same way you fought life. One battle at a time.

The Blazer charged along Tunnel Hill Road going fifty over the legal limit. Not that speed limits existed anymore. They were a relic from an age when vehicles clogged the streets. But even relics didn’t always stay dead and John knew eventually they would all make a reappearance.

John made a left onto Route 29 North, gripping the wheel tight. In the passenger seat next to him was Moss. In the back were Rodriguez and Brandon.

“So you gonna know this jammer when we see it?” John asked Rodriguez.

“I hope so.”

“That doesn’t sound very encouraging,” Moss said with a growing lack of confidence. “If these guys are Russian, my bet is they’re using something military.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” John agreed. “Once we slip into town, we need to be on the lookout for anything on the nearby roofs that looks out of place. An antenna would be a dead giveaway.”

“Speaking of slipping into town,” Moss said. “How exactly are you planning on us getting in undetected? I know things didn’t go so well for you the last time.”

“I was waiting for you to bring that up again,” John replied, spearing him with a sharp sideways glance. “Obviously the direct approach isn’t going to work, even with Marshall’s diversionary attack.”

John slowed the Blazer and nosed her down a narrow country road. They weren’t more than a few feet in before he cut the engine.