Half an hour had gone by. Grant had a stop to make at the Grange so it was time to leave and then go get Nick and take him to the farm. He wasn't looking forward to tearing Nick away from Rita. He wasn't looking forward to that at all. Grant got back in the Tacura and took off. John waved him by.
On the way to the Grange, Grant noticed that there were no other cars. Lots and lots of bikes, though. Most people, especially those with kids, had bikes but rarely used them in peacetime. That had changed. Now it was the primary mode of transportation in Pierce Point. And, Grant suspected, elsewhere in America.
Grant pulled into the Grange to the strange looks of everyone who saw a new car they hadn't seen before. They were surprised when Grant got out of it. They'd never seen him drive it.
Grant went in and found Drew. "I need a meal card for Rita Folsom and her two kids," Grant said. He whispered, "Make up something that she's donating. Trust me." Drew nodded and a few minutes later came back with an official Pierce Point card for Rita "and two infant children." Grant thanked him and left.
Grant pulled into the Minton house and rang the doorbell. He could hear a woman crying. Jay Minton answered the door and, without saying a word, waved Grant into the living room. Jay's wife, Grace, was crying. Rita wasn't. Rita just kept hugging Nick. She gave him each baby to hold one last time. For a while, at least. He would be back to visit. Grant was amazed at how understanding Rita was. Amazed.
Grant felt like he was the mean sheriff taking someone away from their family to go to prison. He was trying to avoid eye contact with Rita, but she wasn't avoiding him.
"I understand," Rita said to Grant. "I understand," she repeated.
She paused and got teary. "Take good care of him, OK?" She didn't want to cry because she knew that would make this even harder on Nick. She needed him to have a positive attitude and go do his job safely. And come home. She knew that crying or telling him he couldn't go wouldn't work and would just make things worse. Besides, back at Ft. Lewis and on the trip out to Pierce Point, they had talked about the fact that Nick would probably join up with the Patriots if an opportunity came up. They had prayed about it. They both knew it was what Nick was supposed to do. That made it easier. But it was still hard. Really hard.
Grant handed Rita the meal card and said, "It's the least we can do for you, Rita." She had never seen a Pierce Point meal card so he explained what it meant.
"I got you a temporary card because, in a little while, Nick will be back and your contribution to the community will officially end. Then you're off the gravy train, ma'am," Grant said, hoping she would laugh. She did. It was a tension-breaking laugh.
Grant felt awkward watching the final goodbye hug. "I'll be in the car," he said. Jay motioned for Grace to come with him into the kitchen. It was just Nick, Rita, and the two babies in the living room.
Grant went out to the car. He expected to be there a few minutes. Instead, Nick came out after a few seconds. Apparently they didn't like long goodbyes.
Nick got into the car and was all business. He wasn't going to let this affect him. Sure, Grant thought, maybe not now, but tonight Nick will be a mess. Grant knew. He'd been there. Except when he had to leave his family, it was against their wishes and he thought they didn't want him back.
Grant handed Nick a tiger-stripe camouflage handkerchief. "Sorry, dude, OPSEC," Grant said, using the acronym for "operational security" that an Army guy like Nick would know. Nick nodded and put the handkerchief over his eyes.
Grant had never driven a car with a blindfolded passenger. It was a very weird experience. Grant felt like he was in a movie or something.
Grant drove to the farm. He had never been there from the road; he'd always come by water. He knew from a map how to get there and wondered what kind of guard they had at the road entrance.
Duh. Better call ahead so he didn't get shot.
Grant pulled over and grabbed the handheld ham radio in the pouch on his kit. He kept it on the Team frequency, but they didn't talk much on it. About all Grant did with the radio, other than using it a handful of times to talk to the Team or to dispatch at the Grange, was to check the battery each night and occasionally charge it.
Just because he didn't use it often didn't mean it wasn't important. Having ham radios, which had lots of frequencies and much longer ranges than CBs, was critical. Today was a perfect example of how that little radio could save his life. Friendly fire sucks, as Ted used to say.
"Green 1, Giraffe 7, over," Grant said. "Green 1" was obviously Ted. Sap, who was from Wisconsin, got "Cheese 2."
But "Giraffe 7"? Grant never understood why he got the lame call sign of an animal with an absurdly long neck. And "7"? Was he the seventh most badass out of...seven? Oh well. Grant cared more about not getting shot by the Marion Farm guards than about what his call sign was.
A few seconds later-remarkably fast considering that Ted was probably in the middle of something-Grant heard Ted's voice. "Giraffe 7, Green 1, copy."
"Tacura with two friendlies at the front door," Grant said. Ted would remember the reference to the "Tacura" from when Grant went out shooting with Ted in that car and they mocked him for having a car instead of a truck.
"Roger that, Giraffe 7," Ted said. "Flash us when you get up near the gate."
"Roger that, Green 1," Grant said. "Giraffe 7 out."
"Green 1 out," Ted said. Nick was impressed. He couldn't see anything because he was blindfolded. These guys weren't hillbillies. Radios. And call signs. Nick's amazement at the sophistication of the unit was just starting.
Grant drove slowly and turned off down the dirt road to the farm. He looked first to make sure no one saw him. The dirt road was long. He went very slowly and came up to the gate where he slowed down to a stop. He flashed his head lights.
"You can take your blindfold off now, Nick," Grant said. They were already on the dirt road so Nick would have no idea what roads it took to get there. Besides, if Grant showed up to the gate with a blindfolded passenger, the guards would assume the blindfolded man was a prisoner and might shoot him if he made a sudden move.
Nick took off his blindfold and Grant rolled down his window. Grant put both hands out the window to show the guard, or guards, that he was not going to ram the gate. It was hard to do with his hands off the steering wheel. Nick, seeing Grant put both hands out the window, did the same.
A minute later, a bearded man in military fatigues opened the gate. Grant had the unmistakable feeling that one or more rifles were aimed at his head and the Tacura's engine block.
The man in fatigues, who was partway behind a stump to remain out of sight and for cover in case Grant or someone else started shooting, waved Grant in through the now-open gate. Grant drove slowly. He got past the swinging metal gate, a typical farm style one and a second man in fatigues popped out from behind a big tree and gave him a signal to stop. He, too, was bearded, which looked weird with the military fatigues.
The first man, who was now behind Grant's car, closed the gate. The second man still had his hand up telling Grant to remain stopped.
Once the gate was closed, the first man came up behind the car on the driver's side. He said in a stern voice, "Out of the car." Grant could recognize the first man, and now the second man, as soldiers he had met at the farm. He forgot their names.
The two soldiers were being very serious and professional which Grant appreciated. This was serious business. Goofing around-especially at a gate-got people killed.
Grant's AR was laying barrel-down in the passenger's foot area with the stock near the gear shift. Grant could grab it by the stock if he needed to get it. He wanted to check and see if it was on safe, but didn't because he realized he'd need to handle it to do so. And he didn't want to reach down for a rifle and handle it now. Oh well, he told himself, he didn't need to check his rifle. It was always on safe when it should be. He laughed to himself about the irony of making a safety check and getting shot as a result.
Grant said to the first soldier, "I'll come out the driver's side. The passenger will await directions."
The first man said "OK" and the second man, who had his rifle shouldered and pointed at the engine block, nodded. Grant noticed that the second man had an M1A in .308. That could stop a car better than an AR in 5.56.
Grant got out slowly. He was not afraid, but he was cautious. He wanted to make sure something didn't drop from his kit and then he instinctively lunged to catch it. No sudden movements. He thought how embarrassing it would be to die because your pen fell out of your pocket and you went to catch it and got shot by your own guys. Embarrassing. Hardly a hero's death.
Grant got out and kept his hands to his side. They weren't raised up like in the movies, just out to his side. Grant stood there. He didn't want to turn directly toward either of the men.
"OK, now the passenger gets out," the first soldier said. Nick got out and did the same thing Grant did with his hands to the side and stood in the same direction with his sides to each of the men.
"OK, sir, please open the trunk," the first soldier said. Grant very slowly turned and motioned for whether it was OK to get his keys out. The first soldier nodded. Grant slowly got his keys out and showed them to the soldiers. Grant hit the trunk release. He very slowly turned back around with his key in his right hand and his left hand to the side. He stood facing the same direction he had been.
"Moving," the first soldier said.
"Move," the second man said. That meant that the second man was now covering both of them. The first man looked in the trunk. He saw Nick's two sports bags of clothes and a military back pack. Grant's "get home bag" was in there, too, where he'd kept it since before the Collapse. As the name implied, that was a bag of things Grant would need to get home if he was in his car and a disaster happened.
The first soldier realized that searching all these things for a bomb would take a lot of time. He also knew that with the driver being his commanding officer the odds of this being a terrorist were pretty slim. The first soldier looked in the back seat. Nothing. He came up and looked in the front seat.
"M4 in the passenger side," the first soldier said to the second. "Secure." That meant that it was in a secure place.
The first soldier thought a moment. "Tell you what, Lieutenant," he said to Grant, "It'll take a while to search all of this gear back here and the underside of the car for explosives. It's only a few hundred yards to the farmhouse. How about if you keep the car here and we do a quick search of any gear you will be bringing there?"
"Makes sense to me," Grant said. "Just so you guys know, I'm bringing Nick here to the farm. He's your new medic. Nick, you need those two bags and your backpack, right?"
"Yes, sir," Nick said. He hadn't known Grant was a lieutenant, but one of the guards just referred to Grant that way. Nick had been calling Grant "sir" because the Mintons told him that Grant was the judge. Now Nick was seeing that Grant was also a lieutenant in this Patriot unit.
"I'll get the bags and the backpack out," the first soldier said. "I assume the ruck goes with the medic, right?" He motioned for the backpack.
"Yes," Nick said.
"The civilian backpack is my get home bag and can stay," Grant said.
The first soldier got the two bags and the ruck out. He gave them a quick search, looking for a really big bomb. He opened the ruck and saw it was full of medical supplies. His eyes lit up. Lt. Matson had brought an awesome guest.
"All clear," the first soldier said. "Go ahead and go down the road gentlemen."
"Can I get my rifle?" Grant asked. He couldn't stand to leave his gun unattended. Not like he thought these guys would steal it. He just couldn't stand to leave his AR behind.
"Of course, sir," the first soldier said. They were searching for a car bomb, not something less lethal like a rifle.
Grant looked at the second man and said, "Nick here will get my rifle and hand it to me." The second soldier nodded. Everything was done overtly in such situations. The smallest little thing needed to be announced and acknowledged. No surprises.
Nick slowly got the rifle from the passenger side, checked that it was on safe-it was, of course-and, with the muzzle pointed down and with his finger off the trigger, walked around and handed it to Grant who checked that it was on safe and slowly slung it over his shoulder.
"Nice job, gentlemen," Grant said to the two soldiers. "I appreciate a secure gate."
"It's our job, sir," the second soldier said. "You're our first stop so far so we were making sure we had our procedure down. Looks like we do."
"Yep," Grant said. Grant looked at the first soldier, who by now had come up to Grant. Grant said to him, "Would you like the keys?" That way they could move the Tacura if someone else came in.
"Yes, sir," the first soldier said. Grant got out his keys.
Grant took one of Nick's bags and Nick got the second one and his ruck. The second soldier said something into his radio. "They're expecting you at the house," he said to Grant and Nick.
"Thanks, guys," Grant said, instantly realizing that he needed to work on being the lieutenant and being more formal. "As you were, gentlemen," Grant said to the guards. He and Nick started to walk the few hundred yards to the farm. Nick's eyes became huge as he started to see the Patriot's facilities.
Chapter 214.
Pretty Squared Away
(August 1) Nick was stunned at how perfect this place was. It was huge. A big barn, outbuildings, and a farmhouse. There were soldiers and armed civilians everywhere. Fatigues mostly from the Army, but some from the Navy, and Air Force. Nick even thought that he saw one man in Marine fatigues. Most of the men had beards, which looked weird with the military uniforms. The civilians were decently equipped. Most of them had ARs slung over their shoulders and others had pistol belts. A handful of the civilians had kit and looked like contractors.
"Wow. You guys are pretty squared away. You're a real unit out here," Nick said. "We kept hearing at Ft. Lewis that guerilla units were forming up with mostly civilians but plenty of AWOL military people in them. The brass were very afraid of these units. I thought maybe it was propaganda that the Patriots had all these irregular units. Guess it's true."
Grant nodded. This was further validation that Hammond and the whole Boston Harbor operation was for real and not some small group of goofballs masquerading as a "Special Operations Command." The irregular units were serious business. And now Grant was getting confirmation that the Limas knew it.
Grant saw something out of the corner of his eye. He recognized that the Team was there; those were the contractor-looking guys Nick had seen.
Grant yelled toward the Team, "Hey, homos, what are you doing here?" Not exactly military protocol from a commanding officer, but Grant wasn't exactly a military officer. He had been calling the Team "homos" for a couple of years. Old habits die hard.
The Team turned at the familiar voice and came over. Grant gave each one of the Team a "bro hug." They talked for a while. Grant introduced Nick and showed off Nick's backpack with medical supplies.
"A combat medic? Nice," Pow said. "Very nice."
By this time, Ted and Sap had come up to them. Grant introduced them to Nick who couldn't believe how many soldiers were there and how military they seemed to be, albeit with some civilians and non-regulation facial hair like beards. But still. This was not a hillbilly unit. It was a military unit dispensing with some military protocol, but still deadly serious.
"What was your unit?" Ted asked Nick.
"2nd Battalion, 23rd Infantry Regiment, 4th Stryker Brigade, 2nd Infantry Division, at JBLM," Nick said. Translated, that meant that Nick was assigned to the 4th Strykers-which were like armored personnel carriers-at Joint Base Lewis McChord, the giant military base between Olympia and Tacoma that included Ft. Lewis.
"Stryker, huh?" Ted asked. The Stryker units saw plenty of combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their medics were good. They had to be, unfortunately.
Ted wanted to test this new guy to make sure he was a real medic. "Who was your CO?" Ted asked Nick.
"Col. Pete Lowe," Nick said without hesitation. The name sounded vaguely familiar to Ted, although he didn't know all of the COs at Ft. Lewis now that he had been out of the Army. The COs changed pretty often.
"What was your MOS?" Ted asked. "MOS" was the acronym for military occupational specialty. Each job in the military had an MOS.
"68 Whiskey, sir," Nick said instantly, using the phonetic alphabet term "whiskey" for the letter W. Ted knew that 68W was the correct MOS for a combat medic.
"Sergeant, not 'sir,'" Ted said. "I work for a living." Ted did not have any rank insignia on-almost no one did-so Nick assumed he was an officer and called him "sir."
Ted continued the questioning to see if this supposed medic was legit. "Where'd you go to medic school?"
"Ft. Sam Houston, Sergeant," Nick said instantly, again. Ted knew that was the correct answer.
"You got your CMB?" Ted asked, referring to the combat medic badge, a designation showing that a person had been a medic in a unit engaged in combat.
"No, Sergeant," Nick said. "Went from Ft. Sam straight to Ft. Lewis. No deployment overseas."
"Why did you leave your unit?" Ted asked.
"Things are bad, Sergeant," Nick said, shaking his head. "There is no discipline at all. As in, none. Everyone is taking off. Well, took off. I was one of the last to go. Shoulda gone sooner, but I was following orders."
"Why do you want to join a rebel unit?" Ted asked. He knew that this new medic had come straight from Pierce Point and therefore had not gone through vetting from HQ. So it was up to Ted to screen this guy. Grant must have already done some screening or he wouldn't have brought him out here.
"I've seen what's happening," Nick said, still standing at attention. "It's out of control, Sergeant. I want things back the way they were. I have a wife and two babies. They aren't growing up like this. Not if I can help it."
"Sgt. Malloy," Grant said, "Nick here has an incentive to not screw us." Grant didn't want to be a dick, but he wanted Nick and the others standing around listening to know that Grant took this job very seriously and was willing to do horrible things in order to win this war.
Nick nodded, knowing exactly what Grant meant. "My wife and kids," Nick said, "are here in Pierce Point and Lt. Matson knows where they are. You guys control everyone coming and going. My family isn't going anywhere. They are in your hands."
"We don't kill women and children," Grant said, "but we would keep them in 'protective custody' if Nick...well, didn't work out."
Grant put his arm on Nick's shoulder for a little dramatic flair and said, "But that won't be necessary. I've talked to Nick a fair amount. He volunteered for this unit before he even knew what we did."