She paused. Should she tell him and all the people in that kitchen the truth? Tell them the awful things that had happened? Oh, what the hell. He asked a question and she had an answer. She looked at Grant and felt like she could trust him. Besides, she had nothing to lose. Everything had been taken from her. This guerilla unit out in the sticks was her home now, and probably her final home. It was the last stop on a train ride through misery like she never thought she’d see. This was it –the end of the line. Might as well get it all out now. It would feel good to tell people why she was doing this, and to get it off her chest, which was easier said than done. Telling the story would probably make her cry, and that was not a good thing for a soldier to do, especially in front of other soldiers, and definitely when first meeting the new commanding officer. Not to mention that crying was ten times worse because she was a female soldier and being emotional could be used against her to say she wasn’t “combat ready.”
She was trying not to get emotional. She quickly got the quiver in her lip under control, which she had been doing a lot of lately. Turn the crying into anger, she told herself. She listened to herself and took a few seconds before she turned the crying into anger. Then more anger. Then more. Now she was ready to tell the world why she was out there.
“The gangs, sir,” she said at attention, tough as nails. “They got my family back in Chicago while I was training in Oklahoma; my mother, my father and…my poor little sister. That’s all I’ll say.”
Sherryton straightened up even more than when she was at attention, looked Grant straight in the eye, and said, “Payback, sir.” She squinted her eyes, her voice got icy and scary, and she repeated, “Payback.” The room was silent and the tone of her voice was frightening. She wanted to kill people. A lovely and charming young lady wanted to kill people.
Perfect, unfortunately. That was exactly what Grant was looking for. A motivated fighter with nothing to lose. She’d already lost everything back in Chicago. Forget that there was no air defense computer system for her to fix. She had what it took out here.
“Welcome to the 17th Irregulars, Corporal Sherryton,” Grant said as he extended his hand for a handshake and smiled.
Then Grant turned his smile into a fearless stare, looked her right in the eye, gritted his teeth, and said, “We’ll give you a chance for payback.” He quickly turned back into a compassionate person. He felt horrible for this innocent young lady. “My condolences about your family.”
She nodded and mouthed “Thank you,” and looked down at the floor.
Grant sensed the guilt she felt. So many people had been away from home when terrible things happened to their families.
He said, “You couldn’t have stopped them. But,” Grant pointed all around the kitchen to all the people there, “We can. And will. I can’t wait until we unleash on them.” Sherryton halfway smiled. It was the closest thing to a smile she could muster.
Grant got his composure back and said to her, “Report to Sgt. Sappenfield here and he’ll get you squared away with your quarters.”
Grant paused and wondered if he should say the next thing that came to his mind. Oh, what the hell. She had opened up with him. He took her hand in a handshake and looked her right in the eye.
“Welcome, Anne.” Grant wanted to add that personal touch, even though it wasn’t military protocol, so she would feel like this was her new home. He needed one hundred percent out of every fighter. Connecting with each one of them on a personal level—a level much deeper than just military protocol—was essential. Who gave a crap about military protocol? Grant wasn’t even a “real” officer, anyway.
It was past midnight and Grant wanted to get home for a little sleep. “What you got for me, Sergeant?” Grant asked Ted, requesting his briefing on what was going on when Grant was off in Pierce Point doing his day job. The two men left the crowded kitchen and walked into the downstairs bedroom of the farmhouse, which was where they could talk behind a closed door.
When they got into the bedroom and closed the door, Ted said, “Things are going pretty well.” He went over the new arrivals. There were some skilled people, but mostly ones like Anne people who had the general soldiering skills necessary and were physically fit, emotionally sound, and could shoot a rifle, but, more importantly, who wanted to take their country back. The civilians had no military training, of course, but had reasons to be there. They were people who had been in the crosshairs of the government. One was even a POI, like Grant.
“We’re at about one-third strength now,” Ted said. “We have some more work to do to get this farm ready to house about one hundred personnel. But we’re slowly building it up as the new arrivals come. We put them to work on the facilities. We’re getting them slowly integrated. That’s the advantage of getting them a few at a time. We can see what skills they have, if they are leaders, that kind of thing.”
“How we doin’ on supplies?” Grant asked. That was always at the forefront of his mind.
“Decent. So far,” Ted said. “Food is largely taken care of. We have basic FCard foods like pancake mix, cornbread mix, and oatmeal. We’re getting a garden going, some chickens for eggs, and Paul and the Chief are getting us fresh fish most nights. Oh, and Anderson shot a deer last night. He was pretty proud of his city-boy self becoming a hunter.”
“We only have a minimal amount of medical supplies,” Ted continued. “HQ is getting us more. Soon, or so they say.” Ted thought they would come, but he had spent his whole life being told that supplies were just about to arrive. This was different, however. Unlike his FUSA Army days when there were unlimited supplies and it was just a bureaucratic battle to get them, now supplies were actually scarce.
“Weapons?” Grant asked.
“Got a decent supply,” Ted said, with a smile. “We basically have the inventory of the gun store.” Ted and Chip had split the inventory up when they evacuated Chip’s gun store after the Olympia riots started. Ted took about half and got them to HQ in Boston Harbor, where they were earmarked for the 17th and distributed in dribs and drabs. Chip had the other half and they were in Grant’s basement. Or, had been. Chip had moved them out about a week ago over the span of two nights.
“How many is that?” Grant asked.
“I have seventy-one ARs. Almost all with iron sights, but a few with optics, mostly red-dot sights. About 250 magazines. About 15,000 rounds of 5.56. About a dozen AKs, decent supply of mags and ammo. A handful of tactical shotguns and butt loads of 12 gauge ammo, mostly bird shot. Assorted side arms. Different calibers and magazines, but lots of 9mm Glocks and Berettas. Some Sigs and XDs. Some in .40, and some 1911s.”
“Any heavy stuff?” Grant asked.
“Two M240s machine guns,” Ted said. “One is at the beach landing entrance you saw. The other one is being unpacked and cleaned up right now. We have a little ammo for the 240s, but I’d like more.”
“Explosives?” Grant asked.
“Not much,” Ted said. “We have a handful of grenades, but that’s it. Some training grenades, which will be more important now than live ones. I’m harping on Boston Harbor for more grenades and some grenade launchers, but they’re a bit overwhelmed now.”
“I bet we’ll get more of the good stuff as regular units come over to our side,” Grant said, half predicting it and half just being hopeful.
“Probably. I never count on that, though,” Ted said.
“Comms,” Grant said. “Can’t forget comms.” He was trying to be the wise commanding officer, even if he wasn’t.
“We have a decent assortment of handheld radios and a couple secure ones for talking to Boston Harbor,” Ted said. “Jim Q. is all over that. Man, that code talker shit is awesome.”