“Matthew 10:34?” It was Olive’s voice from behind them. “Why was that man quoting from Matthew?” she asked, after just stepping outside to better overhear the conversation.
“O, I’m sorry to say this, but we need to prepare to defend our home. This asshole just delivered a threat from some religious cult and he seems to have the means to try and carry it out,” Wilber said glumly.
While Thomas was delivering the Teacher’s ultimatum, almost all two hundred men and women from God’s Army were taking up positions at all points around the perimeter. They were slowly approaching the base of the hill, where they would wait for a signal from him to tell them to start their holy war against these infidel farmers. They were told that they would see some resistance, but that no mere mortal was any match for God’s Army.
Thomas stopped at a table set up on the Wright Ranch, just off the long dirt road. John held up an arm band with their GA insignia, although more professional looking than previous hand-done versions, and slipped it over Thomas’s right arm, who hoisted on a military-type vest at the same time.
“Going according to plan, Brother Thomas?” John asked, as he handed him a rifle.
“Perfectly, Brother John.”
Beside John were two men and two women dressed in their olive drab shirts and GA arm bands, awaiting Thomas’s orders.
Looking at them now, Thomas commanded, “Go tell your squads that they have maybe ten people at the most behind a wall that surrounds the top-part of a hill. That’s where their compound is. Make sure they wait at the base of the hill, at the new fence line, until you hear my shots behind the wall. Then start your assault.”
“Yes, Brother Thomas,” the four said in unison, while bowing in supplication to him, before running toward their pre-determined positions.
He waited until they were out of earshot and then said to John, “Make sure none of our troops leave until this is over.” The look he gave his second in command brooked no disagreement.
“I’ve already dispatched the Loyalty Officers. They’ll keep our people in line or remove them from service permanently.”
“Excellent. Give me about twenty minutes and then you should start hearing the shooting,” Thomas said as he readied his rifle and took one last swig of water, and then faced John, with his hand out.
“I’ll be ready, Brother Thomas.” John sealed the statement with a firm shake.
“Thanks, Brother John.” Thomas jogged back toward the ranch, taking a route around the side where he wouldn’t be seen.
As John watched him disappear into the thick bushes and trees, while he loaded his own weapon and put on his vest, he considered his rival. As much as he hated his “brother,” he had to admit Thomas was a brilliant organizer with an amazing vision. Yet, when he joined their group, he spoke and carried on like the uneducated hick he was bred to be. And that’s what angered John the most: this illiterate hick had been here less than all of them and yet the Teacher had made him his Number One. Yes, Thomas had created and assembled God’s Army and organized this group of followers. That couldn’t have happened simply with the Teacher’s captivating personality. Of course, the greatest growth in the Teacher’s followers had come recently from the takeovers, which John pushed for aggressively.
They had been taking farming towns and individual homes for the last twenty-five miles, over the past dozen days. It was the only way everyone could be fed. But with each town they conquered their numbers increased. Many of the able-bodied were given a choice to volunteer for the GA or leave. Those that became part of the GA were allowed to bring their families. Now they numbered nearly two thousand, growing with each town they absorbed.
The taking of Fossil Ridge was no different than the taking of any other rural farm town. They came in first asking for help, a recon mission by Thomas or John to get a sense of the town’s strength. Then they signaled their people whether to come in full force or with less firepower and fewer numbers. When they advanced on a town, especially one a little more organized, they often had to find the places where food and other supplies were hidden. The key was to select one or two people on whom to apply the right pressure. Often this was the town’s leader, who was either benevolent or dictatorial. Sometimes, as it was in Fossil Ridge, they had to kill the dictator, who was too full of his own machismo to say anything, to make a point and then find someone else from whom to extract the info. It was the town’s pharmacist who told them about Wilber Wright and his farm/ranch, letting them know Wilber was a prepper with storehouses of food. Because of this, they would come in hard before there was a chance to damage the stock. It was also an opportunity to winnow their troops.
They didn’t really need two hundred soldiers. It was almost too much to manage. But, their hope was that those who made it through would receive experience at combat and killing, making them better soldiers for their larger incursions. Those who didn’t … well, that meant fewer mouths to feed.
John smiled at how his end of the plan was working out. He had purposely sabotaged Thomas’s gun. The third bullet was a dud that would plug his rifle barrel, and the next round would explode, killing him or at least rendering him defenseless when the enemy returned fire. Either way, it would look like an accident. Then John would take over God’s Army and be the Teacher’s Number One.
He hit the breech to engage a round and marched toward his destiny.
28.
More Bad Guys
Nine men led by a killer known as Danny “El Diablo” Diaz, carrying Kalashnikov rifles, approached Maxwell Thompson’s beach house with slow, measured, cautious steps. To the untrained eye, it looked like maneuvers by some covert Mexican military. But El Diablo had no formal military or police training; his only connection to either organization was through the inside of a prison cell. Unlike his predecessor, Rodrigo (who made his presence known with gunfire, fancying himself as sort of a Mexican Rambo), El Diablo preferred the element of surprise. Ironically, it was Rodrigo who gave him the alias El Diablo, sending him to jobs that needed quiet precision; just like the devil himself, he would sneak in and leave death and evil behind. El Diablo learned this discipline from years of growing up watching US war movies, an innate sense of strategy, and a lifetime of practicing his craft of killing. When Rodrigo was killed, El Diablo took over and applied his own style of military discipline to the men. They used their skills not for drug smuggling, already an extinct vocation when Los Diablos Verdes started, but for pillaging the town of its supplies and its women. Diablo had considered Thompson’s place, but he also knew its owner by reputation and didn’t want to get blasted from several hundred meters away like Rodrigo. When they found the map of Thompson’s place showing a list of supplies, and considered the Fernandezes’ storehouse of rations, Diablo decided a different approach was in order to justify the risk. So, they approached from the north, through the desert, unseen by anyone who would care.
At the front corner of Thompson’s beach house, the men all took cover behind the street-side wall, squatting down and awaiting their orders just as they’d rehearsed. Diablo held up three fingers to his nearest three men, indicating they would be the first team, and then waved his forefinger in the same direction they had come to the Kings’ far side. He did the same with the next three, also sending them forward but to the far side yard of the Thompson house, and then he sent another two to hang back for rear support on the far corner of each of the two houses across the street, mostly as lookouts. El Diablo led Giagante, his most trusted man, through this southern side yard, between the King and Thompson homes. They would lead the assault.