On his left hip was the BK9 and on his right the S&W M&P .40 Pro. As always, he kept his AR-15 with Trijicon ACOG Scope on a two-point sling.
Sure, there were probably rifles out there as good or better. At the end of the day, John’s choice had more to do with familiarity. Better to have a weapon system you knew like the back of your hand. Especially since clearing a jam on a rifle in the heat of battle could be a life-or-death situation.
Stuffed into one of his back pouches, John had yarrow for blood clotting as well as a small survival kit that contained wire, his flint and striker as well as some water purification tablets. He would also take his Lifesaver water bottle to provide an easy way to scoop up possibly unsafe water and filter it in seconds.
An eager-looking Rodriguez appeared just then. “I sent your message,” he told John.
John tightened the straps of his tactical vest, his gaze dropping to the sadness on Brandon’s face. Reaching into the back of the truck, John pulled the crate with George out onto the tailgate. Rodriguez went to grab the crate and that was when George sprang to life, squawking and snapping at his fingers.
Rodriguez recoiled. “Your bird’s crazy, John.”
“He also doesn’t taste very good,” Brandon added.
John snickered while George continued making a racket.
“How would you know how he tastes?”
“The kid thinks the bird’s his pet,” John explained. “But I gave you my word, so go ahead.”
“That’s right,” Rodriguez said. “You did give me your word.” He reached for the cage again when John stopped him.
“I didn’t say you could have the cage. I only said you could have the bird.”
Rodriguez froze for a moment.
John opened the lid and the radio operator barely got within a foot of the cage before George seized one of his fingers with his powerful beak. Rodriguez swore and tore his hand away. “What the hell, John? This is thing is possessed.”
John couldn’t help but laugh. “Believe me, I know. How about we do this? We’re gonna need to eat this thing sooner or later. I don’t mind doing all the nasty work, plucking his feathers, gutting him, and giving you half of what I cook.”
That offer seemed so much better to Rodriguez than getting his face pecked off. “Okay, deal. Just shut that thing up before I go deaf.”
John closed the cage and slid George back into the truck. He then reached into his pocket and gave George some more wild grass to eat.
After closing the hatch, he caught the smile plastered on Brandon’s face.
That was when it struck John that George was likely Brandon’s only friend, especially since no one in the Patriots was close to his age.
A call came just then for everyone to meet at the assembly area. As John got ready to leave, Brandon took him by the arm. “I wanna go with you,” Brandon said. “I’m a good shot with a rifle, you’ve seen me.”
“You are, Brandon. And we’ll need you when we head into Oneida, but I need you to sit this one out. Besides, who’s gonna feed George while I’m gone? Keep him nice and plump.” John reached into his pocket and handed Brandon what was left of the wild grass. “You know how to find more, right?”
The boy nodded.
“If you need anything, Gary’s there to help.” He paused and laid a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Chapter 20
Navigating the eight cars and trucks along with the thirty men who would participate in the ambush was nerve-racking. As John had recently discovered, the Chairman had checkpoints covering each major road into Oneida. Moreover, after John’s attempt to enter the town and the daring rescue mission which had saved him, the local militia was probably on high alert.
Keeping a safe distance meant they had to cut a wide circle to the east of the city. Before long, they found Route 27 north and headed into Daniel Boone National Forest. As they crossed the border into Kentucky, mobile homes along the road displayed torn and weathered signs promising state line discounts. The doors on many of them hung ajar, one blown completely off its hinges, likely from looters.
Not far ahead, a curve in the road offered the ideal place for an ambush. It was important the approaching trucks not see what was waiting for them. Equally important was the need to make sure the heavy vehicles would be able to stop before colliding with the trucks blocking the road. For that reason, two pickups were maneuvered to block the road fifty yards past the curve. A heavy spike strip was also laid across the asphalt in case the lead truck tried to break through.
Marshall seemed confident that at the slightest show of force, the truckers would stop their rigs and come out with their hands held high.
The remaining Patriot vehicles were stashed along the edge of the forest, out of sight.
John had opted to leave his Blazer back at camp. This way, if the operation lasted into the night, Brandon would have somewhere to sleep. The thought of making a more permanent dwelling in camp had occurred to him and on more than one occasion he had started gathering the material, although the truth of the matter was, he had no intention of staying very long. As soon as Diane and the others were home safe and sound, they would begin the long and arduous task of rebuilding their former bug-out location. And this time they would do everything they could to strengthen it from a similar attack.
With the vehicles in position, Marshall sent a group of ten men to wait a few hundred yards up the highway. Hunkered down and spread out across both sides of the road, they would help close the trap once the vehicles entered the ambush.
Ten more including Moss, Marshall and John would remain near the point of contact. The final ten were then divided into two groups and placed fifty yards south of the ambush site. Their job was to act as a stopping force for any rig that tried to burst through the blockade. In addition, this last group would monitor and engage any threats approaching from the rear.
Now came the waiting game as the men settled down and watched for the convoy. All they could do was hope that the intelligence Rodriguez had gathered was accurate.
Above them, the noonday sun looked on from a cloudless sky. Being in the shade helped somewhat, although strapped into full tactical gear with an AR at hand, John could feel his clothes becoming soaked with perspiration. It was important to stay hydrated at times like these and he fetched the canteen off his belt and took a long drink of warm, funny-tasting water.
The water had come from the camp’s filtration system, a tarp designed to funnel rainwater into a series of fifty-gallon drums. A stream nearby provided the rest. None of it was treated, which meant individuals scooped up what they needed and either boiled it or popped in some bleach or purification tablets. John wasn’t sure if the problem was laziness or lack of time. In large quantities, the iodine in the tablets wasn’t good for you, since they were only intended for emergencies. The same went for the bleach treatment.
It was a health risk for everyone and an issue John would address with Marshall when they returned. But right now, John had other things on his mind.
Beside him, Marshall scanned the baking length of asphalt through a set of binoculars. One man had positioned himself far ahead of the curve and was sending hand signals letting them know there was no sign of them yet.
Marshall sighed. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and into his right eye. He didn’t seem to notice. His beard looked dirty and matted with leaves and small twigs.
“Waiting around for something to happen,” Marshall said. “Just like the leadup to Desert Storm.” He turned to John. “You remember that?”