After examining it for a moment, John said: “I’ve never seen one like it before.”
“Fits under your chest rig,” Moss explained.
“I’m not talking about that. I mean, these look homemade.”
Moss laughed, brushing his hand through the single strip of spiky hair on his head. “That’s because they are. I figure even with the feigned attack Marshall is launching from the North, we’ll need a bit of extra protection.”
The vest itself was heavy laminated fibers, divided into long vertical bands about five inches wide. Two of those covered the chest, while two more covered the back.
John rapped his knuckles against the armor inside and heard a strange metallic sound.
“What kind of protection you got in here?”
“Quarter-inch circular saw blades,” Moss said without batting an eyelash.
“Excuse me? I thought you said saw blades.”
Brandon was beside them, laughing and having trouble holding it in.
“We found them in the trailers and added slots to the vest to house them. Hey, no one’s forcing you to wear them.” Moss was looking insulted.
“Listen,” John told him. “I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m just saying I’ve never heard of circular saw blades being used as armor plating.”
“Overlap ‘em like scale armor,” Moss said, “and they work like a charm.” He pointed at what looked like a ballistics test they’d performed on John’s vest.
Now that John looked closer, it seemed as though they’d fired quite a few rounds at this thing.
“So what’s it rated for?”
“Well, it stopped .22s without blinking an eye. Even a .38. I’d wager that most pistol rounds won’t penetrate this gear, although I don’t know about 7.62 and 5.56. Guess it’ll depend if they have AP”—armor-piercing—“rounds along with range.”
John rolled his eyes. “Well, it isn’t all that heavy and it’s certainly better than nothing.”
Taking the next few minutes, John made sure all the gear he’d need was assembled. As always, he would use his Colt-AR and ACOG scope. The tactical vest over his body armor housed four now fully loaded thirty-round magazines. Additional green-tipped 5.56 NATO rounds were in a pouch on his belt. Secured in his leg holster was the S&W M&P .40 Pro with two additional mags.
In the months leading up to the EMP, John had been part of several online forums with people interested in prepping and living a self-sufficient lifestyle. Invariably, someone would ask what the best weapons would be to weather a grid-down or societal collapse. The question would generate a knowing smile from many for the simple reason that it implied one set of weapons was the best while another was inferior. Sure, there were quality and reliability factors with whatever gear one chose, but most of that came down to personal comfort levels and training.
For John, he felt most at home with the AR after serving in the military for a number of years. The platform was sleek and reliable and he knew he was proficient at putting rounds on target. Swap his main rifle out for an SU-16 and that was no longer the case. When bullets were flying over your head, it didn’t matter nearly as much that your rig made you look cool or your rifle turned people’s heads. You either put in the hours required to fire, reload and clear the occasional jam when the stuff hit the fan or you prayed whatever you were using worked well right out of the box.
Course, that was rarely the case. Skill sets degraded which was why the men and women in the Secret Service and other branches had to requalify every few months.
The other question John commonly received was about his choice of the S&W pistol over the far more ubiquitous Glock. For him, it came down to two things. A comfortable grip that fit perfectly in his hand and a great mag release.
Once Brandon had his armored vest on, John went in the back of the Blazer and pulled out the Mossberg Chainsaw.
Brandon’s eyes went wide. “For me?”
“Think you can handle it?” John asked.
“Sure I can. Got real good with the Kel-Tec, didn’t I?”
John nodded, grinning. “You were the best of all the kids.” Slowly the smile faded.
“Don’t worry,” Brandon said. “We’ll find them. Maybe even sooner than you think.”
The weight bearing down on John was starting to feel like shortness of breath. Not an ounce of it had anything to do with the armor and weapons he was carrying. This weight was the kind you couldn’t see, but the sort that seemed so much more crushing. He, Moss, Brandon and Rodriguez would need to slip into Oneida while a battle raged on the other side of the town. Once inside and undetected, they would then need to knock out the Chairman’s radio jammer. It didn’t matter that this was John’s second attempt at infiltrating the town, that the first had nearly ended with him lying in a shallow grave. He needed to keep his head clear. Shove all thoughts of seeking his wife and kids to the back of his mind and complete his mission.
Sometimes it wasn’t the gear or the lack of reinforcements that let you down. Sometimes it was the inability to keep a cool head.
Chapter 40
Soon the entire Patriot camp was assembled in a circle around Marshall. On the ground was a sandtable: a six-by-six mockup of Oneida and the surrounding area. To represent roads, they used rows of small stones. Old food cans doubled as buildings, and upside-down coffee mugs as strong points.
“We’ve received reliable intelligence,” Marshall began, “that the Chairman isn’t who he’s pretending to be. His claim of a presidential appointment was a lie intended to hide the fact that he’s a Russian agent.” This revelation elicited gasps and shouts of disbelief from the crowd. “I asked my lieutenants not to spill the beans before I had a chance to tell you all myself. I’m happy to see they honored their word. If you haven’t already figured it out, the United States is at war. I’m sure many of you assumed as much the minute the EMP hit. What you probably didn’t know was that for the last few months a brutal war’s been waged along the West Coast to repel a combined Russian, Chinese and North Korean invasion.” Now he really had their attention.
A woman next to John clapped a hand over her mouth. She swayed back and forth and reached out to steady herself. Similar scenes played out all around them. It had been centuries since a foreign power had invaded American soil and the news was even more staggering than witnessing the events of 9/11.
“We’ve learned,” Marshall continued, “that the Chairman, and many others like him, were sent far behind enemy lines. Their purpose was to hold towns, preserving vital infrastructure the enemy would need to conquer our vast country. Oil refineries, communication centers, railway depots. It looks like their plan was to swoop in, fix what was broken and then use our own transportation network to move troops and materiel. A small team is now being sent in to help reestablish contact with US forces nearby. If we can bring their heavy weapons into the fight, Oneida will have no choice but to capitulate.”
One of the Patriots wearing full tactical gear and frayed sneakers put his hand up. “What’s our job then, sir?”
“We’ll be the decoy.” Marshall used the stick in his hand to indicate Route 29, which led into town from the north, and Route 456, which entered from the east. “The bulk of our forces will attack from here and here.” He motioned to a series of bean cans along the northern and eastern sections of town. “These buildings overlooking the approach will be natural strong points. Our job isn’t to advance beyond them, but if the Chairman has reinforced them, they need to be taken out. While we do that, Rodriguez and a handful of others will slip in from the south and use directional antennas to locate the jamming signal emanating from the southern part of town.”