“Brigade leadership is formed, sir,” said Cuskelly.
“Thank you, Glen. What are we looking at?”
“Brian showed up a few minutes ago, which puts us at three out of the seven commanders,” Cuskelly replied.
“Still no word from the York or Kittery chapters?”
“Nothing yet. Reports from the area aren’t encouraging. It looks like a total wipeout east of the turnpike.”
“And Limerick?” asked Campbell.
“Randy’s radio must be down. We haven’t heard from him since about eight last night. He knows about the meeting,” said Cuskelly, shrugging his shoulders.
“It’s not like Randy to blow off his duties. He’ll show up. Let’s get this moving along, so everyone can get back out to their people,” said Campbell, stepping inside the York County Readiness Brigade’s headquarters.
The barn’s recently renovated interior contained a single, wide-open, post-and-beam interior from front to back, featuring vaulted arches and struts running the entire length of the ceiling. An unfinished oak-board floor held up several rows of rough-cut timber benches, giving the space the distinct feel of a rural Grange hall. A thick, hand-hewn, pine table sat lengthwise in front of the benches at the far side of the barn, surrounded by the brigade leadership team, all of whom leaned over a map, talking excitedly. Several additional maps adorned the far right corner walls, within easy reach of the ham radio station.
The brigade banner towered over them, draped across the floor-to-ceiling flagstone fireplace anchoring the far wall. The royal blue flag displayed their motto, “Semper Tuens” (always protecting), in gold letters above a simple picture of a colonial minuteman. “YCRB” was printed under the minuteman, representing the only change to the banner in thirty-three years. The American flag and Maine state flags flanked the fireplace, attached to thick wooden poles in black iron stands. The poles were canted away from the fireplace at forty-five degree angles to allow the unfurled display of each flag. From the back of the barn, it was an awe-inspiring sight that filled him with pride.
The Campbell family barn and the two hundred surrounding acres had served as the York County Militia’s headquarters and meeting place since its inception, hosting everything from small leadership meetings to the town-hall-style public relations events that had become more common recently. The personally funded renovation effort had transformed the damp, dingy barn into a warm, inviting space for these events. They could hardly transform public perception in the propane-lantern-lit, creaky old barn that had served them for years.
The men around the table stood at loose attention when he walked down the aisle between benches.
“At ease, everyone. Why don’t we all take seats for now? We’ll get to the maps a little later,” he said, pulling a chair out for himself in the middle.
“Thank you for making the trip under less than optimal circumstances. I know you have your own families and people to look after, so I won’t keep you long. Obviously, we’re missing some folks,” he said, and the group murmured. “I want you to stay focused on your own areas of responsibility for now. Once we’ve sorted out how to make the best impact within each of your chapters, we’ll explore ways to expand east and help. Let’s conduct a quick SITREP from each chapter and see where we stand for now. Gerry?” he said, nodding to the Biddeford/Saco chapter commander.
“Coastal areas were hit hard, which is no surprise,” said Gerry Beaudoin. “Old Orchard Beach is a total loss. Biddeford and Saco downtown areas were relatively untouched, aside from a massive surge of water down the Saco River. Messed up the riverfront areas something fierce. We have trees down and windows shattered all over, but the heavily populated areas were spared the tsunami effects. Downtown Biddeford is nearly four miles from the coastline.”
“That’s good news, Gerry. I know you live out past the 95, so I assume your outreach supplies are still intact?” said Campbell.
“Yep. I have the stuff split between my deputy commander and a few other trusted members. Tents, tarps, fuel, dried stores—all maintained according to brigade readiness standards.”
“Vehicles?”
“I have three working vehicles, including the one next to the barn. Another car and a pickup. We’ll get out into the community to try to enlist volunteers with vehicles, but it’s still too early. Everyone’s way too preoccupied with their own situation at the moment.”
“It’s not helping that the cops were stealing cars from citizens. Trust is running a little thin out there,” said Dave Littner.
“There’s nothing we can do about that. A contact of mine in the state police said that some of the major municipalities requisitioned cars to replace their own disabled vehicles. It doesn’t sound good, and I’d be rightly pissed if they took one of ours, but we’re dealing with a statewide emergency. We have to cut them some slack, but keep an eye on the situation,” said Campbell.
“I can tell you right now what’ll happen if they try to take one of our cars,” said Littner.
“Dave, the last thing we need is a police confrontation of any kind,” said Campbell.
“I know. I know. But something isn’t right with all of this. The police chief in South Berwick is a good friend of mine, and he told me that the state police hand delivered a Homeland Security bulletin mandating that they disarm citizens carrying firearms. I saw the fucking thing. Homeland has declared a national state of emergency, citing the 2015 Defense Authorization Bill’s modification of the Insurrection Act. People are worried, Harry. They’re worried that this whole EMP thing is a false flag operation.”
Everyone broke out into an argument at once.
“Easy now! We need to stay focused!” said Campbell.
“All I’m saying is that some of what we’re hearing over the emergency broadcasts makes sense, but what we’re seeing from the government doesn’t,” said Littner. “There’s no reason to start disarming the populace if an asteroid hit, unless…”
“Unless what?” Campbell prompted.
“I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t like it. There’s not a lot of information flowing, and that makes people nervous. Look at the borders. They’re jammed with folks headed out of the cities. I’m already getting requests from the local police to help out with border crossings.”
“Which you’ve politely declined,” said Campbell.
“Absolutely, though we might have to reconsider this position.”
“The brigade isn’t a police force. We’ve promised the people of York County that we’d never serve in that capacity. If the towns need help with municipal duties, we’ll commit one hundred percent of our resources, but I won’t have members of the brigade manning checkpoints with weapons. Are we all good to go with that?” Campbell looked around at the members.
Everyone voiced agreement, except for Littner.
“What is it, Dave?” said Campbell.
“I’m totally with you, but I think we have a problem.”
“Have some of your people already done this?”
“No. The chapter is solid,” Littner said with a hurt look. “You know that.”
“I’m sorry, Dave. I know you’ve taken pains to weed out the chaff over there.”
“That’s just the problem. I know for a fact that Eli Russell has approached the Berwick and Eliot police to offer his group’s assistance,” said Littner.