Dan and the Bottle Ch. 19

The second wave would consist of the chopper borne troops, driving the numerous small pickups and SUVs loaded with additional supplies, keeping in contact with the foot soldiers with field radios. All in all, they would have nearly three hundred troops on the ground in the area and two dozen vehicles, some carrying heavy weapons.

Others would be loaded down with extra fuel.

After several weeks of practice drops and additional training, the entire operation went off with almost perfect precision; almost. A few of the paratroops wound up stuck in trees, and one of the choppers landed in a clearing that, it turned out, was right in the path of a Chinese patrol; the men on board ran down the ramp as soon as it was fully folded down, fanned out around the small clearing, and were soon engaged in a full scale, if somewhat lopsided, firefight with the communist troops. They would send the bodies of four of their fellows back to the Cave in the chopper, after they were certain the Chinese were wiped out to the last man.... and after spending nearly an hour refueling the big helicopter, five gallons at a time.

It was Gene Rawlings who made first contact, and that was almost accidental.

Mike Jamison was headed back to his cabin after a mostly unsuccessful hunt; his gamebag contained a measly two rabbits and a single squirrel. He almost wet himself when a section of the local landscape moved towards him, automatically bringing the Ruger 10/22 to bear on the outlandishly dressed stranger before him.

The man, whose face was painted in several streaks of brown and green, raised his hands in a non-threatening manner; reassuring, considering he had Mike seriously outgunned.

"Easy, there, partner.... I'm no threat to you."

"Who the fuck are you, and what do you want? You're obviously no hunter."

"Gene Rawlings... Wyoming State Constitutional Militia."

"Bullshit!"

Gene shook his head. "No Bullshit, guy..... "

"Well.... what the hell are you doin' here? You're a long way from home."

"I was sent out to look for a militia group out this way. We heard about 'em from translated Chinese radio transmissions."

"And just what do you intend to do, once you find 'em?"

"My Commander wants to set up an alliance with them... send 'em extra troops, weapons, supplies, help them get more people recruited and trained, that sort of thing."

"Uh huh.... how do I know you're not one of those Goddamn collaborators?"

"Had some trouble with them kinda punks, have you?"

"Some, yeah." Mike admitted.

"Well.... look up in that tree behind me."

Mike risked a quick glance up, and saw the remains of Gene's parachute tangled in the branches.

"Would one of your 'collaboraters' risk jumping out of a perfectly good airplane, miss his landing zone by a couple of hundred yards, and wind up tangled in a damned tree just to fool you?"

'Well, when you put it That way...' Mike thought, and grinned. "I guess not."

He led Gene to an abandoned hunter's cabin, deep in the woods, and left him there for the moment, running off to the home of a nearby friend, where he used a long-hidden radio to contact several other people. By the time his friends had shown up, twilight had given way to full darkness.

Gene, realizing that the other man had already shown him a certain level of trust, took advantage of his host's absence to put some kindling in the fireplace, starting a small fire with the firewood in the rack by the hearth, taking out his mess kit and heating up a stew from the field rations in his pack and a bit of water from his canteen.

When Walt and Ed showed up at Jim's cabin, Mike was in for a shock.... they had a guest with them. It was John Marshall, who had airdropped in a few miles away from where Gene had landed.

After much discussion, it became obvious that both John and Gene were legit; it didn't hurt that Walt had actually been out deer hunting when Marshall had come floating down out of the sky, landing in a clearing mere yards from where he'd been sitting in his blind.

The four of them hiked back to the old hunter's cabin, where they found Gene busily cooking his meal over the fire, while an old, battered coffee pot boiled on a flat stone in the coals.

"John! You made it!"

"Hey, Gene.... good to see you managed to land without twisting your ankle this time."

Rawlings winced. He'd landed badly in one of his training jumps and had nearly missed out on this op.

"Landed in a damned tree.... had to cut myself loose and climb down... nearly wound up on my ass."

Ed Greeley smiled.... good to see these guys knew each other; it lent credence to both of their stories.

"You two know each other, I take it?"

John nodded. "Are you kidding? Me an' Gene here went through basic together. He's one of the better scouts in our Company.... but not much for jumping outta planes." he grinned.

Gene rallied at this. "Yeah, but I'm a better shot than you!"

"As long as the target's not too far away." Marshall fired back.

Walt Kennison smiled..... it was obvious they were witnessing the reunion of old friends.

John looked over at the fireplace. "You brought along your coffee pot?!"

"Well, hell, yes! You know damned well I don't go nowhere without my coffee!"

Ed, Walt, and Mike watched this back-and-forth between the two men for several moments as they took seats around the table; it was Ed who finally broke in.

"So you men are both from Wyoming?"

John Marshall nodded. "We've been hearing about a militia group based around here somewhere, 'jacking trucks from the Chinese. Our commander figured if you're against the Chinese, you're on our side, and sent us out to see if we could make some arrangement with you guys, mutual support, that sort of thing. We've had some success.... our free zone is a couple of states, so far, and we're expanding, but not fast enough, y'see."

Mike nodded. "So you want to expand out this way?"

"Not exactly.... Colonel Archer sent us out to contact your boys, see if we could set up an alliance of some sort. We can help you folks get established, help with recruiting and training, supply you with some of our excess gear, and generally help you get organized. We've got more equipment than we know what to do with at the moment, so it won't hurt us to supply you folks with a few tons of equipment and weapons. We've got a small camp north of here, but it isn't fully operational, just yet, so our CO sent us to see what's what."

Mike's eyes grew wide at the words 'tons of equipment.'

Ed had a guarded look on his face as he asked "What makes you so sure we know anything about a 'militia'?"

"I'm not sure.... but if you aren't in one, well.... maybe you know somebody who is. At any rate, we're here to help them out. We brought along our own food, we've got choppers dropping off more, and we've got a few vehicles on the ground... small trucks and Jeeps, mostly. Each of them is hauling a load of gear and supplies, too."

Gene shot him a look, but John brushed it aside. They'd find out about the trucks and the other camp sooner or later.... better that they knew ahead of time, so the mobile troops weren't mistaken for Chinese.

John shrugged out of his field pack, untied the flap, and reached inside, digging out his own mess kit and several packages of his own field rations.

"You fellas hungry? I brought along extra."

Walt nodded. "I could eat, yeah.... here, we've got a few bigger cookpots here. We use this cabin, sometimes, as a stop-off when we're hunting."

John thanked him and filled the gallon stew pot halfway from his canteens, getting the water boiling before opening several packets of an alfredo pasta mix, adding the contents of a packet of dried buffalo meat, and setting it on the hooked chain above the glowing coals to cook.

They continued talking as they shared the meal, topics ranging from local events to what the local hunting prospects were like to the equipment Gene and John were carrying.

The locals were intensely interested in the M16s, and none had ever seen the grenade launchers that hung beneath the barrels of the rifles.

Finally, Walt broached the question that had been on the minds of himself and his two friends since John had mentioned it.

"What did you mean, help with recruiting?"

John and Gene looked at each other for a moment, each wondering how much they should disclose. It was Gene who finally spoke.

"Well, first let me give you a bit of our history.... John and I were both born into a small city that was pretty well isolated from the outside world, up until eight or ten years back. We were completely self sufficient; we grew our own food, made our own power, had our own schools and hospitals, and generally kept the old ways alive. Many of our ancestors were former military: army, marines, navy SEALS, air force pilots and ground crews, the works... and they trained their kids, who trained their kids, and so on."

He paused to take a sip of coffee before continuing.

"The main 'founder' of the place was a man who was indepently wealthy, and he kinda went all out to build the place. What he left us, well... we were basically set up to survive anything that nature or man could throw at us. He spent ungodly amounts of money to do it, but it protected us all of those years."

"We knew there had been a war, but until the radiation levels started dropping into a safe range, we basically didn't know what was going on in the outside world. We were Really isolated, y'see."

"Anyway, when we finally did start looking around, we learned that the Chinese had taken over most of the country, and they were abusing Americans horribly. That didn't sit too well with us... so we tracked them to their local base, surrounded them with scouting teams for a couple of weeks, kept track of their movements, patrols and the like, gathered all the intelligence that we could, then started planning. A week or so later, we surrounded their base with a couple of thousand snipers, killed every soldier there, rescued the American women they were holding as slaves, looted the place thoroughly, and then rigged the place with explosives, and destroyed it utterly."

He paused for a moment, taking another sip of coffee and guaging his host's reactions. They appeared to be hanging on his every word.

"The people in the local village, that the Chinese had been using like a foodbank, we offered sanctuary... they could come live under our protection, as long as they lived by our rules.... everybody works at something to earn their keep, save for the very young, and the very old; we taught them to read, and write, and other basic skills, and if they wanted, they could go through our military training and join us in the fight to take back our country... which many did. Since then we've done the same with dozens of small towns, and we've pretty much flattened every Chinese base we've run across, those we didn't take for our own use, anyway. We've lost some good people along the way, but we've added more than we've lost. We've also made some pretty strong alliances with several other groups in our area, and we've been expanding our operations ever since-- and that's the long and the short of it. Our current commander heard about another such group out this way, and he sent us to find them, see if we could set up some kind of mutual alliance with them. Eventually, we want to cut the Chinese off from their resupply completely, y'see."

Ed and Walt looked at each other, finally coming to an unspoken assent; it was Walt who finally spoke.

"Well.... we might know someone in this 'militia' you speak of; go ahead and get some rest tonight, we'll see if we can't contact them, see if they'd be interested in your proposal. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Gene nodded. "Fair enough. Hell, we've got time. I'm about beat, anyway.... I've been up for damn near twenty four hours. A good night's sleep sounds like heaven about now."

Ed grinned, pointing at a door to another room. "There's a couple of bunks in there where you can lay out your bedrolls. No pillows or anything, but they'll do ya.... We'll post a guard, see that you're not bothered by anybody before morning."

Gene woke up at nine o'clock, nearly on the dot, to the sound of an engine. He jumped off the bunk, grabbed his rifle, and pulled the chair away from the door, running into the main room of the cabin, seeing Mike Jamison peeking through the window to the outside.

"Looks like a small truck.... but not something the Chinese use. The paint job is all wrong."

Gene stepped to the window, looking out... to see Greg Collingsworth climbing out of the old tiger-striped Ranger pickup.

"It's cool, brother.... I know him. That's one of our supply trucks."

He stepped to the door, swinging it wide, and yelled "Greg! How's it going, dude?"

Collingsworth saw Gene and smiled. "Better, now. I hoped I'd find some more of our people. I saw the cabin, figured I'd ask if anyone here knew anything."

"C'mon in.... John Marshall's here too."

Over a breakfast of leftover pasta, they learned that Greg had lost his co-driver in a firefight with some Chinese troops but had managed to save the truck and his load.

"Don't know how I'm going to break it to Cathy. They've been together since they were, like, seven or eight years old."

Gene nodded, but didn't say anything; he didn't envy the younger man's task. He'd had to deliver such news a few times himself, and it never got any easier.

An hour later, Ed and Walt came walking up to the cabin, with three more men in tow. One was Jeff O'Neil, who had dropped in by parachute, but they didn't recognize the other two.

"Gentlemen, let me introduce Don Anderson and John Medford."

As the men shook hands all around, Donny started the dance. "I understand you folks are looking for the local militia."

Gene nodded. "We were sent out to make contact, and put them in contact with our commander, back in Wyoming. We're also here to assess their needs, in equipment and training, and help out where ever we can."

"I see... and how do we know you're not working for the Chinese?"

Gene rubbed at his chin for a moment, then frowned a little and replied "Well, Sir, to be honest, I'm not sure how to prove a negative like that, except to say that we came here in good faith, and I don't think the Chinese have enough imagination to have someone drop in by parachute."

Greg spoke up, just then. "Well, Gene, be fair.... " Turning towards Don, he asked "Have the Chinese ever offered you weapons and ammunition?"

Don shook his head, clearly wondering where this was going.

"Go out and take a look in the back of the truck I drove up in."

Don shot a look at Ed, who stepped out the door for a few minutes. When he came back, the look on his face was best described as 'stunned'.

"If they hadn't convinced me last night, I'd be convinced now. There's enough guns and ammo in that there truck to start another war!"

Walt jumped from his seat, wanting to see for himself. He was back, a few minutes later, a long wooden crate under one arm, a rectangular metal ammo can dangling from his other hand. He set them down at the table and dug a big screwdriver out of a drawer, prying the lid of the crate off, revealing five new M16 rifles, complete with extra magazines. Opening the lid on the ammo can, he exposed hundreds of rounds of .223 ammunition on stripper clips.

Donny looked on in awe. He hadn't found such a stash in months. "What..... What else have you got out there?"

Greg grinned. "Five more cases of rifles, about ten more ammo cans like this one, a couple of cases of Light anti-tank weapon rocket launchers... the disposable kind; half a dozen cases of grenades, and about ten cases of assorted field rations."

Don was a little shocked.... the ammunition alone was enough to keep his entire group operating for a couple of weeks.

It was eventually decided that Gene and Greg would go with Don and Walt, while the rest stayed at the cabin. Gene and Walt would squeeze into the back of the truck, while Greg drove, with Don riding shotgun. Don, it turned out, knew every backwoods deer trail in the area, and directed Greg through the maze of trails back to his mountainside cabin in a little over an hour.

Within two hours, they had the small truck unloaded, and the true amount of ordinance was revealed.... something that had Don Anderson nearly orgasming in his shorts. As they were grabbing the last of the boxes, the radio in the small truck crackled.

"Anyone out there?"

Greg picked up the mic and answered. "This is GC.... go ahead, Fred."

Fred Nicholls sighed with relief before answering. "Hey, Greg.... where are you fellas at? I'm kinda lost."

Greg smiled to himself before reading off the coordinates from his dashboard mounted GPS unit. 'Poor guy could get lost in his own apartment!' he muttered to himself as he hung up the mic.

Don smiled at the exchange, while Gene nodded in agreement. Fred Nicholls was well known for having no sense of direction.

"Another one of yours, I guess?" Don asked.

Gene nodded. "Fred Nicholls.... helluva sniper, but you have to point him in the right direction, or he'd wind up in the wrong state. Why the hell they've got him driving a truck is anybody's guess. Must have a good co-driver with him."

Walt smiled at this. He'd known a few people like that over the years.

An hour later, a smaller, civilian version of the Humvees the Chinese drove, with a similar tiger striped paint job, pulled up out in front of Don's cabin, and a short, rather rotund man jumped out, looking all around before spotting the vine-and-ivy covered cabin front. Heading towards the door, he didn't realize he was covered by a nine mm automatic until he reached up to knock, and nearly pissed himself from sheer surprise.

"Whoa! I don't know you, Sir, but I'm a friendly!" he exclaimed as he put his hands up.

Gene laid a calming hand on Don's shoulder, saying "It's ok, Don.... he's with us."

Don stepped back, lowering the pistol and motioning Fred inside, to join the party.

Fred turned, motioning to his passenger, Louanne Willis, who nodded, climbing out of the truck and shouldering her .300 Weatherby rifle.

Don turned to Greg, raising an eyebrow. "You have women in your group?"

Greg nodded. "Don't act surprised with her, though.... she's one of the deadliest snipers I know, and she might take offense. She never goes anywhere without that rifle, either.... rumor has it that she sleeps with the damned thing." he grinned.

Fred and Louanne joined them in the deceptively small-looking cabin, which opened into a large subterranean chamber at least an additional sixty feet long and forty feet wide, with heavily braced wooden ceilings that reached up into the mountainside on an angle, reaching heights of a good thirty feet. Several rooms backed up to the side walls, and what appeared to be a large kitchen area backed up to the opposite wall, though the appliances all appeared to be long-unused. Four large woodstoves were spaced around the room to provide heat.

Walt, meanwhile, was looking out of one of the small windows when another light truck pulled up out front.... another Ford, this one an F-150, again painted in the tiger striped Wyoming Militia colors, with two men in the seat and a cap on the back painted to match.

"Is this one of yours too?"

Neil Carlson piled out of the driver's seat at that moment, shouting ''Hello, the house!"

Greg nodded. "Another one of our supply trucks." he replied, stepping towards the door.

Greg Billings walked into the ranch office building, looking for the Doc.

The resident veterinarian, Doc Martin, finally turned up in the cafeteria, and he grabbed a bowl of stew and a small plate of biscuits before joining the older man.