Dan and the Bottle Ch. 19

"Hey, Doc.... got a minute?"

"Sure, Greg.... what's up?"

"We're having a problem with the cattle.... some of the cows are getting sick.... like power barfing sick. They're losing weight and milk production is way down."

"Is it affecting the buffalo too?"

"Not as far as I can tell.... but then again, we don't milk them."

Martin smiled. He remembered when one of the younger men had proposed That idea.... it had taken his ribs months to heal.

"Ok, I'll look into it.... in the meantime, maybe we should consider seperating the two. Put the buffalo in a seperate paddock, and move the regular cattle to a new area, where the buffalo haven't been 'fertilizing' the ground. keep 'em that way for a few months, see if the problem stops by itself. In the meantime, I'll go out and take a look at a few of the sick ones later today."

He vaguely remembered reading something about not mixing regular cows and buffalo, back when he was still learning his trade. Now he wished he'd remembered much earlier.

Seth sat in his blind, waiting for the deer he knew used this area as a feedlot; his family was getting low on fresh meat, and the freezer was nearly empty. He was nearly ready to give up for the day and go check his traplines when the noises started coming from the trail through the woods.

"That's no deer." he whispered to Harry, who was hunting with him.

Harry nodded in turn, sitting well back from the small firing port of the blind and looking through the scope on his silenced .308 Remington.

"Cubans." he muttered, as quietly as he could. He could see them moving through the thick brush; there were far too many of them for him and Seth to take on by themselves. "Too many... we'd best just let them pass, take 'em another day."

Seth agreed, and contented himself with just getting a head count on them.

Twenty seven Cuban soldiers walked past them, some as close as ten feet away, and not one knew how close to death they had come. If Seth and Harry had had automatic weapons, rather than bolt action hunting rifles, the outcome might have been significantly different.

Jim Archer sat back in the comm center, feeling particularly good about the current operations. So far, the teams he'd sent into California seemed to be getting a reasonably warm reception; he suspected the truckloads of supplies had a lot to do with that. Greg Collingsworth and Fred Nicholls had both called in, to say that he could stop sending weapons for the moment and concentrate on food drops and extra troops.

Greg also reported that he'd managed to trade his own truckload of supplies for several pounds of seeds for a new strain of marijuana; one that he thought would be a good infusion into the Cave's breeding program.

Jim smiled at this as he made the proper notes, jotting down the coordinates for the next drops.

This new group, in California, wasn't very well equipped to take on the bases he was seeing in the surveillance photos, and every day they spent on operations was time away from growing and harvesting food.... and the reinforcements he was sending were merely compounding the problem, no matter how much food they had in their packs.

The next drop was mostly support and recon gear; the California people didn't have night vision gear, so that was a high priority, along with extra digital camers and the computers they needed to process the extra intel they would be collecting. Several crates of dried foods and extra ammo rounded out the load.

It took several weeks, but eventually, the two groups--Wyoming and California militia members--- began to work together as a cohesive unit. Fred Nicholls, Jeff O'Neil, and Louanne Willis took over the sniper training with three small groups, while Gene Rawlings, John Marshall, and Mark Weston took on basic scout training, and Jim Mayer ran them through basic strength training and ran them until they were ready to drop every other day to build their endurance.

Within three months, the Klamath Regional Militia would take a quantum leap forward.

At the end of that ninety day period, Don Anderson, with Mark Weston along as an advisor, would take a small group of the new scouts out on their first exercise; scouting a small, nearby Chinese base.

It was obviously an old American army base... some of the ancient signs were still up. Mark found himself wondering, idly, if this one had the underground bunkers that they'd found at some of the bases they'd already freed, to the northeast. After nearly two weeks of observing, timing, and sketching out rough maps of the place, they withdrew to their own base to lay their plans.

Planning the operation took nearly a week, by itself. It didn't help that it was, by now, the middle of February, and the foothills of the mountains were getting either rain or light snow nearly every other day.

In the meantime, trackers were deployed, to see exactly where the Chinese patrols went every few days. Don soon found himself both glad, that he'd sent the teams out in the first place, and outraged at what they had to report.

More than one of his tracking teams came back to report that the soldiers were raiding small villages of Americans and Mexican immigrants; people who were barely scraping by subsistence farming. That pissed him off more than anything--stealing food from people who were only a few steps away from starvation was decidedly not cool. He gained a new appreciation for what Gene had told them, about the original operations in Wyoming.

With the next two helicopter loads, they now had the night vision gear they needed, and they began observing the base day and night, timing the nightly guard patrols and the times that the tower guards were replaced. With the new equipment, and the infusion of reinforcements from Wyoming, it wasn't long before they were ready to move.

When it finally happened, it was basically a textbook operation. Snipers took out all of the guards, then the troops moved in for the mop-up. This base had three full barracks of prisoners; one was full of women, who were, of course, kept naked, so as to be easily accessible for the Chinese officers, while the other two were full of men, who were dressed pretty much in rags and kept around as slave labor.

Most of the rest of the soldiers were caught asleep in their bunks, and died on their backs.

The base was taken, basically, intact, and the Klamath Militia decided to use it as their first 'official' base, in spite of Gene's advice to the contrary.

His reasoning was that the base was well known to the commanders of other Chinese bases and camps in the area... and if they should send patrols to check on the status of 'their' base, the militia members would be sitting ducks.

Don, on the other hand, saw that the base was loaded with more equipment than he and his fellows could begin to carry off, or find room to store it away, as far as that was concerned.

Besides, this base had, among other things, an impressive farm, several generators, and several good water wells, all of which they desperately needed.

The lists of equipment in the warehouses was equally impressive; a mix of Chinese and American gear, including American rifles, pistols, and ammunition, meant that they wouldn't be running low anytime soon.

Of course, inevitably, a squad of Chinese troops did come, to check up on the base they'd lost contact with.

They made one mistake.... walking right up to the front gate, without checking to see who was guarding it. It would prove to be their last mistake.

Lou Forbes watched as the soldiers approached the gate from his post in one of the guard towers, grabbing his handheld radio and calling the C.O.'s office.

"Sir, be advised... we have eleven Chinese soldiers approaching the main gate."

The answer came back immediately. "Acknowledged, tower. All forward guard towers, prepare sniper rifles. When they reach the main gate, shoot them. I don't want to hear that they managed to get any reports out by radio, folks. Drop 'em in their tracks."

As the first troops reached the gate, rifles spoke from each of the guard towers and from the rooftops of several of the taller buildings in the small complex; the soldiers dropped to the ground, most either dead or dying. Two were missed by the initial volley, and managed to get off long bursts from their AK-47s, but it did them little good. The guard towers had recently been reinforced at Gene's suggestion, and the half inch of plate steel that backed up the two inch thick planks on the walls of the guard towers stopped the rifle rounds dead.

Sniper rifles spoke again, and the remaining two Chinese were turned into pincushions.

Mark Wilton and Karl Geary were hit by the return fire from the Chinese, but neither was life threatening. Mark took a glancing hit to his helmet, the kevlar deflecting much of it's force, though he was knocked senseless for a few moments. Karl was tagged in the upper shoulder, the bullet narrowly missing his collarbone. He'd be healed up in a couple of months.

Don turned decidedly green when Gene told him what the Wyoming Militia did with Chinese corpses, but in the end, he saw the practical purpose behind it.... his only problem was that they didn't have a wood chipper. Or an established compost pile, for that matter.

For the moment, they settled on just burying the eleven corpses in one of the fallow fields.

Frank Bergen settled back in the seat of the massive Chinook transport chopper, looking back over the cargo area, where his tools, supplies, and the members of his crew waited. Their flight of five choppers, escorted by six Hawker Harriers and four Apache attack helicopters, were due to land at the new base in Northern California in a bit under two hours. He thought about the long list of things he had to cover there and sighed.... it seemed like the work never stopped.

Fifteen years ago, it wouldn't have bothered him a bit, but he was now in his early sixties, and just getting out of bed and getting himself motivated was getting tougher these days. He would have to decide on a successor soon.

The pilot turned towards him as he was thinking this over.

"Sir, make sure your seat belt is secure.... we've got unfriendlies on radar."

Frank looked through the side window, just in time to see a Harrier peel off, heading off in an easterly direction, feeling helpless as he watched the old jet engage what looked like three--no, four-- enemy jets. The other five Harriers joined the fight, and the Apaches closed ranks around the big transports in a diamond pattern.

Johnny Lewis turned the big jet to see four smaller fighters closing on his charges--the Chinooks he was flying cover for-- and frowned.

He didn't recognise them, but there was no mistaking the Chinese markings. Targeting the leader, he fired off two sidewinders before pulling back hard on the stick. Flying nearly straight up for a bit over two miles, he reversed his actions, rolling over and plunging straight at the other three.... of the leader, there was little sign, save for a smoke cloud and a long trail of debris that was rapidly falling earthward.

His five companions had joined the fight, and he knew that another heatseeker could backfire on him, going after one of his fellows, so he brought up his stores list, switching to guns.

Turning the fighter, he saw one of the Chinese planes turn towards the flight of choppers.

"You're Mine, bud..." he muttered as he lined the enemy up in his sights. Squeezing the trigger, he felt his plane shudder as the 20mm Vulcan spat out the rounds. It was gratifying to see the impacts, just behind the pilot of the Chinese jet, tearing most of the tail off the plane.

"Nice work, Johnny... care to leave something for the rest of us?" came through his headphones.

"Hey, early bird gets the worm, guys." he replied as he once again turned his fighter, trying to line up another shot.

It turned out there wasn't one, though.... the other five members of his flight had released a barrage of missiles and Vulcan rounds that had reduced the other Chinese jets to so much falling scrap metal.

"Everybody healthy?"

Mike 'Red' Nelson replied "I've taken a few hits, but I'm ok. Rudder's a bit sluggish... I'm going to take this one back to base."

"Ok, Red.... get her back and patched up... see you this evening."

"You betcha.... you're buying."

"First round." John confirmed. He wouldn't commit to any more than that.... most of the pilots he knew could drink like fish after a dogfight.... a consequence of so much adrenaline pumping through their systems.

John Medford looked back as he walked away from the mass grave of the eleven Chinese, then addressed Louanne.

"How did you get so good with a rifle?"

She smiled back at him, making him a little uneasy. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"My dad gave me my first rifle when I was seven... a .22 with a small scope. By the time I was ten, I upgraded to a .220 Swift. I've been shooting since I was a kid, and hunting since I turned ten. My parents didn't think girls should be defenseless, y'see."

Medford nodded, thinking it over. These Militia people had given him a lot to think about.

"Makes sense.... I've got a daughter who could use that kind of training. Could I get you to teach her?"

"Depends.... how old is she?"

"Twelve. I'm... kinda raising her on my own."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "My wife died, giving birth to her, and it's been just me and baby girl ever since."

"Oh, wow... sorry to hear that. I suppose I can make time for her... if that's what she wants. Has she ever shot a gun before?"

Medford smiled, nodding. "I've taught her with an old pellet rifle. Great granddad bought a couple of them, back before the war.... said they'd be good for small game, and quiet enough to not spook the rest of the rabbits an' squirrels in the area. He was right, too, come to think of it. He bought a shitload of pellets for them, too.... I think I've still got probably ten or twelve cases of the damned things stashed in my place."

"Ok, that's perfect... transitioning from a pellet rifle to a .22 isn't hard, and I brought along my old one, just in case there were a lot of rabbits around. Dried beef is alright, but once in a while I like fresh meat." she grinned. "Can I meet her later on?"

He nodded. "How about joining us for dinner? I've got fresh trout from the stream, and more than she and I can eat."

"Sounds like a plan... I didn't have any other plans for the day."

They went around the mountainside to John's cabinfront, walking in through the front door, seeing Emily at the kitchen table reading. That was another thing that distinguished the mountain people from those in the cities.... the people living in the mountainsides prided themselves on carrying on the old traditions of learning to read, write, and a solid understanding of mathematics.

John kissed his daughter on the cheek as he swept into the room, bringing an eyeroll from her, and said, "Honey, this is Louanne. She's from Wyoming. She's going to teach us a thing or two about shooting."

Louanne lifted an eyebrow at the word 'us'. It sounded like John was hoping to learn from her, as well.

Over the next week, she taught the young girl about wind drift, bullet drop, and other things to consider when shooting in different circumstances. John was always there, listening intently, and when they went out to an empty field to shoot, setting targets at ranges from twenty yards to over two hundred, he took his turns right alongside of his daughter. Louanne at first thought he was just showing support for his little girl, but soon came to realize that he knew little more than Emily had about shooting at the longer ranges. Both, however, showed marked improvement over the next six weeks or so, and Louanne, in turn, found herself spending more and more time with the father/daughter pair.

John, meanwhile, found himself increasingly attracted to his new teacher, and looking for more excuses to spend time with her. This was proving easier as time went on, with the improvements Frank Bergen had made to the complex. After a few upgrades, the complex of homes again had reliable electricity, the many tunnels had forced air heat, a first; and the water system was fitted with new filtration systems, so that it was clean enough to drink without first boiling it.... although most of the mountain folk carried on the tradition, just in case. Old habits did, indeed, die hard.

One of the long-ranging patrols found an old appliance warehouse, in a nearby town that had long since been abandoned, and went back with several trucks to loot the place thoroughly.

There wasn't a lot left; it had already been hit up, numerous times, after the war, but still, a lot of items had been overlooked... or had just been too heavy or awkward to carry off. Still, between that place, and some of the nearby shops and private homes, there were truckloads of refrigerators, ovens, televisions, stereo equipment, DVD players and the discs for them, and crates full of smaller items. After some refurbishing by Frank's army of techs, much of this was put back to use.

John, himself, got himself a generator, a fridge, a decent sized TV set, a DVD player, and filled a few of his bookshelves with old movies, and a few nights a week, when the training for the day was over and the dishes had been done, he found himself sitting next to Louanne on the couch watching old movies together. They both spent time talking about their pasts; John told her about Marie, his long dead wife, while Louanne spoke of her first boyfriend, who had been shot and killed during an attack on a Chinese base.

She went on to speak of Denise, the lover who had taken his place; a love that had lasted a mere two years. He was a bit surprised that she had had a lesbian lover, but managed to keep a poker face.

"Is that bothering you? Me with another woman. I mean?"

He shook his head. "It's where you find it, hun... did she make you happy?"

She nodded, a bit more enthusiastically than he might have expected. "Oh yes... but I think I prefer men- a strap on is ok, but it isn't warm... and it's kinda hard to give one a blowjob."

He cocked an eyebrow at her frankness, then sighed. "Well, thats a relief."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"It means I can still make passes at my teacher." he answered, grinning.

She smiled back."Be careful what you wish for."

"I might just get it?"

She nodded, grinning, and shifted around until she was sitting across his lap, then leaned into him until their lips met. Her kiss was light, just a brief meeting of the lips, but he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in close for something a bit more... substantial. Within moments, she began to respond with more enthusiasm. She opened her lips to him, but he pulled back a bit, looking deeply into her eyes.

"We should move this."

"What do you mean?"

"Emily. She's at that age.... every woman who comes into my life is a potential rival."

Louanne gave a wan smile. "And a twelve year old with an attitude, a jealous streak, and a rifle is a problem waiting to happen."

"Exactly. We can go to my room... I have a lock on the door. It doubles as our safe room."

"Well.... ok... just don't expect too much tonight."

"Hun, if you just want to snuggle up and sleep, that's ok with me. It's been a while since I had that much."

They went to his bedroom, stripped down to underwear, and laid down in the bed, which she realized was softer than anything she'd felt in years. Turning to him, she lifted an eyebrow.

He sensed her question, and answered "Feathers.... from about every kind of bird known to man. Took me about ten years to collect enough, but it was what Marie wanted. She made the outer cover, while I collected the feathers from every bird I brought home for dinner; in fact, I still add to it, whenever I get a duck or a goose."