299 Days VIII: The War (36 page)

They were friendlies. Supposedly.

After a while, they continued advancing up the off ramp, staying in the brush on each
side of the pavement. As they got to the top of the off ramp, there was more rustling.
They saw someone run from where the off ramp and the bridge over the highway met and
then to the right, down the road. They were headed right toward where Grant assumed
the guards would be. Whoever was running was small and fast, maybe a kid. Grant thought
about how horrible it would be kill a kid by mistake.

He gave the hand signal for “keep your eyes open,” though he didn’t need to. All of
them were extremely focused. It was the most danger they’d been in so far in this
whole Collapse. It made taking down the meth house seem easy. The meth-house people
weren’t armed to the teeth and the Team wasn’t in the open there. They were here;
the brush on the side of the pavement only partially concealed them and was not bullet-proof.
And it was daylight. They felt exposed and vulnerable. In one short burst of fire
from the rustling bushes, they’d be cut to pieces.

This was less of taking an overpass than it was meeting up with friendly forces, Grant
kept telling himself. Because, if they were advancing on the enemy, they’d be dead.
Those rustling bushes would have been quickly followed by bursts of fire. Grant looked
at the Team advancing up that off ramp; they were in a terrible position. It was daylight
and the advancing Team was relatively bunched up. Grant didn’t have two hours to properly
inch up this off ramp. He hoped HQ was right about this being a friendly exit.

Grant came up to the road and motioned for Pow to come up to him. Pow had the good
binoculars. He motioned for Pow to look down the road.

“Guards and a gate,” he whispered. “Guys running around. They know we’re here.”

Grant didn’t know what to do. The safe thing would be to wait until the guards either
walked down the road to meet them … or started to attack them.

Grant began analyzing the situation. He crouched behind some brush thinking for about
ten seconds, which was longer than he liked to take. He just couldn’t decide what
to do. Then he realized that this “analysis paralysis” is what got people killed.
He needed to act. Freestyle it.

“I’m going to walk up to them,” Grant whispered to the half of the Team on his side
of the pavement. “HQ says they’re friendlies. If they’re not, I’ll tell them that
I’m with some Lima—I mean ‘legitimate authorities’—unit and that I got separated from
my unit.”

Grant looked at all of them very seriously. “If it looks like they’re Limas, run the
hell away. Get back to the truck. Fast. I’ll distract them and hopefully get shot.
I don’t want to go to one of their prisons. I’m a wimp.”

“Dude,” Pow whispered, sensing that Grant’s recent caffeine pill was entering his
blood stream and amping him up too much. “That ‘pumpkin pie’ and ‘whipped cream’ shit
means these guys are friendlies. Don’t stress about it.”

“Probably,” Grant whispered, “But we need a plan for if things go bad.”

They all nodded; he was right. Grant handed Donnie his AR. There was no need to scare
the guards by walking up with one of those. He would have just his pistol. Besides,
if this was an ambush, Grant was done for and Donnie could use the AR to get back
to the truck.

Ryan gave hand signals to Scotty on the other side of the pavement describing that
Grant would walk up to the guards and to run back to the truck if Grant took fire.
Ryan used a mixture of official infantry hand signals and ones he made up, but they
were basic enough for Scotty to understand the overall plan. Scotty told the plan
to the half of the Team on his side of the pavement.

Grant slowly got out of the semi-concealment of the brush. He put his hands out to
his side and walked to the center of the road. He could feel that guns were pointed
at him. He couldn’t really see any. The guards and gate were about a hundred yards
from where the off ramp met the exit. Grant was scared; he knew guns were pointed
at him, by people who very well might be the enemy or, even if they were friendlies,
might be inexperienced duck hunters who would panic and shoot him. But his overriding
thought was to be brave for the Team. He had to let them see that he wasn’t scared,
because then they wouldn’t be scared. His obligation was to the Team. He kept thinking
about the Team behind him and what they thought of how he was handling this.

Soon, he could see guards were, indeed, pointing rifles at him. He focused on keeping
his hands to his side and just walking slowly. And confidently. He had nothing to
hide. If they were friendlies, he was one of them. If they were Limas, he was just
a Loyalist separated from his unit. Either way, he was one of them. Walk that way.
Walk like you’re one of them.

He got about fifty yards from the gate. The guards looked pretty squared away. A little
on the duck hunter side, but they didn’t look like the punk-ass Blue Ribbon Boys.
They looked dedicated, not like they were guarding some gang’s loot.

“Stop!” someone yelled. Grant did.

“Pumpkin pie!” Grant yelled. “You got any pumpkin pie? I’m hungry.”

After a little while someone yelled back, “You like whipped cream on that?”

Grant smiled. “I sure the hell do.”

There was a silence.

“Please proceed,” someone yelled. Grant kept walking toward them, with his hands still
out to his sides. He knew to be very cautious and not make sudden moves with what
looked like two dozen rifles pointed in his direction. Grant got up to the gate and
could see the guards. The leader-looking man came up to him.

“Ned Ford,” the leader said. He was wearing civilian clothes.
“Lt. Matson,” Grant said. He still avoided using this first and last name. He was
POI, after all.

“Welcome, lieutenant,” Ford said. “How can we assist you?”

Before Grant spilled the beans and exposed his men to an ambush, he had to make extra
sure these guys were Patriots. So he made something up.

“Find me some of those teabagger bastards,” Grant said. “You seen any?”

Ford smiled. “Yep.” He pointed to himself and all the guards. “Us.”

“You need any more assurance that I’m who I say I am?” he asked Ford. “I can get a
secure radio here and you can talk to my commander at headquarters if you’d like.”

“Not necessary,” Ford said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Ford motioned for his guards to lower their weapons, which they did. Grant walked
up to Ford, who pointed to Grant’s 17th Irregulars patch. “What unit?” he asked Grant.

“Seventeenth Irregulars, Washington State Guard,” Grant said with pride.

Ned saluted him and Grant returned the salute. “Welcome to Delphi Road,” Ned said.

“Glad to be here,” Grant replied. But it was time to get down to business; his men
were sitting ducks on the off ramp and especially parked in the convoy.

“I have five men down there,” Grant said. It was raining, so he didn’t want them to
stand out in it more than he had to.

“We know,” Ford said. “Been watchin’ you guys the whole time.”

“I know,” Grant said. “May I bring them up here?”

“Sure,” Ford said. “Just you guys?”

“Nope,” Grant said. “We have a convoy. A lead pickup, a semi, a chase pickup, and
two utility vehicles that should be rejoining us.”

Grant suddenly had the nagging feeling that he shouldn’t be telling Ford all of these
operational details like which unit he was with and their strength. He couldn’t put
his finger on where the feeling was coming from, but he was definitely feeling that
he shouldn’t have disclosed these important pieces of information. Regardless, the
cat was now out of the bag. He hoped he hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

Ford was impressed with the size of the convoy. They hadn’t seen that many fighters
ever. They thought their two dozen or so guards were a pretty big force.

“Joining the battle?” Ford asked as he pointed off toward Olympia.

Grant hesitated to answer. Secrecy about the unit and its mission had been ingrained
in him for months. Then he thought about it. What else explains this convoy and the
code phrases that show they’re Patriots? Any one at the Delphi Road guard station
knew exactly what the 17th was up to even before Grant had said a word.

“Yes, sir,” Grant said. Grant made it a point to call Ford “sir” because, while Ford
might not have any official military rank, he was the commanding officer of the guards.
He deserved Grant’s respect.

“You guys hungry?” Ford asked.

“Absolutely,” Grant said. They were slightly ahead of schedule, so they could take
the time to eat. And schmoozing with friendlies would boost the morale of the unit—and
of the friendlies. The unit would see that the people were on their side, which was
critical to a unit’s morale.

“Let me get my radio guy here so I can tell my convoy to get here,” Grant said. “You
got enough food for about a hundred men?” There went another operation detail.

“We will in about a half hour,” Ford said as he motioned for people to get the food
ready.

Grant nodded and pointed back toward where the Team was. “I’m going to go get my guys.”
He was still being cautious not to make any sudden moves.

Ford nodded.

Grant turned around and jogged back to the Team. He told them what was going on. Scotty
got on the radio and told the convoy to take the Delphi exit and pull in for some
food with friendlies.

Pow ran down to Bobby, who was still in Mark’s truck, and had him come up the off
ramp and give the Team and Donnie a ride all the way up to the guard station. Might
as well save a few calories and take the ride.

After a few minutes of the Team and Donnie standing in the rain, Bobby came by with
the truck. They all got in and rode up to the Delphi guards. They were talking about
how awesome a meal would be and guessing what might be on the menu.

When the Team pulled up to the Delphi gate, it was obvious that the guards were in
awe of them. The Team had cool equipment, especially those tac vests and radios. And,
reassuringly, the guards noticed that a “duck hunter” like them, Donnie, was with
the Team. This reinforced that even with all these wiz-bang tactical gadgets, there
was still a place in this fight for good ole’ boys like them.

The guards had a million questions for the Team. How many other units were going into
Olympia? How was the battle going? Did the Limas have helicopters and artillery? There
was a rumor that the Limas had tanks; what had the Team heard about that? Was the
rumor true that the Limas were shooting civilians in Olympia? This was the most eventful
time of the guards’ lives, but they had no information from the outside world. Now
there was a fellow Patriot unit standing in front of them and they had radios. The
guards were desperate for information.

One of the Delphi guards in particular, a young guy, had a zillion questions for Grant.
He asked how many were in the unit, what the semi looked like, and what kind of frequencies
they were using.

Grant got a bad feeling about him, especially that last question about frequencies.
There was no reason a normal person would ask that. After a while, Grant started to
blow him off by giving vague answers to his questions and changing the subject.

“Scotty,” Grant said. “I need to go over some operational details with you.”

When they were out of earshot of everyone, Grant whispered, “See that young guy?”

“The one asking all the questions?” Scotty asked.

Grant nodded.

“He’s way too nosy,” Scotty said. “Our frequencies? Are you kidding me? Want me to
watch him?”

“Like a hawk,” Grant said.

(January 1)

Scotty’s radio crackled. The convoy was a few minutes out. Bobby volunteered to go
back and guide them in. Not that they needed it, but getting lost was such a big deal
in this environment. Such a misstep could get a hundred guys killed.

Some civilian trucks started arriving from down Delphi Road. That must be the food,
Grant thought. There was an RV that appeared to be the field kitchen, but they needed
to bring in more food for their hundred or so lunch guests.

Pretty soon, the convoy was there. Smithson parked the semi on the ramp so he wouldn’t
have to turn it around. It looked like a normal semi parked on an off ramp with a
driver taking a nap in it like back before the Collapse. Nothing out of the ordinary.
The troops got out of the semi and headed to the promised food. They had been standing
in the semi for hours and were anxious to stretch their legs, were hungry, and wanted
to meet fellow Patriots who were joining them in this war.

The food was great. The fact that they were so hungry had something to do with that.
The first wave of food was venison and elk steak. They were served cold because they’d
been cooked that morning for the guards’ lunches. The RV field kitchen was firing
up and putting out as much food as they could. The trucks brought in a big load of
already baked biscuits and cornbread, which was for the guards’ lunches and dinners.
The big hit of the meal was the dozens of Mason jars of home-canned fruit; tons and
tons of canned pears and cherries, both of which grew well in western Washington State.
The guards normally went through that much canned fruit in a few days, but they wanted
to feed their guests from the 17th.