The Western Front: Parts 1-3 Part 3

"Church is in twenty minutes. Are you and Mrs. Thames riding with us?"

"Oh, I forgot all about it. I'm not used to the times always changing yet. I guess I'm getting old. I'm sorry, son; I already have dinner on the stove. You go ahead and come back by here after you're done. Y'all can eat with us tonight and catch me up on the news. Besides," Frank said with a wink, "that'll give me an excuse to eat twice."

Jake chuckled and replied, "If the Misses knew of your plans, she'd send you with us and finish dinner herself."

"That's why we're not going to tell the Misses, Jake."

They laughed.

"Okay, okay; we'll be back in about two hours. See y'all then."

As Jake turned and walked off, Frank leaned outside and said, "Looks like a storm's coming tonight."

"Yeah, I think we might get some rain, but the storm's already here, Frank."

"I s'pose you're right."

Jake stopped for a moment and considered his next words as he had a dozen times over the past few weeks. He decided now was as good a time as any.

"Frank, I don't mean to offend you with what I'm trying to say. You've weathered some tough things in your life and I know that, but why don't you and Mrs. Thames move in with us for a while? We've plenty of room. Geram and I can put up some more fencing and move all the livestock closer in. Our house is much more defensible, and you know Kate just adores you both." Jake shrugged and looked down, "I guess what I'm mean to say is we're worried about you."

Frank struggled for a moment to maintain his composure, before speaking, "I'd like that, Jake. Let's talk about it more tonight."

Jake smiled and nodded, before turning and walking towards the Bronco.

Frank stepped out on the covered front porch and spoke once again. "Jake, thank you. You're more of a son than my own blood. I'm glad you're here."

Jake looked back one last time and said, "That's what we do, Frank; take care of our own. We'll see you in a couple hours."

Jake thought Reverend Lenton was in perfect form. His sermon had been on the dangers of idolatry. The reverend identified idolatry as a good thing that becomes the ultimate thing. Idolatry causes men to jump out of windows when stock markets crash. It causes decent people to kick a chair out from underneath them when they lose their job or home. The symptoms of idolatry were everywhere, and Jake reasoned they were likely the cause of much of the current suffering in the world.

After the service, the ladies prepared coffee while the men talked of community-wide defensives. It was Geram's first meeting, and the men were particularly interested in hearing the opinions of the young soldier. He reared back in his chair as he typically did before speaking his thoughts.

"We've several choke points that the community should consider reinforcing so that we can keep ourselves safer. We've got Miller's Creek that crosses the road to the north and then hooks down to the east. A few miles out to the west and south we have some bottoms that stay wet year-round.

At the bridges over Miller's Creek, we could take a tractor with a bucket and dig out the approaches. A trench several feet deep would cut us off from anyone bent on trouble.

We could do the same to the bottoms. The more it rains, the more these cuts'll erode and become even more difficult to cross. People could still get by on foot of course, but not with vehicles.

The raids by vehicles are getting out of control. I think we'd be a lot safer if we cut ourselves off and got more organized. Plus, if we put the determined intruders to walking to get to us, they'll be tired before they make it to our checkpoints, and that'll give us one more advantage."

The ladies appeared with coffee for everyone as Geram finished his proposal. Mr. Richardson interjected as the cups were being filled.

"I like your thoughts Geram, but that'd completely cut us off from the outside world. We could construct some timber bridges to cross the ditches if we had to, but they would have to be set in place with a tractor. There would be no quick way out of here. I can accept that, but everyone needs to consider what that means for themselves and their families."

A wiry old man with a long, white beard spoke up as Mr. Richardson trailed off.

"That's fine by me. I've been talking with some folks on the HAM, and I can say it's only getting worse out there. The cities are hopeless. People've run out of money and they ain't got any means of earning more. The emergency food centers are overwhelmed, and the military can barely keep them running smoothly when they do have food. We've got plenty here to last us longer than most places. I say we do it."

A teary-eyed old lady added, "I agree with Ron; things're only getting worse. I got a call from my daughter-in-law in Arlington a few days ago. It was horrible. She just cried and cried about how they should've left when they could. They haven't had power or running water for weeks. Their phones were restored for a few minutes so she was able to call out, but I guess they've lost it again. She's hearing talk of a dollar devaluation soon. She said that everyone up there is afraid that the whole thing is going to collapse and then they won't have any food. She said the government is worried that some states will try to pull together and leave the union. She doesn't think they have the ability to stop something like that at this point."

Several nervous conversations erupted from within the group. They discussed the rash of violent home invasions that had recently happened, and a string of house fires that could only be arson. Of course, the old farmers settled on the topic of livestock thefts.

An old man in a dusty ball cap and a leathery face, worn from years of working the fields, interrupted the cacophony with a booming voice.

"I believe it's settled, then. We'll do our best to shut ourselves off from whatever's out there. If anyone within the sound of my voice disagrees, I give you the floor now."

Silence.

"Alright, we'll start tomorrow. I'll offer up my tractor to help with the north bridge, is there anyone else willing to help with the others?"

Several hands shot up from amongst the group. "Good. Thank you. We start work first thing tomorrow. We'll need all the help we can get. If you're able-bodied, we could use you. Let's end with a prayer, and plan on seeing everyone again in three days at noon. Be careful; I want all of you back here with us next time."

In the past, Kate thought the drive home from the church was peaceful and serene. The countryside was mostly cotton, corn and soybean fields, depending on what stage the particular field was in its rotation. When it wasn't crops beyond the shoulder's edge, it was open pastures with cattle dotting the rolling green sea of gra.s.s. On any given day, the herds could be seen seeking relief from the heat in the shallow ponds, or cl.u.s.tering under the spa.r.s.e stands of oaks and pecans.

An occasional cedar-planked barn or brick farm house interrupted the scenery. Barbed-wire fencing seemed to go on forever; along the road, across the fields and around the old farm houses. Tonight's drive was tense, however. Any time spent away from the safety of one's home was a risk that had to be carefully weighed.

Kate captained Bronco while Jake leaned out the pa.s.senger window. He scanned the shoulders with his spotlight for any signs of trouble. They would slow down in front of the farmhouses and sweep the light across the front yards to check on their neighbors.

Geram sat in the back seat with the scoped, FN FAL .308 rifle that he had borrowed from his brother. The optic was a first generation night vision scope. The moon was waning but was still bright enough to provide ample light to compensate for the optic's outdated technology.

Jake slowly scanned left and right, searching for inconsistences. He looked for tire tracks in an abandoned driveway, an unfamiliar vehicle along the edge of the road, or anything that may warn of trouble up ahead. He saw nothing of concern, though. The only signs of bandits he could find were the occasional white eyes of a lone racc.o.o.n.

Kate turned onto their narrow, paved road that had more patches than original pavement. Jake sighed with relief. Soon they would be enjoying dinner at Frank's house. Afterwards, they could discuss moving arrangements over coffee and cake.

Kate had squealed with excitement as he broke the news during the ride to church. Mrs. Thames had helped fill a void she had struggled with since the loss of her own mother. Mrs. Thames was grandmotherly in nature, and a master of everything from canning to crocheting. Kate was looking forward to spending more time with her 'adopted mother'.

As they drove under the final stretch of the live oak canopy that enveloped most of the road, Jake noticed a dark SUV parked in front of the Thames' home. Kate slammed hard on the brakes as Jake shouted to stop. The front door was open and appeared to be sagging from the hinges.

Jake switched the spotlight off and fumbled for the AR pistol that was at his feet. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Geram had already slipped out of the back seat and was in position in the ditch alongside the road.

Kate turned off the headlights and look to Jake for guidance. She began to tear up. Jake leaned over and put his hand on hers. He whispered in his most rea.s.suring voice, "Baby, I'm going to get out now and go down to Geram. We'll watch the house for a moment and then decide what to do next. I need you to turn around and go to the Richardson's farm. I need you to keep your headlights off if you can. Okay?"

Kate whispered, "Okay." Her voice cracked with emotion.

"Good. When you get to the Richardson's, have him send his boys down here on horseback. We might need their help. Stay with Mr. Richardson until we come for you."

Kate began to gently sob and grasped his hand. "Please be careful."

"I always am. Now go and tell them to please hurry back."

Jake wanted to rush the house, but Geram kept urging him to wait for a little while longer. The winds from earlier were growing fiercer. Geram reasoned the temperature must have dropped five degrees from when they left the church. The rain would be upon them soon. Lightning was already illuminating the horizon.

He scanned the front of the house slowly with the night-vision scope, searching for any signs of movement. He panned to the right of the house and then to the left. He turned his attention to Jake's front yard. There was no movement to be found.

A single drop of rain landed on Geram's forehead. He turned and whispered to Jake, "I don't see any movement in the windows or on either side of the house. The right side of the place has only one window. If you approach from that direction, you'll have less chance of being spotted by someone inside.

I want you to stay low and move slow until you reach the front corner. Once there, climb over the porch rail and stay along the wall. Make sure you move under the windows, not in front of them. Stop just shy of the front door.

Once you're in position I'll come up behind you. When I tap you on the shoulder, crouch low and push through the door. At that point I want you to turn on your rifle light and swing right. I'll have to use my pistol at that point, so you'll be our primary gun. As I clear the door frame, I'll turn on my light and swing left. Got it?"

Jake nodded and replied, "Got it."

The rain intensified, while thunder rumbled in the distance.

"One more thing; you know the house as good as anyone. As soon as we clear the entrance, move us to the next door that'll get us through the house the safest, without exposing our backs to gunfire. We go room to room and we don't stop until the whole house is clear, even if we find them, Jake. We have to save ourselves before we can save anyone else."

"Okay."

"Remember, two shots center ma.s.s. Not a double tap, we aim every shot. No questions, no threats, just engage."

"Understood."

"Okay bro, now get moving."

Chapter 7.

Frank West Mississippi Franklin Thames waved to the Bronco as Kate drove off. He shut the door and returned to the kitchen. He took the remainder of the venison tenderloin out of the sink and began to slice it into thin steaks. He dipped in a combination of yard eggs and fresh milk and then rolled them in flour. Once they were thoroughly coated, he gently laid them in the cast-iron skillet. The steaks crackled and popped in the hot oil.

Frank opened the oak cabinet and retrieved a tumbler. He grabbed a bottle from atop the cabinet, poured some scotch into the gla.s.s and swooshed it around before finally taking a sip. Frank peered out of his dirty kitchen window at the pastures behind his home as he took another sip of the single-malt. He afforded himself only an occasional drink. He would have loved to indulge more often, but in such times one preserved the finer vestiges of life as long as one could.

Frank flipped the steaks over in the skillet, before turning and rummaging through the pantry. He searched among the various canned and dry goods for several moments before finally clutching the container of cane syrup. The sweet solution was from a batch that was several years old. It had been a gift from an old friend, an expert of the trade. The half-empty jar was all that he had left from his friend. Times had been hard on people.

The syrup would go perfectly with the steaks he was frying and the biscuits that his wife had warming in the oven. He placed the jar on the kitchen table and produced an old bra.s.s lighter from his pocket. With it, he lit three large candles that occupied the center of the table, before sitting down.

Mrs. Thames rested her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Slowly, she made her way to the stove. She removed the last of the steaks from the skillet and placed them on a plate.

"Are you cooking for an army, Franklin Thames?" she asked.

"Jake and Kate and his brother are coming by after church. I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you."

"It's alright dear. Things've been so different lately it's easy to forget. I'll make some more biscuits." She placed the venison on the table in front them and sat down. "What were you two talking about on the porch?"

"Jake asked us to move in with them. One house is easier to keep watch over and he said they'd help safe up the livestock. I think we should do it, at least until things get better."

"I think it's a wonderful idea, dear."

Frank arose and grabbed a small bowl to pour the syrup in. They ate the few biscuits she had prepared as well as several of the steaks, before contently retiring to their living room. Frank reclined in his leather chair and pulled a hand-rolled cigarette out of his shirt pocket.

"I might let you get away with smoking in the house old man, but if I've known Kate Sellers a day, I know she certainly won't."

"Maybe so woman, but I'm not in Kate's house yet." Frank smiled at her as he lit the cigarette and took the first drag.

"You better watch your tone old man, or I'll leave you here all by yourself. Then who'll listen to you bellyache?"

They laughed. Frank climbed out of his chair and disappeared into the kitchen. He emerged with two tumblers, one half full and one with just a splash of scotch.

"Here you go, my dear."

"What's this? You know I can't stand the taste of that mess."

"I know, but this deserves a toast." He handed her the gla.s.s. "To a house full of kids, again."

"I suppose I can drink to that, just this once." She smiled as they clinked their tumblers. She took the tiniest sip of the caramel colored liquid. "Please, tell me again how you drink this."

"One sip at a time, my dear. I'm going to finish this gla.s.s and take a nap. Wake me up in an hour or so, please."

"Alright, I'll make some more biscuits and put up the steaks until they get here." She struggled to her feet, before slowly walking back into the kitchen. Frank finished the scotch in two large gulps, smashed the cigarette in the ash tray and closed his eyes.

The headlights in the driveway awoke Frank from his nap. He eased out of his leather recliner, walked to the window and peaked out of the blinds. The vehicle's silhouette was larger than what he had antic.i.p.ated, but his mind was still foggy from his nap. He stared out of the slit as he tried to process what he was seeing.

Four armed men quietly slipped out of the dark SUV and carefully moved towards the front door. His heart jumped and his pulse quickened. His muddled mind finally understood. He turned and moved towards the kitchen as quickly as his stiff body would allow. Frank yelled to his wife, "Margaret, hide! We've got trouble!"

There was no response.

He fumbled about in the dark kitchen, searching for the lever action carbine he kept loaded and ready. Where was it?

Finally, he brushed against the walnut stock of the carbine. Frank pulled it tightly to his shoulder as he heard something crash against the front door. The reinforced frame held true and bought Frank a few extra moments to gather his thoughts and get in position behind the kitchen counter.

He welded cheek to the stock and peered down the barrel. He steadied his aim. The front sight was blurry to his old eyes, but the door was clear as ever. The living room windows welcomed in the illumination of the large moon that still hung in the sky. He said a silent prayer and counted his blessings, however small. An hour later and the moon would likely have been hidden by the storm clouds that were drifting his way.

Again, the intruder crashed into the door. Frank fired two rounds through the door with brutal efficiency. It sounded as if it had been a burst from a semi-automatic rifle. The ancient carbine's action was as smooth as b.u.t.ter. Thames worked the lever forward, then back; forward, then back. He heard a thud on the porch outside. A man's voice erupted with groans and curses as he writhed painfully on the wooden planks.

Another man tried to lean in and fire into the house, but Frank hit him squarely in the forehead. The intruder never made a sound as his knees buckled and he slid down the wall, not the Frank could have heard anything. His ears perceived nothing, save the high-pitched ringing that plagued them.

He slid a counter drawer open and fumbled with the box of ammo that was inside. At the same time, he tried to maintain watch of the front door. Frank had four rounds remaining in the carbine.

Suddenly, a blur leaped past the opening of the door. Immediately afterwards a fourth intruder pushed his rifle into the opening and fired a dozen rounds indiscriminately. Frank pressed himself tightly against the floor. He had dropped the box of ammo as the rounds had begun to fly. Cartridges were strewn all about him. He grabbed several of them and stuffed them in his pocket. Frank found several more and pushed them into the carbine.

He watched the drywall explode around him as the intruder's rounds perforated his home. Canning jars burst like bombs and debris flew through the air. Dust and smoke filled the kitchen. Frank tried to stand and return fire, but a second volley filled the air around him again. He crawled out from behind the counter and along the wall until he reached the kitchen's threshold. From there, he could safely peer into the living room and beyond.

His body ached from the awkward movements that it was not accustomed to. He alternated between trying to count the number of rounds that were fired at him and praying for at least Margaret's life to be spared, if not his own. He leaned around the threshold and steadied his sights at the wall beside the front door. As the intruder's rifle swung into view for a third volley, Frank unloaded all seven rounds into an area the size of a tombstone in the wall. He sighed with relief as he watched the rifle clatter to the porch.

Thames rolled onto his side and coughed in pain. Only then did he realize he had been shot in the legs and his shoulder. Maybe he did not dive to the floor for cover, he thought to himself. Perhaps he had collapsed.