index


Message-ID: <28419asstr$979521002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Al Steiner" <steiner_al@hotmail.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 13 Jan 2001 23:24:56 EST
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Aftermath by Al Steiner - Ch 11 (MFf) 1/2
Date: Sun, 14 Jan 2001 20:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

AFTERMATH
By Al Steiner
Send all comments to steiner_al@hotmail.com
Previous chapters can be found at www.storiesonline.net


CHAPTER 11
Part 1 of 2


One of the features of the law enforcement package that had been installed
in the MD-500 was a programmable VHF radio system that could transmit on
nearly any frequency as long as the operator knew what that particular
frequency was.  As such, with the assistance of a manual from Paul's fire
engine, Jason, sitting in the passenger seat of the chopper, was able to
talk to Paul and Matt who were two thousand feet below listening to a fire
department portable radio.  Of course the VHF repeater that the fire
department had used for its primary channels was out of action making those
frequencies useless, but several direct frequencies, with a range of a mile
or so, had been programmed into the portable.

They were 14 miles east of Garden Hill, just above a CalTrans road
maintenance station that Brett had found during a recon flight the day
before.  Their mission for the day was to get a water truck that had been
stored at the facility safely back to Garden Hill where it's large tank
could be used to store jet fuel for the helicopter.  Getting the water truck
started had been the easy part of the operation.  It had been a simple
matter of installing two fully charged twelve-volt automobile batteries.
The hard part was going to be navigation of the vehicle home.  Two large
slides and three washouts along Interstate 80 between Garden Hill and the
station had ruled out the option of simply taking the freeway.  Instead,
they were using back roads to work their way home.

Brett and Paul - by burning up an entire tank of fuel in the helicopter -
had found a wildly circuitous route along two-lane mountain roads.  It was a
route that stretched miles out of the way and switched back upon its self
several times, but that, after a trip of nearly fifty miles, would
eventually drop them out on the Interstate just east of the cut that guarded
the town.  Now, as they were putting the plan into motion, Brett and Jason
were flying just ahead of them to scout out the route and watch for unseen
dangers.

"Okay," Jason, speaking into his headset informed them, "you're coming up on
the first turn now.  It's just around the bend you're approaching.  You're
going to turn right and that will take you up a rise to a smaller road."

"Copy that," said Matt's voice in his ear.  Turn right around the next
bend."

Brett pulled them into a hover as the orange truck below them completed the
maneuver, watching until they were safely headed up the hill.  He then
brought them up a little higher and eased over the rise in question so he
could take a look at the other side.  Once they were there, Jason, who had a
map laid out before him, gave them their next set of directions.  This
brought them to a twisting, turning road leading nearly up to the snowline,
which began about 6000 feet.

"I hope they don't trigger an avalanche," Brett said nervously, flying
slightly behind them now.  "Some of that snow up there is pretty thick."

"They volunteered to chance it," Jason reminded him.

"That wouldn't make me feel any better if they were buried alive," he
replied.

It had been three days since the discovery of Auburn and the strange
community that existed there.  The knowledge of all those guns and men less
than forty miles to the west had stirred a near-fanatic burst of activity
around Garden Hill.  Some of the defensive improvements, which had been on
hold in the excitement of acquiring the helicopter, had been placed back on
the front burner.  Chrissie, taking to her new job with a gusto, was
spending her every waking hour supervising the reinforcement of the hillside
defenses, finishing up the training of those that had yet to go through the
firearms class, and drilling the reaction force in how to deploy in the
event of an attack.  No longer were the Garden Hillians merely anticipating
an untrained group of hunters like the last time trying to hit them, they
were now being forced to consider that a hundred or more heavily armed men
might suddenly come walking into their midst.  As of yet it seemed an
unlikely possibility at best - they had no evidence that the residents of
Auburn even knew they existed - but the first attack had taught them that
they had to anticipate unlikely possibilities as well as likely ones.

While Chrissie and Michelle had been busy taking care of home defenses,
Brett, Jason, and Matt, with the help of Paul, had been frantically trying
to secure a fuel supply for the helicopter so they could begin using it to
its full advantage.  The problem of fuel storage needed to be solved first -
thus the day's mission - before further recon flights of the surrounding
area and possible recovery of the freight supplies on the train could be
undertaken.  There had been a furious debate the previous night on the
wisdom of attempting to do what they were now doing.  Brett had been firmly
opposed to risking two men by driving a loud, clanking machine over those
perilous roads just beneath huge accumulations of comet-caused snowfall.
But none other than the two men who were volunteering to take the risk had
overruled his objections.

"You yourself have told us that we may as well not have the helicopter if we
can't get and store fuel for it," Paul had argued.  "We've been over every
other possibility and this is the only way we're going to be able to store
it.  It has to be done."

Matt, who was obviously no fan of being smashed to pieces by an avalanche,
had been forced to agree with this logic.  "This is the only tank we have
available to us and we've scouted out a means to get it back here.  You've
determined that we can't cut it loose from the truck and fly it back here,
right?"

"Right," Brett had replied miserably.  The tank, while light enough to be
carried if empty, was simply too large and bulky.  The drag caused by trying
to pull it through the air would make the aircraft too unstable.

"Then I guess our decision is made," Matt said.  "Both Paul and I have been
advised of the risks and have elected to go forth.  No more discussion on
the matter is necessary."

And so now Brett, very much against his better judgment, was flying above as
they entered the area directly below the snowline.  "If those assholes get
buried," he told Jason, "I'm going to hover right above them and yell "I
told you so" through the fucking loudspeaker."

"They'll be all right," Jason said, watching anxiously, although he had
absolutely no evidence or experience upon which to base this statement.

It was an agonizing twenty minutes as the orange truck crept slowly uphill
on the slick, muddy road.  Occasionally the back end would slide a little
bit on a particularly slippery patch.  Occasionally they would have to edge
perilously close to a drop off so they could get around a mudfall or a
crumbled section.

"How are you doing down there?" Jason asked them from time to time.

"We're hanging in there," Matt's voice, sounding strained, would come right
back.

Finally they reached the summit of the pass, where the highest danger of
causing an avalanche lie.  They did not pause or comment on their
achievement.  They only started down the other side.  Soon they were well
below the snowline once again and relatively out of that particular brand of
danger.

"You see Brett," Matt's voice sounded in their headsets, its tone more than
a little relieved.  "Nothing to it."

"Right," Brett replied, just as relieved.  "Nothing to it.  I'm scouting
ahead.

He flew forward for a few miles, checking on the next section of route as
they continued to lumber down to the bottom of the hill.  Jason, his rifle
safed and resting next to his seat, peered through a pair of binoculars at
the road below, looking for anything that might present a danger.  He saw
nothing but road and mud and the occasional dead body next to a dwelling.

In the past few days Jason had once again become the subject of wild
discussion in the town.  He had become the second man in Garden Hill to
openly live with two women and call both of them his lover.  Though there
was still no ceremony or official recognition of this fact, and though none
of the parties involved had actually admitted what was going on, the simple
fact that Tina had moved in with them had not gone unnoticed.  Fortunately,
with the absence of Jessica and her mindset, no one was trying to vote any
of them out of town for the offense.  None of them were even calling it an
offense.  But, no matter what the mindset of the people, Garden Hill
remained a small town where everyone knew everyone else and the gossip flew
like mad.

But the gossip and the mood of the townspeople were not what was on Jason's
mind at the moment.  He had experienced much worse before.  What was on his
mind was something that he had been wanting to bring up ever since the first
Cameron Park mission.  Now the time seemed right.

"Brett?" he said softly, hesitantly, after making sure he wasn't
accidentally keying the transmit button on the radio.

"Yeah?" Brett replied, his eyes making a constant track from the instrument
panel to the outside.  "What's up?"

"You said you were going to teach others to learn to fly this thing," he
said.

Brett took a moment to glance over at him, seeing his hopeful face.  "I did
say that," he said.  "And I intend to do so just as soon as there's enough
time and fuel to start."

"Well, do you think that maybe... you know that just possibly... uh...
well..."

"I think you'll make an excellent pilot," Brett told him with a smile.
"I've already decided that you'll be my first student."

Jason's face lit up like a pinball machine.  "Really?" he said excitedly.
"You're not screwing with me?"

"I'm not screwing with you," he assured him.  "You've spent almost as much
flight time in this thing as I have since we got it.  I've seen you watching
my every move whenever we've been up.  You got the makings of a pilot my man
and you'll be the first one.  I promise."

"Thanks Brett," he said, barely able to contain himself.  "When can we
start?  I mean, can you start showing me things now?  While we're..."

"Now," Brett interrupted before he could get too far along, "we each have a
job to do.  I have to fly and you have to observe.  This is not the time for
lessons to commence."

"Oh... sure... I mean..."

"It's okay," Brett told him.  "Just keep an eye out down there like you're
supposed to.  I'm gonna put you through an extensive ground school before
you ever put your hands on these controls.  We're gonna take it as slow as
possible, all right?"

"All right."

"Now let's get back to work, shall we?"


+++++


It took them almost four hours to get the truck safely home. Brett was
forced to abandon them at one point so he could fly back to town and refuel
(and the town - at first terrified to see the chopper return alone - was
very grateful to hear that no avalanche had occurred).  But finally they
arrived, rumbling and clanking their way onto Interstate 80 and through the
gap in the cliffs that served as their eastern chokepoint.  They passed the
warning signs that Brett had installed and then utilized the offramp that
led to the town itself.  Soon the truck was making its way through the
residential streets inside the wall, belching out great black clouds of
diesel exhaust.

Brett continued to circle overhead until they were safely parked and then he
settled in for a soft landing in his accustomed spot.  By the time he and
Jason made it over to the truck, three quarters of the townspeople were
gathered around it, hugging and shaking the hands of the two men who had
delivered it.

Garden Hill now had a functioning fuel station.  All they needed now was the
fuel.


+++++


They wasted no time.  The men and women who were to be involved were hand
picked by Brett and Chrissie (who knew the capabilities, strengths, and
weaknesses of the newer guards better) at a community meeting that night
after dinner and told to be ready to move out the next morning.  More than
one person stayed up late that night making in town preparations or learning
specific tasks.

The operation itself began at first light.  Michelle, armed with one of the
M-16s and a radio keyed into the chopper's frequency, and four of the guard
force, all of them armed with semi-automatic weapons, climbed into the
helicopter.  Brett lifted off, the empty 250-gallon transport tank slung
beneath, and headed southwest for Cameron Park.  He utilized the shortest
route possible, going out over the canyon and following it to the point that
he had familiar navigation references.  He made sure that he stayed well
clear of the Auburn area.

Once at the Cameron Park Airport, he circled around a few times, keeping a
sharp eye out for anything below that hadn't been there before.  Beside him
Michelle did the same.  Everything seemed as it should be so he drifted down
and set the tank gently on the ground.  He released the rope from the hook
and then made one more pass around the area.

"Lock and load guys," Michelle told her troops as he spun in for final
approach.  They jacked rounds into their chambers and stood by.  Brett
touched down near the hanger complexes to allow them to get quickly under
cover if they came under fire.  Though this seemed unlikely to happen since
they had already made two trips here without encountering anyone, Brett
insisted that they go into every situation like it was combat.

"Go!" Michelle yelled at her troops the instant the skids touched the
ground.  They were out the doors in less than ten seconds, lying on their
bellies on the wet tarmac, all of them facing in different directions with
overlapping fields of fire.  No sooner were they down then Brett lifted back
off, buffeting them violently with the downdraft from the rotor and soaking
them thoroughly with rainwater.

Brett circled around for a few minutes just south of the airport, both to
keep an eye on the approaches and to be nearby in case an emergency
evacuation was called for.  Nothing untoward happened and a few minutes
after being dropped off, Michelle radioed up to him.  "Area seems secure,"
she said.  "We're going to deploy near the hangers until the next group
arrives."

"Copy," Brett said.  "I'm heading back now.  Remember the plan."

"If we're attacked," Michelle dutifully replied, "we'll make a fighting
retreat and head into the hills for pick-up later."

"You got it," he told her.  "I'll see you in about forty minutes."

Brett made two more trips before the first drop of fuel was even sucked from
the tank.  He brought one more group of five troops - Matt was in charge of
this bunch - to help augment the protective force that was already there.
He then went and picked up the actual work crew, which consisted of Jason
and three of the other guards.  They had the pump with them and they would
be the ones that kept the transport tank filled.  Brett had stayed up late
with this bunch showing them how to do their jobs.

The operation ran fairly efficiently for something that had been thrown
together as quickly as it had.

By the time Brett landed the pump crew, the combat crew had moved through
the airport and secured it completely.  They were now in defensive
positions, watching for approaching intruders.  The pump crew set up the
pump, attaching it to the same maintenance truck that they had used during
the first operation.  Once the pump was powered, they refueled the
helicopter, topping off its tank.

"Okay," Brett said to them.  "Let's get that tank full.  We've got a lot of
trips to make."

It took just a hair over five minutes for the pump to fill the 250-gallon
tank.  Once it was full, they shut down the pump and the engine that powered
it and reattached the rope to the belly of the chopper.  Brett climbed in
alone and fired up the engine, setting the rotor blades into motion.  After
a last check of his area he lifted off, slowly rising into the rainy sky
until all of the slack in the carrying rope was gone.

Lifting nearly two thousand pounds into the air by means of a hook and rope
assembly was a very delicate piece of flying and something that helicopter
pilots did not particularly like to do.  It needed to be done slowly and
carefully.  Rising too fast ran the risk of snapping the rope or rupturing
the container, an act that would almost certainly send the helicopter
spinning out of control from the slingshot effect.  Brett kept a delicate
hand on his controls, slowly applying power until the tank rose inch by inch
from the ground.  He could feel the tremendous weight beneath him in the
sluggishness of the aircraft's reactions, could hear it in the roar of the
turbine engine.  Only when the tank was 200 feet above the tarmac did he
begin to turn to the northeast and move forward.

The trip back to Garden Hill took nearly 40 minutes since Brett was not able
to fly terribly fast with the additional weight and drag.  Once over the
town he descended carefully right over the top of the community center.
Paul had built a platform on the peak of the roof, right near the edge, that
the transport tank could be set on.  Without the electric pump to facilitate
moving the fuel from one container to another, they were forced to rely on
good old gravity.  Paul, up on the roof with Maggie to assist him, used a
radio to talk to Brett and guide his movements, telling him to "go back" or
"go forward" or "bring it down".  Though he was being blasted by the
downdraft and pelted with small bits of debris and though he could hardly
hear his own voice as it came out of his mouth, Paul's voice was transmitted
clearly enough to Brett in the cockpit.  This first docking took a few
minutes to accomplish, requiring three aborts before the tank was finally
resting where it was supposed to.

"It's in place," Paul told him.

"Copy in place," Brett replied.  Slowly, carefully, he reduced power,
gradually and gently transferring the weight of the tank from the hook on
the helicopter to the structure on the ground.  Once Paul was able to
confirm slack in the carrying rope, he pulled the lever and released it.

"Good set down," Paul said as the rope fell to the roof.  As the helicopter
raised up and circled around to land, he turned to his two helpers.  "Let's
get it transferred."

Ted, the plumber, with the help of Steve Kensington, the pool-man/mechanic,
had installed a nozzle capable of taking standard two and a half-inch fire
hose onto the transport tank.  Paul utilized this nozzle now by leaning out
and coupling a fifty-foot length of hose to it.  The hose ran straight down
to the water tanker, which was parked directly below, the other end
connected, via a series of coupling rings, to the four-inch supply nozzle on
the top of the tank.

"All ready?" Paul yelled down to the two women below who were handling that
end of the operation.

"All ready," they yelled back up.

"On its way then," he said, opening the nozzle.

It took almost ten minutes for the fuel to run out of the transport tank and
into the storage tank.  As soon as it was empty Paul and Maggie used the
rope to lower the tank back to the ground.  Brett and two helpers took it
from there, dragging it back over to the chopper and reattaching it to the
hook.  Three minutes later the engines were spinning up.

As he lifted into the air, Brett checked his watch.  The first emptying
cycle had taken 28 minutes to accomplish.  He hoped they would be able to
cut that down to 20 by the end of the day.

He touched back down in Cameron Park at 10:30, just over 2 hours from the
time the first drop of fuel was pumped.  The first task was to refuel the
helicopter for the next trip and then the next load of fuel was pumped from
the storage tank into the transport tank.  By 10:50 he was back in the air.

In all, by working non-stop without lunch and with only minimal bathroom
breaks, they were able to transport 5 loads of fuel - 1250 gallons - from
Cameron Park to Garden Hill that day.  Brett landed with the empty tank at
Cameron Park at 4:30, the cargo compartment of the chopper laden with
sleeping bags and cans of food.  The security and pumping troops quickly
unloaded these and carried them over to the hanger where they would be
spending the night.

Brett had wanted to spend the night at the airport with them, arguing that
it would save time the next day if he didn't have to make a dry run from
Garden Hill to start operations.  Paul had utilized the veto power that came
with being the only remaining committee member and ordered him to return
home with the helicopter at the end of the day's operations.  "We simply
can't risk you and that machine like that," he'd explained.  "I know you
want to be with your troops, but the best place for that chopper at night is
where it's safest, and where its safest is back here."

Though Brett wasn't happy with this ruling, he nevertheless agreed to abide
by it.

"Be careful out here tonight," he told Michelle and Jason, who were in
charge of the group.

"We will," Michelle promised.  "If there's any trouble we'll just pull back
and contact you by radio in the morning.  Don't worry about us."

He smiled.  "It's my job to worry about you," he told her.

They shared a brief kiss and then Brett climbed into the helicopter.  We
went through the start-up procedure and three minutes later was lifting off.
By the time he made it back to Garden Hill it was nearly dark.


+++++



Though he was quite exhausted from a day spent nearly constantly behind the
controls of the helicopter, Brett was not too tired to respond to Chrissie
that night in bed when she expressed an interest in lovemaking.  They
enjoyed a long, slow, very heated session that ended with both of them
sweating profusely and out of breath.

"I think I'm starting to see a little swelling in your belly," Brett said
afterwards, as they lay cuddled together atop the covers, the light from a
single candle providing scant illumination.  He was running his hand softly
over her damp stomach where, just above her pubic hair, the slightest
bulging of her uterus was starting to make itself known.

"I'm gonna be a fat pig in a few months," she said sourly, her own hand
toying with the hair on his chest.

"You're going to be beautiful," Brett told her.  "Pregnant women are hot."

"You must be kidding," she said in disbelief.

"Not at all.  When does a woman look more feminine after all?  Just ask
Jason how hot pregnant women are."

"If you don't mind," she said, "I'd just assume leave my brother out of the
discussion.  The mental image of him having sex is something I'd rather not
think about."

He laughed a little, kissing her forehead.  "Well I assure you," he told
her.  "I'll still boff you when you swell up; often and well."

"I'll hold you to that," she said, giving him a kiss of her own.

They lay together in silence for a little bit as the sweat dried from their
skin and then, when they started to shiver, they blew out the candle and
climbed under the covers.  Brett didn't toss or turn, he didn't speak or
make any noise, but Chrissie still knew that he was not asleep and she also
knew why.

"They'll be okay out there," she told him.  "You trained them well."

"I know," he said with a sigh.  "I just feel like a father waiting for his
kids to get home from a night out."

"Shellie and Jason know what they're doing.  They'll keep them safe."  She
paused.  "I only wish I could be out there too."

"Your place is here," Brett said.  "Believe me, I would've felt more
comfortable with you as part of the airport detail but that same feeling
works in reverse.  I'm able to relax a little while I'm shuttling between
here and Cameron Park knowing that you're here taking care of defense."

"Do you really think I'm doing a good job?" she asked, pleased by his
praise.

"I really do," he said.  "And I'm sorry that I took all your best people for
the airport mission."

"At least I didn't have to staff the guard posts with untrained people," she
said.  The remaining guards that had been through Brett's training program
had all volunteered to pull double duty until the completion of the mission
to keep that from happening.

"That's a sign of respect for their leader," Brett said.  "I could never get
them to do that when I was in your shoes."

"That was before we were attacked," Chrissie reminded him, not about to be
complimented that easily.  "I think that might have had something to do with
it."

"Maybe a little," Brett allowed.  "But don't kid yourself.  A lot of it is
out of loyalty to you and I.  Nobody wants to spend 12 hours in one of those
wet, muddy bunkers up on the hill if they don't have to."

"That is true," she agreed, accepting the compliment this time.  "But when
are we going to get more people trained up?  We have sixteen firm volunteers
just waiting for their chance and ten more that are asking for
consideration.  I know you're busy securing fuel for the chopper and all,
but we can't keep putting it on hold forever.  We should pencil in a three
day period after the airport mission so that the next time we don't have to
double staff."

"An excellent idea," Brett agreed.  "In fact, why don't you start running
them through it day after tomorrow, after we get everyone home and rested
up?"

"Me?" she asked.  "What do you mean me?"

"I mean that I'm going to be much too busy trying to do maintenance tasks on
the helicopter and trying to figure out a way to run the train mission.
You've been through my class and you've assisted on it twice.  You also have
considerable combat experience.  I think the time has come for you to take
over that aspect of training."

"I can't do that," she protested, sitting up in the bed.  "Brett, I can't
teach your class.  And they wouldn't listen to me anyway."

"You can teach it and they will listen to you," he assured her.  "Chrissie,
you know how fanatical I am about this training and this town's security.  I
wouldn't ask you to do it if I didn't think you'd do a good job.  And you've
already run more people through the basic firearms class than I have.  You
can do this.  You HAVE to do this or its going to be a while before it gets
done."

They discussed it for a few more minutes and eventually, as he had known she
would, she agreed.  Soon Brett drifted off to sleep, snoring as he only did
when he was exhausted or intoxicated.  Chrissie, on the other hand, with
something new to worry about, lay awake for a long time.


+++++


It was just after first light when the men of Acting Captain Bracken's
attack company resumed their march towards Garden Hill.  They had been on
the road for five days now and most of the men were at peak efficiency for
the long march.  They were accustomed to the mud, rain, and filth after five
days of trudging through it and they were well acclimated to the cold and
sleeping outside.  Unlike on previous marches, Bracken was allowing them to
stick to the Interstate as much as they could.  With the numbers that they
had for this mission he did not fear being on a predictable route as he once
had.  It seemed unlikely at best that anyone would try to attack them on
their transit and walking on the asphalt cut drastically down on their time
and fatigue factors since they weren't constantly slugging through thick mud
or brush.  Of course the many mudfalls and washouts meant that they were
forced to take long detours through the heavy woods to go around such
things.  In all they spent about half their time on the pavement and half in
the mud.

They were on a fairly long stretch of unimpeded Interstate on this morning,
just two miles past the conquered town of Colfax.  Bracken had high hopes of
reaching the pre-attack staging area in three more days.

"Acting Lieutenant Jimms!" Bracken called to the senior sergeant from his
own third platoon.  Jimms was acting as platoon commander while Bracken
acted as company commander.

"Yes sir!"  Jimms said smartly, stepping up to him.

"Third platoon will break trail today," he told him.  "Assign a squad to the
point and lets move out."

"Yes sir," Jimms agreed.  He turned to the platoon and selected second
squad, headed by Stu, for that duty.  Stu gathered his team of convicts
together and formed them up.  Soon, all 160 men were heading down the
Interstate following them.

It was two hours into that morning's march that Turbo, the private on point,
spotted movement ahead of them.  A figure was just cresting the hill above
them, walking directly down the middle of the eastbound lanes.  Turbo held
up his hand, halting the squad behind him, and dropped to the pavement, his
rifle pointing up at the figure.  Stu signaled the rest of his squad to
spread out to the flanks and then gave the danger signal to the rest of the
company over the radio he carried.  Bracken and the rest of the men quickly
darted off the roadway and into the surrounding brush, for what they knew
not why at this point, but reacting just as training dictated.

Stu scrambled up and slid to the ground next to Turbo, his eyes looking
forward and immediately locking onto the lone figure.  "Is that the only
one?" he asked.

"So far," Turbo said.  "You got binocs?  It looks like a bitch from here."

"Yeah," Stu said.  "I'll look in a minute.  Let's get under cover for now
and report in."

They scrambled off the road, keeping as low as possible, and into the
treeline beside it, their boots sinking into the thick mud.  Stu pulled out
his portable radio and keyed it up.  "This is Covington on point," he said
into it.  "You there command?"

"Command here," Bracken's voice returned.  "What do you got Covington?"

"A single person walking down the Interstate about 400 yards in front of us.
Looks like a bitch.  No one else in sight at this time.  I'm gonna take a
look through the binocs and get a closer look."

"Ten-four Covington," Bracken said.  "Keep us informed and report in before
you do anything."

"No shit fuckface," Stu said to the radio - without keying the transmit
button of course.  "Ten-four," he said with it keyed.  He put it back in his
belt and then fished in his pack for the binoculars that all of the squad
leaders carried.

"What would a bitch be doing out here alone?" Turbo asked.  "Maybe it's that
cunt Marla trying to crawl back to us."

"Marla's dead and gone," Stu said absently, putting the binoculars to his
face.  "And if she wasn't, she wouldn't be coming back."  He focused until
he had a fairly clear view of the approaching figure.  It was indeed a
woman.  She was dressed in a black rain slicker that was splattered with mud
and grime.  Poking out from around the edges of the hood were filthy strands
of long blonde hair.  On her back was a tattered and muddy backpack.  She
was limping along slowly, as if every step was painful, her course not
exactly a straight line but meandering back and forth like a drunken sailor.
There was no weapon in sight.

Stu relayed all of this information to Bracken using short, businesslike
phrases.

"Ten-four Covington," Bracken replied.  "Hold in place until she gets closer
and then take her into custody so we can see what she's all about.  We'll be
standing by in the rear."

"I got something in the rear for you," Stu muttered to the closed
microphone.  "Ten-four," he said to the open one.


+++++


"What's your name?" Bracken asked her fifteen minutes later, after she had
been taken neatly into custody and after second platoon had checked out her
back trail and pronounced it clear.  She was sitting on a fallen log beside
the Interstate, Bracken towering above her, Stu's squad standing around to
provide security.

"Jessica Blakely," she said, her eyes arrogant.  "Who are you people?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here," Bracken said mildly.  "I think
you'll do well to remember that."

Jessica snorted a little, as if to say "how dare you address me in that
manner".

"Where did you come from?" Bracken asked her next.

"Garden Hill," she said.  "I was a ruling committee member there."

"A ruling committee member?" Bracken said in disbelief.  "And why are you
here now?"

"A very bad man managed to discredit me before the town.  He turned my
people against me and had me thrown out of there."  She made no mention of
the fact that she had tried to kill him first.

"I see," Bracken said, dismissing this as irrelevant for the moment.  "And
where exactly were you heading?  Were you on your way to Auburn?"

"I hardly think my destination is any of your business," she said snootily.

Bracken's instinct was to give her a sharp backhand across the face.  That
was what an Auburn man did when a woman talked back to him.  He held off for
the moment, trying a different tack.  "Listen Jessica," he said.  "We are
from Auburn and our town is the only inhabited place west of Garden Hill.
Now you can continue to not answer my questions and stay out here to die, or
you can tell me what I want to know and perhaps we will consider taking you
in.  The choice is yours."

Jessica's eyes looked up at him, considering his words, her mind ticking
along.  Could these people really be from Auburn?  Could they really be
important enough in that town to guarantee her admission?  She was running
extremely low on the supplies that those ungrateful pagans in Garden Hill
had sent her out with.  If she cooperated with this rather dirty and
unsavory man who seemed to be in charge of the others, she might just be
able to find a safe haven for herself.  And if there was a functioning
township in Auburn, she would probably be able to worm her way into its
command structure with a little bit of work.  Worming her way close to those
with power was - after all - what she did best.  "What do you want to know?"
she asked.

"Tell me about the makeup of Garden Hill," Bracken said, grabbing a seat
across from her and lighting a cigarette.

She started to talk, at first interjecting her personal opinions about
various people and lifestyles into the discussion but ceasing this when
Bracken interrupted to let her know that he only wanted the facts.  She gave
the number of men, women, and children in town and explained that Paul and
Brett were leading them with major decisions being made by community vote in
the absence of a full committee.

"Paul and Brett?" Bracken asked.  "Who are they?"

"Paul was a fireman at the station outside of town before the comet.  I
don't know what made us decide to make HIM a leader, but..."

"Uh, Jessica," Bracken interrupted, "Just the facts please, remember?"

She gave him another sour look but headed his words.  "Paul is kind of a
nerdy guy but I guess he's pretty smart about mechanical things.  He's the
one that worked out how to get us hot water and how to install cameras
outside of our walls."

"Cameras huh?" Bracken said.  "We'll get back to that.  What about this
Brett that you mentioned?  What's he all about?"

Her hatred for Brett was plainly evident in the face she made at the mere
mention of his name.  "He was a cop before the comet," she said.  "He also
used to fly helicopters in the army, so he says anyway.  He snuck into town
one night about two weeks after the comet and managed to sweet-talk his way
into being allowed to stay.  He had two little bratty kids with him.  He
just kept picking and picking at everyone until...

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stu cut in from behind Bracken.  "Did you say kids?  Do
you mean teenagers?" He was being insubordinate but Bracken let it slide
this time.

"Yes," Jessica spat.  "Chrissie and Jason.  He's having relations with the
girl and has gotten her pregnant.  There has even been rumor of him
molesting the boy as well, although when I left, this bitch named Stacy
was..."

"Guns," Stu said, "did they have any guns with them when they came to town?"

"Well, yes," she said.  "They had those army machine guns.  They said they
took them from some bikers or something.  I'll just bet that they..."

"Like these guns?" Bracken said, holding up the M-16 that he carried.

"Well, yeah... kind of I guess."

Bracken and Stu shared a look.  Now they had a name attached to the man that
had killed four of Stu's men (although Bracken could hardly blame him for
that, considering what they were doing).  "And is he the one who set up the
defenses for the town?"

"Well, not at first," Jessica told them.  "Paul came up with the defenses
that we had at first.  He put the camera on the bridge and put people in
houses along the wall to watch for stragglers and drive them off.  When
Brett came he tried to change all of that.  He kept asking us on the
committee to let him put guards outside the wall nearly a mile from town in
little holes on the hillsides.  He kept telling us that we were doing things
all wrong.  I tried as hard as I could for as long as I could to keep him
from changing things, but some people attacked the town one day..."

"We saw that," Bracken said.

"You did?" she asked, surprised.

"We've been watching your town for a while now," he assured her.  "So
anyway, those people attacked the town.  And then...?"

"Well, I'm convinced that Brett somehow talked those stragglers into
attacking the town just so he could get power away from me.  It was probably
his plan all along.  In fact, I wouldn't put it past him to have..."

"Jessica," Bracken interrupted with an impatient sigh.  "Just the facts
please."

Another sour look.  "Well, after that attack was when everything really fell
apart.  Brett managed to convince everyone in town that it was my fault that
the attack happened and Paul managed to get me voted off of the committee.
Once I was no longer able to counter him, he started changing everything
around.  He started wasting our ammunition by having a bunch of people
practice shooting.  He started taking people off of bath details and laundry
details and made them dig bunkers up on the hills.  He even made ME do that.
ME!"

Bracken and Stu shared a look of dread with each other.  "Digging bunkers in
the hills?" Bracken asked carefully.

"Yes," she said.  "And then he put me on kitchen detail working under that
slut that's..."

Bracken let her ramble on for a moment this time, hardly hearing her spout
about pregnant, child-molesting hussies as he opened up his pack and pulled
out a large map of Garden Hill and the surrounding terrain that he had
prepared after the last mission.  He unfolded it and set it down on her lap.
"Show me where these bunkers were dug," he told her, cutting her off in
mid-rant.

"What?"

He tapped the map with a dirty finger.  "Show me," he said.  "Where are
these bunkers?"

It took her a few moments to puzzle out the map - cartography was not one of
her skills in life - but eventually she was able to point out where the new
defenses were located.

"Son of a bitch," Bracken said, shaking his head in wonder.  "What kind of
firepower do they put up there?" he asked her.

"What kind of what?"

"Guns!" he yelled, making her jump.  "What kind of guns do they have in
these bunkers?  How much ammo?"

"Well, they have one of the machine guns and one of the rifles," she said at
last.  "And he's almost completely emptied the ammunition supply so he could
put it up there with those guards.  I don't know what we would do if we were
attacked again and all of those guns were up on the hill instead of in town,
but like I said, they don't listen to..."

"How much ammunition?" Bracken demanded.  "How many guns, how much ammo does
Garden Hill have in their possession?"

This was an answer that Jessica knew since she had been in charge of supply
inventories during her reign of power.  She gave them the last figures that
she had calculated.  Of course these were figures taken BEFORE the battle
with the twelve invaders but she didn't think that a significant amount had
been fired off during that little skirmish.  "We have about ten thousand
rounds total.  I don't remember the exact categorizations, but we were
really heavy on those long bullets for the rifles..."

".30 caliber?" Bracken asked.

"Uh... I guess," she said.  "And we had a lot of the kind that those machine
guns that Brett brought fired.  He was real excited about that when we
showed him our supply room for the first time.  We have a lot of bullets for
the pistols too.  Probably more of that than anything."

"Christ," Bracken said, lowering his head a little.  "And about these people
that he had firing up your ammo.  What was that all about?"

"He called it training," she said, spitting that word out.  "He tried to get
people to do it before that so-called attack on the town, but nobody but
that lesbian slut and that homo schoolteacher signed up for it.  Afterward,
people were just begging him to do it.  That's another reason I think that
the attack was staged.  I mean why else would..."

"What kind of training did they do?" Bracken wanted to know.

"It all looked pretty pointless to me," Jessica told them.  "He took them
outside the walls and had them shoot at a bunch of targets with all of the
guns.  He had them taking them apart and putting them back together.  Then
he had them rolling around in the mud in groups and running all over the
place.  He even had them attack the grocery store."

"And did he say what the purpose of all this was?" Bracken asked next,
although he already had a pretty good idea.

"These were going to be the people that manned those guard positions.  He
wanted only people that he had trained in his little bunkers.  As if it
takes training to watch for stragglers."

"And he got enough people trained up to do this?"

"Oh yes," she confirmed, nodding.  "Sixteen of them went through and they
were about to get sixteen more when I had to leave."

"So he may have as many as forty of them trained up by now?" Stu asked.  "Is
that right?"

She shrugged.  "I suppose."

The two men looked at each other fearfully.  "Do you know what this means?"
Bracken asked the convict turned squad leader.

"They would've murdered us," Stu replied quietly.  "They've changed around
their entire defensive arrangement from what we expected.  They've posted
trained guards in bunkers on the premium high ground, exactly the thing we
wondered why they hadn't done before.  If we would've come walking in there
all nice and pretty in a line..."

"They would've cut us to pieces in the first five minutes," Bracken said.
"They don't have overlapping fields of fire, not quite, but each one of
those hills commands the area below it.  The gunners on top could've let us
march in until we were unable to retreat and then pinned us in place until
reinforcements took up position across from us.  Then they would've chopped
us up like hamburger."

"Jesus," Stu said.

"What are you talking about?" Jessica suddenly asked.  "Are you saying that
you were going to attack Garden Hill?"

"We were going to incorporate your people and resources into our town,"
Bracken said.  "By force if necessary.  This information you gave us has
just saved us from being massacred if they elected to resist us."

"What do you mean?" she asked.  "Incorporate?  Massacred?"

"We are unifying the California region under our command and our laws,"
Bracken told her.  "We have already taken Colfax, Meadow Vista, Grass
Valley, and several other towns, bringing the inhabitants to live in Auburn.
Your town was next on our list.

Jessica listened to this carefully.  "So you intend to take over Garden
Hill?"

"We're unifying the entire region," Bracken explained.  "It is something
that has to be done if civilization is ever going to return.  For now we're
taking everyone to Auburn and building up our militia and our food supplies.
Our goal is to unify without actually having to fight anyone, just by
overwhelming force."

"Overwhelming force?" she said doubtfully.

"By convincing the towns that we unify that resistance is pointless.  We
thought we had a decent chance of that in Garden Hill with the size of the
force we have here."

"But you don't think that anymore?" she asked, starting to like the idea of
the town that had cast her out being conquered.  And if she was in a
position of authority in Auburn, as she had every intention of achieving,
then she would be set up to enact a little revenge on a few members of that
town.

 "It would seem," Bracken said, "that things have changed in Garden Hill
since we performed our reconnaissance."

"I don't understand," she said.  "Do you mean that these defenses that he
put up are BETTER than what we had before?"

"What you had before was a joke," Bracken told her.  "Good for keeping out
isolated wanderers but not much else.  Had they remained in effect we would
have taken that town in less than an hour, probably without taking a single
casualty.  But now..." he shook his head.  "Now he has a classic defense
arrangement in place.  Things have suddenly become a little more difficult
and dangerous."

"So you're not going to do it?" she asked.

"I didn't say that," he replied.  "We'll just need to see if we can come up
with another plan.  We'll need your help if you're willing."  Of course he
could have just beaten the information he wanted out of her but he had
already pegged her personality.  Stroking her ego would be the more
effective way of getting intelligence from her.  "You were one of the ruling
members of that society.  You have access to the information we need to help
unify that place.  So what do you say?"

"I'll give you any help you need," she said immediately, a smile on her
face.

Bracken smiled back, ignoring the contemptuous look he was getting from Stu
for treating a woman the way he was.  "What other improvements to the
security system did this Brett person make since the attack on the town?
Try to tell me everything."

"Well, aside from putting those people through the so-called training
program he had and digging those bunkers, he hasn't done much else.  He put
up some signs warning people away from the area and fiddled with the trucks
that were parked on the bridge a little.  He and that child he's living with
have also been making everyone in town go through some sort of shooting
class."

"You mean in addition to the people he is training as guards?"

"That's right," she confirmed.  "Brett and Paul ordered that everyone in
town fourteen and older, whether they pull guard duty or not, learn to
shoot."

Bracken and Stu shared another look, reluctant respect for this man Brett
showing in their eyes.  With such a small population of men in the town,
teaching the bitches to shoot only made sense.  Of course bitches would not
be able to take the place of a man behind the sights of a weapon, but they
could still pour fire down on an attacking force if they were concentrated
in high enough numbers.

"What else?" Bracken wanted to know.  "He's had plenty of time to whip up
some other surprises for us.  Tell us everything."

"That was about it by the time I left," Jessica said.  "He had plans for a
lot of things.  For instance, he wanted to rig up ammunition carrying
buckets to help get extra bullets to the guards on the hill and he wanted to
try to dismantle the entire catwalk beneath the bridge to try and keep
anyone from using it."

"But he hadn't done those things yet?"

"No," she said.  "He was too busy trying to get his hands on that stupid
helicopter to do any of that."

There was complete silence for a moment as Bracken and Stu digested what
they had just heard.

"Did you say helicopter?" Bracken finally sputtered.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+