“We’re waiting on three that should be here soon,” I responded.
We waited another ten minutes. Only one of the missing men on Nate’s side showed up before Lonnie started.
“The two missing men may have had a change of heart. I propose we leave Jim and Mark monitoring the ham full time, as information obtained on Baker’s group or getting the news to the Colonel may be the deciding factor on our victory.
“Chad will be the relay messenger between them and the rest of us at the river. He will be posted here, along with Steve, and he will also serve as the last line of defense for our families if we are compromised down there,” he added, pointing towards the river. “All radio chatter needs to be kept to a minimum and only used to help our cause. I don’t want to hear someone radioing for a sandwich. What else, Lance?”
“Just a few things come to mind before we say a prayer. First, we all need to conduct ourselves as deer hunters. Assume you are being watched, and any sudden movements or talking will give your location away. Mike and Jake will be the only two floating around. Has anybody seen them?”
“No.” “No.” “Not me, either,” said another, as both men, in camouflage, jumped up from the ground only feet from where we all stood. Several men jumped back, with one falling, landing hard on the ground.
“What the hell?” asked one of Nate’s guys.
“That’s on you,” I told him. “Nobody else knew they were there either, but now you see the advantage we have with these two guys out of the holes and floating.
“Next, the Baker group and their scouts don’t cross the river, no matter what. No saving ammo, fireworks, or anything else if they are trying to cross. We dump everything we have on them to turn them back around. No shooting unless Lonnie gives the order over the radios.
“And last, remember what we are fighting for—they are all with Beatrice at her house. Each and every single person there is worth all of our bloodshed on this ground. Bring it in, guys, for a quick prayer.”
“I’m not a believer,” said one of Nate’s guys.
“Okay,” I responded. “You can choose to participate or not.”
I focused on the others and overheard another of Nate’s group telling the man, “You may not think it will help, but it surely can’t hurt, right?” He ducked into the group at the last second.
O Lord, we thank you for watching over all of our groups this day, and each day before. Today is a big day for all of us as we fight evil on our very soil. We ask that you be with us and surround us with your love and grace, giving us the strength and might to overcome those who seek to harm us and take what you have provided for our families. Watch over our families and let nothing penetrate the walls of Mrs. Jenkins’ house. It is in your name we pray. Amen.
“Amen,” said most of the men.
* * * *
The time on my watch read 7:57 a.m. as we headed down to the river. I looked back at camp. It was a ghost town, with everyone up at the house now.
“Let’s go,” said Lonnie. “Vlad, you and Lance get down on the four-wheeler and hide it as best you can in the brush. The M60s, with ammo, are already loaded on the four-wheeler trailer. Anything heavy we need to carry, including weapons, ammunition, water, and fireworks, can be loaded there as well. The rest of us will walk down on foot, keeping our packs with us in the foxholes. Beatrice and some of the other ladies have seen to it that each pack contains enough food that doesn’t need to be kept cold for several days—if we’re out here that long. There are boxes of shop rags, rain gear, and small garden shovels. No getting out of the holes once we’re in.”
The slow ride down on the four-wheeler with the heavy trailer was as close as I could imagine to the process of preparing for combat. I had never done this before.
Each man grabbed his things off the trailer as we passed each foxhole, with all set 30 yards off of the river’s edge, just inside the tree line.
There were 14 holes dug, all spaced approximately 10 yards apart at the most likely crossing point. We all did our best to dress in camouflage and dark colors, hoping to blend in with the dense brush.
* * * *
The first hour tested Lonnie’s patience. Several men moved around loudly and called out to each other. He used the radio to tell the offenders to knock it off and take their jobs seriously. One bullet headed in their direction will be all it takes to straighten them out, I thought.
My mind wandered to the “before times.” Family vacations, my kids being born, and meeting my soulmate, Joy, on New Year’s Eve of 2000.
A month ago, I was sitting in traffic at this time of the morning on my hour and a half commute to work, occasionally getting cut off by an aggressive driver. I would wonder what I should do for lunch and what time the boys had soccer practice.
Americans Going Home, and others on Audible, stuck in my head as I listened to book after book. Now I was the one in a real-life going-home scenario, except I actually left home and dragged a ton of other people with me.
I never imagined I would be sitting in a foxhole, “Red-Dawn” style, but I still felt I had made the right decision after hearing about my house and neighborhood being burned to ashes so quickly after we left.
I snapped in and out of focus, trying
