299 Days: The Community

Chapter 96 Marty and His Boys (May 9)

Joe Tantori was living through history. He knew something was up about two weeks ago when the Marines and sailors he trained for their guard duties at the nuclear facilities started cancelling their classes without saying why. Even his longtime friends on the bases wouldn’t chat with him. Something was up.

At first, the law enforcement guys didn’t seem to be getting the same memo that the military guys were; they kept coming to their classes like nothing was happening. There had been budget cuts, but they still kept coming. They needed to learn the military-style gun fighting that Joe and his staff taught. They had been told to expect “civil unrest” in the future and they had the money to spend on training for it.

Then, right around May Day, the law enforcement guys started cancelling classes. His friend, the sheriff in a neighboring county, said, “LEOs,” meaning law enforcement officers, “will be a little busy for the next couple weeks. We’ll be putting your fine training to use, I’m afraid.” That seemed weird.

Then, when the news hit on May Day and beyond, Joe knew what they were talking about. He knew that, without any law enforcement at its normal levels, his compound way out in the country, full of guns, ammo, and fuel, would be a tempting target for thieves. Many cops and military people had seen his armory with all the weapons he used for training. He and his dozen employees, all military and LEO veterans, made sure the compound was secure.

Joe’s facility was a natural fortress. There was only one long and winding road in with a guard shack and strong gate. The curves in the road slowed everyone down, which gave those in the woods along the road plenty of time to hit them.

Joe had tons of supplies. He and his family lived there, along with his employees. They had an absurd amount of food, and two EMTs who had full medical supplies. None of his employees had families; Joe’s crew was their family.

Years earlier, with a changing political climate, Joe sensed this day was coming. He knew that people like him were getting screwed and wouldn’t take it much longer.

One of Joe’s most coveted possessions at the compound was a 1,000 gallon underground diesel tank. He used it for the small patrol boats they used to train the Marines and sailors on maritime operations at their facility. Joe topped off the tank about a week before May Day. When the fuel prices skyrocketed, he was very glad he had done that.

Joe, his family, and his crew had just about everything they needed. He actually felt good about what was going on. People would finally see that the emperor had no clothes. The government couldn’t do shit right now, and people would have to rely on themselves. Finally! Joe knew he was better off than probably anyone else in that corrupt county. He would walk around his compound smoking a cigar and talking to his guys. He loved it. He felt like these were going to be the most important days of his life.

Ever since Grant Matson had come to the compound and they had discussed a seemingly inevitable collapse, he had struggled with whether to openly be a Patriot or try to keep below the radar. One day, a few months before May Day, Joe realized that he had no choice. He had been blessed with a fabulous compound, a team of employees who were well-trained fighters, and tons of supplies. More importantly, he had been put into a position where he knew hundreds of military and law enforcement personnel. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to be working with these military and law enforcement people to do something good.

He realized Oath Keepers was the link between the people he knew and the things he was supposed to do, so he decided to be very open that he was a member of Oath Keepers. He would try to get as many people as possible to join.

Right after May Day, he started receiving weird calls from former students. A group who were LEOs two counties away said they were leaving the force because of the budget cuts and they needed a place to go work. They were Oath Keepers, and wanted to be his “security consultants.” Joe knew what was going on. He said they could come.

Word then got out that Joe was accepting “recruits.” More came. They brought supplies with them. The bunkhouses for students filled up quickly.

Then Joe got a call from Marty; Gunnery Sergeant Martin Booth, who ran the Marine security forces out at the Bangor submarine base where his unit guarded the nukes. Marty, in his deep South Carolina drawl, said, “Joe, can I come out to see you? Like, right now?”

“Sure, Marty,” Joe said. “What’s going on?” As if he didn’t know.

“See you soon,” Marty said and hung up the phone.

He wasn’t in uniform when he arrived. Joe had never seen him out of uniform. He looked nervous.

“Thanks for seeing me, Joe,” Marty said. “I have some business to discuss.” He looked around to see if anyone was around. No one was.

“I know I can trust you,” Marty said. “I’m an Oath Keeper, too, in spirit. I can’t openly join, given my security clearance. I don’t talk about Oath Keeper things. Given the items we have at work, it didn’t make sense for me to be talking about my possibly divided loyalties.”

Marty looked down at the ground and then up at Joe, straight in his eyes. “Joe, I want to bring some of my guys out here. Permanently. You understand what I’m saying?”

“AWOL?” Joe asked in a near whisper even though no one was around at the compound.

“Defecting is more like it,” Marty said quietly. It was hard for him to say that. He loved the Marine Corps. He loved the United States. Well, the former United States. Marty never wanted to leave the Marine Corps. He had thought of retirement as an awful thing because he would no longer be able to wear the uniform of his beloved Corps. But now he was running from the Corps.

“I have been issued unconstitutional orders,” Marty said. “We’ve spent the last week or so moving our precious cargo off base and back to…somewhere.” Even though Marty was defecting, he still wouldn’t reveal where the nukes had gone. He didn’t want to harm the United States, he just didn’t want to be part of what the United States was about to do to its people.

Marty continued, “All of us realized that we needed to get those weapons out of harm’s way. We don’t want some terrorist assholes to get them. So we did our duty and we were proud to do it. Well, the precious cargo is all out and now they want to send us to the ‘Southern front.’”

“What the hell is the ‘Southern front?’” Joe asked.

“Down to Texas,” Marty said. “The feds are fixin’ for a fight with Texas and any states that want to join them, like my home state of South Carolina. I won’t do it. I won’t.”

Joe was speechless. He had focused on all the crap and drama in his little area out there. But he had never thought about the national situation.

“I quietly inquired with my men,” Marty said. “‘Who’s going to kill Americans?’ I asked them. ‘Who wants to fight for socialism in D.C.?’ I’ll be honest, I only asked the Southerners. There are some good Northerners, but I didn’t want one of them to turn me in.”

Marty paused. This conversation was very hard for him. “So I told them—three squads plus—that I’d come ask you if you have a place for us. We’ll work for our chow. I bet you could use some motivated Marines.” He smiled, “Who couldn’t? Especially in these uncertain times.”

Joe blurted out, “Glad to have you.” He had no idea how he’d feed these guys or pay them. He had supplies for his family and the current employees, but the recent LEO defectors and now thirty plus Marines? Oh well, he’d figure it out. These were shaping up to be historic times. Roll with it. He was supposed to be doing this. Don’t try to make it fit into a business plan.

Then it hit him.

Joe got out a new cigar and handed it to Marty. “I have an idea.”