299 Days: The Restoration

Chapter 292 Brewery Tour

It was weird. As they rolled down Highway 101 on the outskirts of Olympia, Grant realized that there was no one shooting at them. They approached each overpass carefully –very carefully. It took them all afternoon to go the few miles from Delphi Road to the Olympia city limits. They knew that the Limas would be concentrated in the city and would have more sophisticated defenses closer to town.

They did. Kind of. There were log obstacle booby traps on each of the overpasses after the Delphi exit, but no one there to pull the rope. Not a single person.

In fact, it was getting dark and they hadn’t seen one enemy fighter all day. They’d seen scared civilians running away. Women and children. It was raining, so the women and children looked miserable and pathetic scurrying away.

Dark, Grant thought. It was getting dark. They needed to have a plan for the darkness. He looked at the next exit, knowing the area well because it was the exit he used to take when he came home from the cabin. It had the perfect hiding place.

“You guys ever taken the Olympia brewery tour?” Grant asked the Team and Donnie, seemingly out of the blue. The tour was famous because they let the visitors sample all kinds of beer. The Olympia brewery was a huge beer-making plant right off the exit. It had been shut down a few years earlier because new environmental regulations made it economically impossible to brew anymore. Before that, the brewery had operated for over a hundred years making the formerly famous Olympia Beer. Hundreds of jobs were lost when it closed. The brewery was now boarded up, just like most other businesses.

The guys, who were concentrating on spotting people trying to kill them, wondered why Grant was distracting them. They didn’t answer. Each of them expected someone else to respond, but no one did.

“The reason I ask,” Grant finally said, “is that the brewery would be a great place to bed down tonight. Lots of windows, up high with a commanding view. All those gates protecting the place. It’s a nice defensible place. And it’s abandoned, so no one would think anyone was there.”

Still more silence. It was getting dark and harder to see threats.

“Scotty,” Grant said, “call in to Ted and see if he thinks the brewery would be a good place to be tonight.” Scotty obliged.

Ted, who had lived in the Olympia area for several years, was familiar with the brewery and, given its proximity to their current location as well as the capitol campus, he thought it would be a good place to be, at least for the night.

“Okay,” Grant said, referring to the Team and Donnie, “we will clear out one of the buildings for ourselves and set up shop.”

Grant had Scotty radio to Ted that the main convoy should park on the side of the highway as the Team exited and checked out the brewery.

The Team went off the exit very slowly. They were nervous. They were now at the Olympia city limits. If the reports were right, and they seemed to be so far, then the Limas would be concentrated in the city. They could easily set up ambushes at places like the exits coming into the city.

Then again, as Grant thought about how slowly they needed to proceed, he realized it was steadily getting darker. They didn’t have much time. They couldn’t have the convoy sitting on the side of Highway 101 all night. The Team needed to find a suitable place for the 17th Irregulars to park and set up a defense. Maybe even sleep a little. Eating would be nice, too.

So far, the exit to the brewery was clear, to the extent they could see in the partial darkness. There was a bridge over I-5—this exit was where Highway 101 fed into I-5—that would be very strategic. Grant would have blown it up if he were defending this city. Surely the Limas thought of that same thing.

But there was the bridge, amazingly intact. Grant figured it had to be rigged to blow up when a vehicle went across it.

“Want us to check the bridge?” Pow asked him, knowing the answer.

“Yep,” Grant said, “this is an all-hands-on-deck thing. We need all the people possible. It’s dark, so Donnie’s scope won’t be too useful. Donnie, you grabbed Anderson’s AR, right?”

Donnie nodded. He was using a dead man’s rifle. It was not exactly a good luck sign.

“Shouldn’t Bobby stay behind in the truck?” Scotty asked. “We might need to take off and we can’t be waiting for him to show up with the keys.”

He had made a good point. “You lucked out, Bobby,” Grant said.

“I’ll go in with you guys,” Bobby said. He’d been missing out on all the fun so far by being the driver. “What about Donnie staying and driving, if necessary?”

His suggestion made a lot of sense. Donnie could drive and his sniper rifle was nearly useless in the dark. Bobby was also much better trained than Donnie for things like this.

“Donnie will drive,” Grant said, trying to be as lieutenant-like as possible. It was his nature, especially around the Team, just to say, “Right on, bro.” But Grant needed to practice being a military officer. He knew he would be giving orders in the city, so he needed to start acting like it now.

Bobby parked the truck in a reasonably safe place, far from the street light on the side of the exit. They got out and got ready to go. Ryan and Wes got out of the back. Donnie, in the driver’s seat, had one of the intra-unit radios and Scotty had the other.

“Let’s go take a brewery tour,” Grant said.

It was hard to ignore all the gunfire in the distance and the occasional explosions. There were no fireballs or tracers like on TV during Desert Storm. This wasn’t that kind of war. What was happening was more like evicting a bunch of criminals from a city. The Team moved in pairs toward the bridge, providing cover for each other as they did. One man constantly covered the rear in case anything came at them from that direction. They leapfrogged to the bridge.

They all had flashlights mounted on their rifles. They were costly items, but no one considered them to be a “luxury.” They had Surefire Scout lights, which were extremely durable and bright. The Team knew that almost all fighting happened in low-light and dark conditions. They had to be able to see their targets, so a weapon-mounted light was a necessity. Everyone except Ryan, who joined the Team late, had lights mounted on their pistols for the very same reason. They used the lights on their rifles to scan the area for wires and to look for targets. Those Surefires were amazingly bright, over one hundred lumens, which was several times the brightness of even huge D-cell flashlights.

Of course, there was one huge downside to using their weapons’ lights or any other flashlights. People could see them. They could see right where they were, shoot at the lights, and probably hit the person holding the rifle or pistol with the light. Oh well. There was no other way to do this, unless they wanted to sit there until morning, making them sitting ducks for hours. This would prevent them from advancing. Not acceptable. Surprisingly, walking up to a possibly booby-trapped bridge potentially with snipers all around was a better plan.

As they were searching the bridge and slowly moving across it in pairs, Grant was glad they had frequently practiced night operations at Marion Farm. For some reason, they had not done much night training before he came out to Pierce Point. The Team had done one night shoot with Ted back before the Collapse. They had done some training at night at the meth house back at Pierce Point, but that was it.

If Grant could have done it over again, he would have done at least half of their training in the dark. Regardless, they were doing a decent job tonight and were still much better than any civilians and most law enforcement. They were better than almost any unmotivated National Guard unit, though they would get beaten badly by a regular military unit. Hopefully there weren’t any of those around.

After several minutes of very careful movements and plenty of time to scan for threats, they were across the bridge. This was the most dangerous time. Any halfway intelligent attackers would wait for them to get across the bridge and then attack, probably with attackers back at the entrance to the bridge too, cutting off their escape.

The brewery had several large buildings, each of which was surrounded by a very high chain-link fence. There were gates in front of each building. The Team fanned out from the bridge toward the first gate. Bolt cutters! Grant forgot to bring bolt cutters. What an idiot.

The gate was locked. They went to their right toward the next gate, which was already cut open. Good news.

Or was it? They quickly realized that this meant others could easily go into that building. Maybe lots of them. They huddled together.

“Ideas?” Grant asked.

“Let’s go see who’s in there,” Pow said. “We’ll sneak up on them. If they didn’t get us on that bridge, they suck and will continue to suck. We can sneak up on them in that building.”

“No lights on in there,” Bobby said. “It’s probably abandoned.”

Grant doubted that. With the Second Great Depression going on, he knew these sorts of places would have to be full of squatters, and those squatters would fight like hell to protect their “home.”

“We look for all the doors, see if they’re open, and go in simultaneously from as many directions as possible?” Grant asked.

“I guess so,” Pow said after a brief silence. No one had a better idea.

“Everyone got fresh batteries in their lights?” Grant asked, pointing at his weapon light. Everyone nodded. They would be relying on their lights right now, so this would be a terrible time for one to go out. Not only did they have fresh batteries in their lights, but they all had at least two sets of backup batteries in their kit. Batteries were second only to ammunition in importance in their kit.

“Okay,” Grant said, “I’ll go around the building and try all the doors.” He pulled out a permanent marker from his kit. “I’ll mark each door that’s open with an ‘X’. I’ll put a ‘No’ on closed doors. You guys can stay here in a defensive perimeter. No use splitting all of us up to go check the doors. If there’s shooting, it might as well be at one of us instead of all of us.”

They nodded. They had all taken turns on point. Grant felt like it was his turn. Besides, he was in a hurry and wanted to get into this building and get it cleared for the rest of the convoy. He was getting nervous about that convoy just sitting there in what was now darkness.

Grant paused for about a minute as he and the Team quietly listened for any sound, any sign of life in that building or from anywhere else.

Nothing. There was a lot of gunfire in the distance, and the hum of the big street lights, but nothing from the brewery. There were no people talking, no barking dogs, no vehicles. In fact, there were no cars—zero—out on the streets.

That didn’t seem right. Something was up. He readied himself for whatever was about to happen. He had the raid on the meth house under his belt, but the brewery felt different. Ten times harder than the meth house.

Grant looked at the building he was about to check on. It was four stories and there were no lights on. The windows on the first floor were boarded up, but the windows on the upper floors weren’t. Most of the upper-floor windows were broken.

There was trash everywhere. It blew around in the street. Garbage pick-up had ended months ago when the city ran out of money. Besides, it was extremely dangerous to travel around town, so who in their right mind would go out and pick up garbage? The place looked like Detroit.

But then again, most of the country looked like Detroit now. Grant remembered arguing with his liberal friends before the Collapse that the big-government polices they loved so much would lead to the “Detroit-ification” of America. They had laughed at him. Now he was looking at a boarded up brewery that once employed hundreds, surrounded by trash blowing through the streets.

As Grant took off toward the first door, he thought that this would be an okay way to die. It’s gonna happen anyway, he thought. Heaven will be way better than what’s down here. And he’d be with his guys when he died. Doing something for the unit. Trying to fix things. He actually smiled. This would be an okay way to die, he repeated to himself.

Grant used his weapon light to see his way. He came up to the first door, which was locked. He marked it with a big “No.” He went to the next door. Same thing. Locked. He went to the third door and gently pushed on it. It was open! He marked it with a big “X.” Okay, there’s at least one open door which made it even more likely that squatters—or Limas—were in there.

Grant wanted to open that door and see, but he knew that would be stupid. If people were inside and heard that, they’d be ready for an attack. No, Grant needed to have the whole Team—and preferably the Team from several directions—open those doors and go in ready to shoot. Curiosity killed the cat and might kill Grant if he didn’t hold back his curiosity. So he forced himself to move on to the next door.

The fourth door was open, too. He marked it with an “X.” Two doors to enter from. Good. That was far better than just one.

Without opening the door, Grant looked around for any signs of life in the building. None, just the trash blowing around. He was trying to see if any of the trash indicated people living in there, like food wrappers or even freshly soiled baby diapers. He didn’t see any trash indicating current occupants, but it was dark and he was trying not to lose his concentration on threats that might pop out when he was staring at the garbage.

Grant went around the last side of the building to see if there was another door, which there wasn’t. Just four doors on three sides. It was dangerous moving on this last side of the building because it faced the street and there was a street light. He would be silhouetted. Oh well, he said again to himself. Nothing was perfect out here. He had no choice but to play the hand he was dealt. Grant had to check this last remaining side of the building. He couldn’t have his guys running through that area only to find out a bunch of Limas were sitting there. He had to be able to go back and tell his guys that there was no one on the outside perimeter of the building.

Grant carefully advanced along the last side of the building. He was moving from behind cover each time. He turned his weapon light off since the street light illuminated the area well. The only purpose his weapon light would serve right now would be as a big “shoot here” target.

Grant looked at the street lights. They illuminated the rain coming down. It had turned from a steady rain to a light drizzle. Grant was soaking wet. He was glad he had that black knit hat to keep his head warm. HQ had even given him a little patch with a second lieutenant’s bars. Grant had stapled that onto his knit cap. That’s how low-tech they were: lieutenant’s bars stapled onto a hat.

In the drizzle, Grant was glad he had Mechanix shooting gloves to maintain his grip on his rifle. The Team always trained with gloves on. Good shooting gloves, which weren’t too expensive, protected hands from sharp edges, hot barrels, and accidental cuts from all the knives they used in the field. Any one of those things could injure a hand and put a guy out of action. Grant realized that he was hardly noticing something else: that he was wet and cold but didn’t care. All he cared about was clearing that building and getting the 17th in there safely.

Grant stopped when he got to the last corner. He didn’t want to run around that corner and have the Team shoot him, so he used one of the most low-tech communication devices they had. He had learned it from his Indian grandfather, although Grandpa never envisioned it being used that way.

He moistened his lips and let out a bird call. It wasn’t a fancy one, or one that was particularly good. It was just a whistle loosely based on the sound birds in the area made.

The guys recognized that a person was doing a bird call and, given how much time Grant had been out, figured it was about time he would be coming around that corner. They gave him the same “bird call” back from around the corner. Good. The guys now knew that it was him and not an enemy. Grant realized that in training and planning they should have come up with a standardized and recognizable fake bird call.

As Grant rounded the corner with his weapon pointed around it but with his safety on, he saw the Team in a defensive perimeter. Grant joined up with them.

“Four doors, on three sides of the building,” he said. “Doors one and two,” Grant pointed to them, “are locked and have a ‘No’ on them. Doors three and four are on the second and third sides, unlocked, and have an ‘X’ on them.”

“Did you look inside them?” Scotty asked. He was hoping that Grant had done so and found that no one was in that building. He really didn’t want anyone to be in that building.

“Nope,” Grant said. “I wanted all of us there when we announce our presence.”

Pow split the Team into two groups of three men. He was the tactical commander and did a magnificent job at such things. Grant was glad to take a back seat on the building entry. He wanted it to be successful far more than he wanted to be the one in charge. Besides, Grant tried to be “lieutenant-like” in front of the rest of the unit; he didn’t need to be that way in front of the Team.

Pow said that both groups would go the long way, which was the way Grant had originally gone, so they wouldn’t have to go along the fourth side of the building with the street light; they could approach the final door, in the darkness.

There was risk to this. What if some Limas who were not on that side when Grant went by it had now located there? That was less of a risk than having half the Team spotted from a big street light.

They took off. The first group—Grant, Ryan, and Wes—stayed by the third door and waited.

Grant thought about body armor. He wished they all had it, but Pow was the only one with it. Body armor had been widely sold in the run up to the Collapse, but with all the other things they needed—guns, ammo, gear—it was always a second-tier luxury. But, man, Grant wished they’d secured some when they could.

The second group—Pow, Scotty, and Bobby—got to the fourth door. They would go in first and signal to the first group to do the same. They didn’t have radios to coordinate this. They were a low-budget, low-tech, semi-amateur SWAT team, free styling.

Grant could feel, and actually hear, his heart pounding. He wondered if others could hear it.

He heard the second group entering the building, which was their signal. In a split second, Grant threw the door open. Ryan was the first in the door, weapon light on. Wes followed right behind him, with his hand on Ryan’s shoulder so they wouldn’t get separated. Grant took one last look around to his rear to make sure no one was coming after them. It was clear so he ran into the building.

It was pitch black except for the crisscross light beams from the weapon lights. It looked like a giant light saber fight from Star Wars.

Then Grant heard exactly what he didn’t want to hear.