299 Days: The Restoration

Chapter 298 Regular Military

“We have visitors,” Barlow said as he looked through his binoculars.

Sap called in an alert to all the squads with radios. Runners from the “Chairborne” squad went from the squads with radios to the squads without them.

“How many?” Sap asked Barlow.

“Uh oh,” Barlow said. “Uh oh,” he repeated.

Grant sat up from the floor he was resting on and looked at his watch. It was 3:23 a.m. and silent on the fourth floor. The only sound was the gunfire and explosions from somewhere outside.

This might be it, Grant thought. They had gotten lucky with a half dozen drunken thugs. All eyes and ears were trained on Barlow and his NVBs. Barlow was concentrating.

“At least thirty of them,” Barlow said. “Oh wait.” He started counting under his breath. “Correction: more like fifty.”

Everyone on the fourth floor was terrified, including Grant. Especially Grant. He instantly thought his decision to kill the gangbangers was about to get his guys killed.

“Actually, make that eighty-five,” Barlow said. “Military uniforms. Standardized weapons. M4s,” he said referring to the military designation for ARs. “Some big tubes. Looks like anti-armor weapons. Could be Javelins,” which was the military name for a shoulder launched anti-tank rocket.

This was very bad news. Whoever these guys were, they would be able to kick the 17th’s asses. While the 17th had the advantage of being in a defensive position at the brewery, the trained soldiers had gear like Javelins. It wasn’t much of a match.

“They’re moving like they know what they’re doing,” Barlow said. “Definitely regular military.”

Grant shuddered. “Regular military.” That scared him. He realized that they had thought they were pretty badass slaughtering some drunken idiots, which was child’s play compared to a real military unit.

Irregular, Grant said to himself. The 17th was only an irregular unit. They were tough and could fight, they just didn’t have as much training, or especially the gear like rocket launchers, radios, night vision, and machine guns, like a regular unit.

And the kids. Grant thought about all the innocent little souls on the second and third floors. One of those Javelins could kill all of them.

“They are stopping at the intersection,” Barlow said. That was the same intersection by the Baskin Robbins that the gangbangers had stopped at. “Setting up a defensive perimeter while they call in on the radio.”

The radio. Duh. Grant and Sap simultaneously told Jim Q. to ask HQ if any friendlies were in their area. Jim Q. did so, talking in that weird, incomprehensible language.

After a moment, more of that weird language squawked on the radio. Jim Q. smiled.

“We have friendlies in our area,” Jim Q. said in English. “HQ is making contact now with who they think is at that intersection.”

Another pause followed by more squawking in that weird language.

Jim Q. said to Barlow, “The friendlies have been told to have three men hold their rifles up in both hands as a signal to us.”

Barlow was looking through the NVBs. Nothing.

Grant looked at Sap. He mouthed “Go time” to Sap. As in, it’s time to fight this regular unit. Sap closed his eyes as if to say, “Oh God.”

This was it, Grant thought to himself. We’ll see if you really don’t mind dying, he thought. He waited for his brain to say something to him. All it said was “Don’t fail your men.” Not “be afraid of dying.”

Sap walked over to Grant. They had some planning to do. Sap told a soldier to go find Ted and get him up to the fourth floor.

“The signal!” Barlow yelled out. “There’s the signal. Three men with rifles over their heads!”

Jim Q. said something excitedly in his language into the radio. A moment later, something came back over the radio in that language.

“We are supposed to link up with them and temporarily house them here,” Jim Q. said.

Sap got on the intra-unit radios and told the squad leaders what was happening. A welcoming team of three soldiers from the 17th went up to the regular unit and brought them into the brewery building.

Grant went down to the first floor to greet their guests. Thank God they weren’t Limas, he kept thinking. He had a whole new appreciation for how much danger they were in. Up until this moment, Grant and the Team had always been the best armed and trained in any fight. The looters in Olympia, the meth house in Pierce Point, the Blue Ribbon Boys that the scouts took out and, of course, the gangbangers.

Grant was curious to see who this regular unit was. As its members came into the first floor, he looked for any insignia on their uniforms. They had the standard “Wash. State Guard” name tapes.

Soon, a man in his 30s came in and asked to see the commanding officer.

“That’s me,” Grant said as he saluted the man who returned the salute. It was battlefield conditions and they were in a building—two reasons not to salute—but this was a momentous occasion. Both of them saluted without even thinking.

“Captain Edwards, Bravo Company, Third Battalion,” said the man.

Awesome, Grant thought. A regular military unit. A company commander. That meant a company of about a hundred men.

“Lieutenant Matson, 17th Irregulars.” Grant said.

“Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant,” Capt. Edwards said. He looked around and was very impressed with this irregular unit, which appeared squared away. They had decent weapons and were organized.

“What can I do to assist you?” Grant asked. He needed to remember that Edwards was a Captain and therefore Grant wasn’t the head honcho anymore. That was fine with Grant. But, he had to admit, it was weird taking orders from a guy ten years younger than him. Oh well. That’s how it was. And Grant was happy to take orders from a regular military officer, which meant they were now paired with a well-trained and well-equipped unit, and thereby had a better chance of successfully completing their mission and making it back home alive.

“Is this place secure?” Edwards asked, as he was looking around.

“Yes, sir,” Grant said. He and Ted explained the perimeter defenses.

Edwards was not overly impressed with the defenses. They were okay and, for a lightly armed irregular unit, pretty decent, but Edwards was an FUSA Army officer. He was used to having plenty of equipment. Helicopters, radios, battlefield computers, mortars, anti-armor rockets. He worked with soldiers who had several years of structured training, not a few months of training in some remote camp.

“We’ll augment your defenses here, Lieutenant,” Edwards said.

“Excellent,” Grant responded.

“I’ll rotate my men and feed and rest them,” Edwards said. “You have food here, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Grant said. “Not a lot. MREs.” There went the rest of the 17th’s MREs. But Bravo Company was on the same team. Sharing was an unspoken expectation. Those MREs didn’t belong to the 17th. They belonged to the mission.

Grant and Ted briefed Edwards on all the aspects of the brewery, including their guests on the second and third floor.

“Kids?” Edwards asked, appearing slightly puzzled and annoyed.

“They came with the brewery,” Grant answered.

“I understand the situation you’re in,” Edwards said, “you’ll get them out of here as soon as it’s safe, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Grant promised.

“What are your orders?” Edwards asked Grant, now that the immediate issues were resolved and they could focus on the bigger picture.

“To enter Olympia from Highway 101 from Frederickson, where we were based, and to assist regular forces. Occupy. Stabilize. And do civil affairs. That’s kind of my specialty.”

Edwards’s eyes lit up. “Civil affairs?” he asked. He hadn’t expected a specialized mission from an irregular unit. “That’s great,” he said to Grant. “That’s what we need on an urban battlefield. Especially when the civilians are our own Americans. What was your civil affairs unit? The 84th Brigade at JBLM?”

“No, sir,” Grant answered, sheepishly. He looked around to see if others could hear him and softly said, “No prior military training. I sort of took a small community outside of Frederickson and turned it into a thriving and functioning place. I had help, though,” referring to Rich, Dan, and the others at Pierce Point.

Edwards nodded. Oh great, he thought. The commander of this irregular unit is some civilian… politician. Some small town mayor or something. Fabulous.

“What did you do in civilian life?” Edwards asked Grant.

Grant hesitantly said, “Lawyer.”

“Great,” Edwards said sarcastically. He quickly realized his tone would undermine his men’s, and Grant’s, respect for Grant’s authority. He decided to fix that. “Actually, that is good,” Edwards said. “We’ll probably be detaining and hanging a bunch of these bastards.” Edwards decided to give Grant even more esteem in the eyes of the soldiers. “Hey, we’re citizen soldiers so we welcome everyone from every background. Welcome to the battlefield, Counselor.”

Edwards turned to Ted and asked, “What’s your background?”

“1st Group, sir,” Ted said, referring to his former Special Forces unit at JBLM, knowing that Edwards would know who 1st Group was. “Me and a former ODA team member of mine,” Ted said pointing to Sap, “trained these guys.” ODA referred to an “operational detachment alpha” or A-team, which was the twelve-man Green Beret team that went out into the field and trained guerillas. “I’m proud of this unit, sir.” Ted said, making sure all the soldiers could hear it. It was true, and the 17th needed a little credibility boost with the regular military.

Edwards was relieved. At least these irregulars had some good training. Ted introduced Sap. Better yet, thought Edwards. This irregular unit had two SF trainers.

They talked about the 17th’s capabilities. Edwards acknowledged that, despite the irregular nature of the unit, there were some good soldiers in the group. Edwards met the Team and was fascinated by them. It was very unusual to come across a group of civilians who had that kind of gear and carried themselves that way. Edwards was trying to figure out Grant. It was also so unusual for a regular Army guy like Edwards to work with an irregular commander, especially one with no prior military experience. Not to mention he was also a lawyer.

Ted told Edwards the story about how the Team had done the scouting work. Grant told the story about how they had found the spy at Delphi Road and administered just the right amount of force.

Finally, after they were done swapping stories, Edwards asked Grant the big question.