Survivors: A Novel of the Coming Collapse

15. Der Pilger

Andrew Laine kept on the secondary roads as he headed toward the French border. He stopped when he reached the first dense stand of timber, loaded the SIG, and put it in his holster.

The L395 expressway had surprisingly few passing cars and trucks. Laine passed through the town of Bruchmuhlbach-Miesau late in the afternoon. Just after turning southwest on L119, the terrain again got hilly, and Andy was feeling exhausted. Paralleling a major railway line, the road was heavily treed on both sides. It was a long day of riding, and his muscles were unaccustomed to the new strain.

Andy started looking for a secluded place where he could camp for the night. He wanted to stop before he got to Homburg, which was a sizable city. Huffing and puffing his way up a grade, now in low gear at barely more than a walking pace, Andy was surprised to see three young men burst from behind the screen of trees. They came running at him to intercept, with their boots thudding on the pavement. Before Andy could either pick up his pace or turn, they were upon him.

All three of the men had shaved heads. Two of them wore black flight jackets, while the third was in an obsolete Flecktarn camouflage pattern Bundeswehr jacket. All three of them wore what looked like Doc Martens boots, or something similar. One of them grabbed the bike’s handlebars while another shoved a one-inch diameter tree branch through the spokes of the front wheel. Laine wasn’t going anywhere.

The one standing the closest taunted, “Wo willst du denn hin, Pilger?” His breath stank of beer.

Andy jumped off the bike and backed up five steps. He held his hands just out from his thighs, showing his palms to the men.

The tallest one made a show of flicking open a German parachutist’s gravity knife. He held it up and cackled. Then he looked down at the bike’s pannier and trailer and asked, “Alles fur mich?” He set the bicycle’s kickstand and then closed the knife and put it in his pocket. The third man loosened his grasp on the handlebars and began to walk around to Andy’s side of the bike.

Laine took two more steps backward. Then, in one smooth motion, he pulled back his jacket, drew the SIG pistol, leveled it, and took up the slack on its trigger. He took yet another two steps backward.

He commanded them to leave: “Haut ab! Verschwindet!”

The skinhead in the Bundeswehr jacket shook his head and hissed, “Nein, Pilgergeiger. Deine Pistole ist nicht echt!” (No, Pilgrim fiddler, your pistol is not real.”)

“Sorry, boys, but it’s echt. Now, verschwindet, macht schnell und zwar schnell!”

The one that had used the tree branch pulled it from the spokes, raised it over his head, and shouted “Lugner!” He took a step forward.

Andy aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger twice. The second shot hit the tree branch, ripping it from the man’s hand. He looked startled. The one in Flecktarn shouted, “Lass uns gehen!” All three of the skinheads ran off into the woods, shouting and cursing loudly.

After seeing them top a hillock seventy-five yards away, still running at full speed, Andy thumbed the SIG’s de-cocking lever. He switched magazines with one of the full spares on his belt, and reholstered the gun. It was only then that he noticed that his hands were shaking and his ears were ringing.

Back astride the bike and again starting to pedal uphill, Andy’s nerves calmed a bit and he started to chuckle. Pumping his legs in cadence, he repeated to himself, like a running Jodie, “Schweizer Qualitat. Swiss quality. Schweizer Qualitat. Swiss quality.”

He spent the first night just over a mile farther down the road. It was getting dark, and he could see the lights of the village of Bruchhof in the distance. According to his map there would be at least five miles of urban area beyond that. So he turned left onto a farm road, and then again onto a smaller lane that ran into the woods. Now that it was almost full dark, he pulled his bicycle off the road and into the woods. There were just a few scattered lights from farmhouses. Unlike a typical American forest that was choked with fallen trees, this forest was of the orderly German model: it looked more like a park than a woodlot. He had no trouble wheeling his bike and trailer two hundred yards into the timber.

Finding a brushy patch, Andy disconnected the trailer and laid his bike down. Then he backed the trailer into a clump of brush. The ground here was fairly level. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining. It took him just a couple of minutes to set up his camp. His sleeping bag was kept stowed inside his bivouac bag. All that he had to do was lay it out on top of his ground pad.

After rolling back a large rock and relieving himself, he returned to his bike trailer and washed his hands with a water bottle.

Andy sat and prayed. He had a lot to be thankful for. He pulled out an MRE at random. He was ravenous, and wolfed down nearly all of its contents in just a few minutes, not bothering with the niceties of the heating packet and the drink mixes. After eating the chicken and rice entree, he gobbled down the entire packet of crackers, followed by several slugs of water. Then he tore off the corner of the peanut butter pouch and began squirting it directly into his mouth. Finally, he put all of the candies into his shirt pocket.

After zipping closed the clear plastic front of the bike trailer, Andy sat down and kicked off his sneakers. They were still wet from an earlier rain shower. He realized that he would have to alternate between his two sets of sneakers on this trip: this pair that would only rarely dry out, and the pair that he’d keep dry. The latter he would wear only on days when there was no threat of rain. He put the shoes into a plastic bag and tucked it into the foot end of his bivy bag. He draped his rain gear over the sides of the trailer to help camouflage it. He’d have to do something about the bright yellow color. Before crawling into his bag, he rolled up his coat inside out to use as a pillow, and tucked the SIG under it. He took off his damp socks and put them between his outer shirt and T-shirt to dry overnight.

It took Andy several hours to get to sleep. The stress of the incident with skinhead robbers still had him cranked up. His mind was racing with a thousand questions: What could he have done differently? Probably not much. Had they reported him to the local Polizeistation? Probably not. Had they wet their pants? Probably. Andy chuckled. He was worried about his prospects for getting back to the United States. He was worried about his fiancee. He was even worried about the chain and derailleur on his bicycle.

Unable to sleep, he nibbled on the leftover candy and listened to the breeze and the sound of the raindrops dripping off of the tree branches. He whispered to himself: “Dang, I forgot to brush my teeth. Oh, well, starting tomorrow.” As he finally drifted off to sleep, Andy worked on a mental checklist for the next day: “I need to get more calories. I need to keep fully hydrated. I need to watch my gear settings well in advance for hills. I need to reorganize the trailer so that the gear that I need most frequently will be closest at hand. I need to check my six more often. I need to find a way to keep my socks dry. I need to take smaller snacks rather than just three large meals. I need to reposition the magazine pouch so that it won’t dig into my side….”

He awoke just before dawn the next morning, feeling sore in his buttocks, thighs, and lower back. Obviously, bicycling used different muscles than he had been using with his regular PT regimen. There would be some inevitable adjustments to this mode of travel.

After the eastern horizon started to lighten, he shook the water droplets off his bivy bag and rolled it up. In the distance, a cow was mooing for its calf. He could hear but not see just one car or light truck drive by on the nearby road.

He took ten minutes to clean and oil the pistol and to top off the magazine that had two rounds expended. Between the boxes and what was already loaded in the magazines, he still had almost 450 rounds of 9mm ball ammunition available-about nine pounds of ammunition and magazines. He was willing to shed weight from his load in water and food, but not ammunition. That was a priority.

His breakfast was a small can of peaches, a half-crushed breakfast roll that was left over from the previous morning at the BOQ Fruhstuck room, and a bit of jerky.

Out of habit, he buried his empty food wrappers and the dirty pistol cleaning patches. That was what he had always told his troops was good litter discipline for the field.

Andy stowed his gear and, in the process, shifted a few items between his various bags and compartments to put things within closer reach. He checked the pressure of the bike’s tires, then hooked up the trailer. Looking around his campsite, he was satisfied to see that the only signs of his presence would be some crushed grass.

He quietly walked the bike back down to the road. It was starting to rain again.

Andy pressed on, westward. The weather was rainy in the morning, soon soaking his shoes and socks. At times the spray from passing trucks was brutal. There was no good way to avoid riding through the city of Homburg without taking a huge detour. The traffic in the city was surprisingly light. Obviously, Benzin was becoming more precious with each passing day. Other than some long queues at gas stations, the activity in Homburg appeared relatively normal.

Even though the terrain was more mountainous, Laine decided to take the smaller road through Friedrichsthal and Heusweiler, rather than get near Autobahn 6-the major route west that went through Saarbrucken.

The weather started to clear and warm up in the afternoon, and Andy made good time. He stopped at an Eisenwaren store in Heusweiler and bought a can of flat brown spray paint as well as the Falks gas lamp mantles that Lars had requested. He bought the store’s entire inventory: sixty-two mantles. Even if these were more than Lars needed, they’d be a very lightweight and compact yet valuable barter item.

Exhausted after a long day of riding, Andy made camp in some dense woods north of Saarwellingen just before dark. Other than a candy bar, he had skipped lunch, so he was again ravenous. He ate a can of sausages, a packet of crackers, and a package of ramen soaked in cold water.

Laine detached and unpacked the trailer. He then used the full contents of the can of spray paint, covering up the “untactical” bright yellow trailer. He even sprayed the clear plastic front of the trailer, since there was no need to have visibility in or out of it. The trailer now blended in with the forest for his bivouacs.

He was anxious to set up his radios, since it was a Tuesday-one of his scheduled shortwave contact nights. He set up his pocket-size Kaito receiver on a large stump and rolled out its longwire antenna, hanging the far end up on a tree limb. He placed his overseas bag in front of the stump to use for a low chair. Then he put on his headphones and dialed in 10.000 megahertz. The WWV time signal in Colorado had a faintly audible signal, even though there was daylight between him and the United States. “So far, so good,” he whispered to himself.

Andy confirmed that the radio’s clock was set to GMT. In Germany, it was GMT plus one hour, but in New Mexico it was GMT minus seven hours-still not yet noon. Next he programmed the radio’s alarm function to wake him at 0325 GMT-4:25 a.m. local time. Andy heard it announced that it was seventeen minutes after the hour, so he continued listening to WWV for the geophysical data report that always came on eighteen minutes after each hour. They reported a solar activity of K2/K3 (“weak to unsettled”), which was marginal for long-range propagation in the shortwave bands. Andy’s face sank into a frown.

Next, Andy erected the dipole antenna for his transceiver. He lined it up so that the antenna’s broadside would face to the northwest-the “Great Circle” direction from him to Lars in New Mexico. Fortunately, he didn’t need to worry about grounding the radio, since he was using a dipole antenna.

Lars had helped Andy build and test the QRP transceiver four years earlier. It was one of a pair of kits that they ordered from Elecraft, in California. Andy justified the price to Kaylee by telling her that this radio had slightly more output power than a traditional “flea-power” rig (ham slang for a transmitter with less than one watt) but the extra bit of power would really make a difference for DX (long-distance) communications. Shortly before his departure for Afghanistan, Kaylee had decorated the exterior of the transceiver’s Tupperware box with some of her artistry: Andy’s call sign, “K5CLA,” and a humorous stylized cartoon of a flea wearing headphones, with yellow lightning bolts emanating from its hind end. Kaylee had laughingly reminded Andy to pack his “Mighty Flea” as he was preparing to deploy.

Inside the waterproof storage box, the transceiver was so small that there was enough room left over for a small spiral-bound notebook, an external power cord with both car battery clips and a cigarette lighter plug, and several small spools of wire for spare antenna or ground leads. He inserted six batteries into the battery tray and used the radio’s battery voltage monitor to verify that they were good. Andy flipped open his notepad and turned it to a page of notes from when he was explaining radio procedure to Kaylee. He paused to read it again, because Kaylee had annotated it with questions, comments, and her ever-present cartoon doodles. He missed her so much that it hurt. The page read:

Kaylee wrote: “How do you say ‘Period’? We rarely use periods (too slow and awkward to send compared to BT) unless we’re relaying literal text where they matter.”

Andy laughed and closed the notebook. He plugged in the antenna and his headphones. Andy didn’t need to plug in or even carry an old-style hand key, as the KX1 had an internal electronic keyer and a set of keyer paddles that plugged directly into its case for the ultimate in portability and operating ease. The paddles were manipulated via slight movements of the thumb and forefinger (squeezing the paddles), enabling him to send Morse much faster and smoother than he could with a traditional telegrapher’s hand key. The paddles also had the advantage of being virtually silent, versus the familiar clackety-clack of a hand key.

For convenience and to allow him to keep one hand free, he attached the radio to his thigh using a Velcro strap. Andy switched it on and set it to 10.106 MHz-the international 30-meter band QRP calling frequency.

Andy put on the headphones, gave a brief silent prayer, and then whispered, “Okay, Mighty Flea, do yo’ stuff!” Squeezing the KX1’s keyer paddles, Andy remembered to add “DL/” in front of his call sign to indicate that he was transmitting in Germany, and keyed: “CQ CQ CQ DE DL/K5CLA DL/K5CLA K”

He was surprised to hear an immediate answering call, only slightly off frequency, “DL/K5CLA DE PA3ADG PA3ADG K”

As he listened, he quickly adjusted the radio’s incremental tuning for a comfortable medium-pitched tone and wrote PA3ADG on his notepad.

Excitedly, Andy replied: “PA3ADG DE DL/K5CLA FB UR 589 589 NM IS ANDY BT”

Then he quickly added: “I AM EX US ARMY OFFICER BIKING THROUGH DK ES F TRYING TO GET TO THE COAST TO FIND A SHIP HOME TO USA BK”

“BK R FB ANDY UR 449 BT

NM IS WIM ? WIM BT

QTH AMSTERDAM BT

BIKE OR MOTORCYCLE? BK”

“BK R FB WIM BT

PEDAL BIKE AM CAMPING BT

RIG KX1 QRP ABT 2W BK”

“BK R SOUNDS LIKE TOUGH WAY TO GO IN WINTER HI BK”

“BK R YES TOUGH HI BT

WIM PSE DO U KNOW OF ANY SHIPS FROM FRANCE OR BELG OR NETH SAILING TO THE US? BK”

“BK R WILL CHECK ES CALL U THIS FREQ AT 1845Z BT

CU ES 73 DL/K5CLB DE PA3ADG SK”

“BK R VY FB WIM MNI TNX BT

73 73 AR PA3ADG DE DL/K5CLB QRZ?”

Andy let out a sigh. He listened to the radio for a few minutes, but no other hams jumped in. He turned off the transceiver, reset the Kaito radio’s alarm to 18:42, and said a prayer. He covered both radios with a trash bag held down by his coat. While he was waiting for the follow-up from Holland, he set up his bivy bag and ground pad, and ate a can of applesauce.

It was almost dark. Andy could hear what sounded like a dove or pigeon cooing in the trees above. He felt chilled after sitting still while sweaty, so he peeled off his Windbreaker and rain pants and wrung out his socks. Then he crawled into his sleeping bag to wait.

He half-dozed for the next hour. The Kaito’s alarm went off, and Andy crawled out of the bag. He picked his way toward the dim outline of the stump in the dark, and switched off the alarm. It was getting colder, so he put his coat on. Again seated on the overseas bag, he fumbled to put on his headphones and turned on the KX1 transceiver.

Right on the dot at 18:45, Andy heard Wim’s crisp Morse code:

“DL/K5CLA DL/K5CLA DE PA3ADG KN”

Laine replied: “PA3ADG DE DL/K5CLA FB WIM UR 589 BK”

Wim answered:

“BK R BAD NEWS ANDY BT

NO SHIPS SAIL TO US OR CANADA BT

INSURANCE COMPANYS SAY ITS TOO DANGEROUS BT

SRI BT

PLANES STILL AGROUND INDEFINITELY BK”

Andy sent back: “BK R OK WIM TNX MUCH FER CHECKING BK”

Wim added:

“BK R I THINK UR BEST HOPE TO FIND SHIP TO UNITED STATES IN HAMBURG OR LE HAVRE OR MARSEILLES BT

BONNE CHANCE TO U ANDY BK”

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Andy signed off. He reset the Kaito’s alarm to 0325 and again covered the radios to protect them from the weather.

He slept uneasily, waking several times to glance at the tritium markings on his watch dial. When the alarm went off again at 0325 GMT, he was better prepared, with his red lens subdued LED flashlight close at hand.

Blinking, he said to himself, “I need a cuppa java.”

Andy switched the transceiver to 10.128. This was prearranged as the primary contact frequency for the Laine brothers. His notepad included a list of alternate frequencies, to use in descending order, in case of interference.

At 0330 GMT (9:30 p.m. in New Mexico), Andy heard a weak Morse code signal: “K5CLB DE K5CLA, K5CLB DE K5CLA” The transceiver’s signal strength indicator barely lit up. That did not bode well, since Lars had a 200 watt transmitter.

Andy reached for the paddles and replied, “K5CLA DE K5CLB KN”

Lars repeated his “K5CLB DE K5CLA, K5CLB DE K5CLA” transmission.

Again Andy replied, but it was apparent that his transmission was not propagating with enough strength to be heard above the static noise floor. After ten minutes of this frustration, Andy heard:

K5CLA DE K5CLB BT

IN CASE U CAN HEAR ME BT

ALL IS WELL WITH US AND KAYLEE BT

LOCAL POWER IS UP BUT US GRIDS DOWN BT

SITUATION LOOKING VERY MAD MAX ALL OVER THE US BT

KL SAYS LUV ES 88 ES HURRY HOME BT

PSALM 91 TO U AR DE K5CLB SK

After three more attempts to make contact, Lars repeated the same brief report and then signed off.

Disgusted at his lack of success at two-way communication, Andy packed up his transceiver in the zipper bags. Realizing that he probably wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, he moved his ground pad and bivy bag closer to the stump and, being careful not to snag the antenna lead, he crawled in, cradling the shortwave receiver in his left arm.

Andy tuned through several bands, searching for English broadcasts. He caught a brief news summary on BBC at 0430 and a more lengthy news show on Radio Netherlands at 0500.

None of the news was good. The disruption in civilian air traffic in Europe was expected to continue for at least several weeks. Yesterday there had been a simultaneous pair of bombings by al Qaeda in Bonn and Frankfurt. Hundreds of Arab immigrants were rioting over the currency inflation. In Paris and several other large cities in France, they were back to their old tricks: torching dozens of parked cars. Meanwhile, New York City, Baltimore, Chicago, Dallas, and “Loss Angie-Lees” were in flames.