Sunday, November 17, 2013
Sunday Reading - Don
Even in the pre-dawn dimness Don could see the limestone rock had been moved. Limestone had a peculiar quality, it almost glowed when any ambient low level light was around, especially early dawn or late evening sunlight. It's greyish, milky quality made it stick out when the light was dim and then seem to fade as the light became more intense but yet campfire or focused light didn't seem to have the same effect on it. For that reason Limestone was good for marking things like walkways, flower beds and covert signs.
First things first however he had to get that section of the back fence fixed and most of the preparations during daylight would fall on Sara anyway. Don's job would come later.
Don knew considerably more about the local Militia than Sara did and much more than Sara would be comfortable with him knowing. Even at 64 with bad knees and shortness of breath Don had volunteered to join the Militia, at least on a local basis. He certainly wasn't sure about packing up, leaving Sara to fend for herself and going on some long term campaign as a light guerrilla fighter but Don was more than willing to help protect his neighbors and their county from these government thugs. As a married landowner the Militia had actually turned him down. Well not really turned him down but the gentleman who acted as the local liaison and supply officer explained to Don that he was much more valuable where he was.
These days after more than a year of government raids, property seizures and intervention there really were not any government sympathizers left. A few informants had been smoked out and dealt with but almost everyone still around were connected by family ties or were connected somehow. The old two steps removed rule came into play.
Information and intelligence leakage was not a problem within the Militia or the resistance in general unless someone was "arrested" and questioned and when that happened the Militia usually knew about it before the arresting team made it to the nearest "safe" area. Occasionally the Fed teams would hit the right house and actually capture a Militia member. It happened unfortunately, but the Militia leaders had prepared for that as well.
The city bred government thugs didn't know a whole lot about modern day farming or the rural population in general for that matter. They seemed to have some notion that each landowner had their acreage in one big square with little or no contact between their neighbors throughout the day. In point of fact so many farms had been broken up over the years due to tyrannical government inheritance and restrictive property taxes, then sold into parcels, that a true map of just who was farming what parcel would look like a patchwork quilt if viewed from the air. Maybe things were different out West but around here the gravel and dirt roads were busy as the farmers moved equipment from one field to another. Even with the gas and diesel rationing the government had to supply the gas to the farmers if they wanted to eat and very little was trucked beyond local areas these days. It wasn't unusual for the larger producers to be working 40 or 50 small fields separated by a mile or more each or a cattleman to have his herd spread out in three or four different locations across a few miles.
Nestled in between all these scattered agricultural pockets were scores of small houses and two or three acre lots, many of which were owned by those who commuted to work in the cities but didn't want to live in them for obvious reasons. Most of those types along with the retired at 45 public employees had already been removed "For the Common Good". Their houses now sat vacant.
What this set of circumstances had produced was the perfect line of secure communication for a population brought together by mutual distrust and fear. No place on earth was as immune from prying ears and technological oppression as standing in the middle of 40 acres of soybeans or chatting next to a diesel tractor cooling off. Especially when the vaunted government drones were needed somewhere else.
Hanging cameras in trees didn't seem to get much of a payoff out here.
Don would more than likely pass a half dozen locals on the stretch of road that ran next to his small pasture before the sun was halfway across the Winter sky this morning. By tomorrow any word or news started on the other side of the county would be relayed to all the farms on this side of the county and vice versa. Word got around and it was usually delivered by someone you had known for decades and trusted.
This also meant that Don knew quite a bit about the local Militia, all by word of mouth through his neighbors. Nothing official mind you just general gossip with a ring of truth to it.
Essentially there were three teams in the County Militia. An Eastern Team and a Western Team. There was also the support team. At most there were maybe forty men and a couple of women who were actually active in the Militia. Outside of those few brave souls there were hundreds like Don who could be called up if it came down to a situation that needed real numbers.
Thankfully it had never gotten that far.
Due to the nature of the government raids usually only one team was needed for an ambush at the most. Most of the members of one team did not know the members of the other team, at least through Militia channels although they probably did know them personally. Several active members were in deep hiding as well because they had been compromised or positively identified but not picked up.
The support team was a very jealously guarded crew. They rarely came together as a group and usually consisted of not more than one or two individuals active at a time moving donated supplies from a drop off point to another collection point. Sometimes they would run messages and move signals around like the rock on the fencepost.
Don knew his great nephew was a member of the support team.
The only real leader anyone knew for sure was Paul Rackers. He was the face of the Militia and the leader of the support team. He was also a ghost as far as the feds were concerned. They knew he was out there, they looked for him everywhere but they could never find him.
Don had to chuckle about that because he saw him at least once or twice a week in general. Any resident out and about was liable to see Paul. He would drive by on one of Underwher's old tractors one day or be seen riding on the back of a four wheeler a few days later. Always traveling, never staying in one place two nights in a row but always doing his job recruiting and gathering supplies for the Militia.
Paul Rackers was the most wanted man in the State it was said.
"We all have our jobs to do" Don said out load to himself.
After he finished fixing this fence, Don would go put the finishing touches on his delivery container and complete a few other tasks he had been asked to do.
By this time he had walked the distance to the back line and began checking to see which posts needed replaced and how much wire he needed to run out.
It was going to be a busy day.