Dan and the Bottle Ch. 18

Jenny came over and settled her shaved quim over his face, and he grinned, feeding his tongue to her familiar pussy as the two women double teamed him.

By the end of the night, both Mark and Will had fucked all four of the young women at least once, and George had had his fun with Renee, Jenny, and both of the Yeager sisters.

All six of the young women would find that they were pregnant within the next few months; none would be sure who the fathers were, not that it mattered to any of them.

Herb Montgomery sat back at his desk at Jackson Hole, going over the latest inventories. The infusion of the small shipment of the 'electric rifles' and the men and women who came along to train his troops in their use had put an additional strain on the base's resources; the batteries took up enormous amounts of power to recharge, and the recharging stations could only be plugged into the local grid in the late night hours, when power consumption from the rest of the base was at it's lowest point. He knew that the base needed an upgrade, but wasn't quite sure how to go about it. He didn't want to rely on any sort of fueled generators, as the fuel costs were prohibitive, and the base didn't generate a whole lot of tangible income, even with the numerous farms that now dotted the area.

Frank Bergen looked over the request from Jackson Hole. It wasn't the first such; the laser rifles were causing as many problems as they solved. He'd gotten much the same query from Juniper and several of the small towns nearby. His only possibility, as far as he could tell, was to send out all of the scouting teams, and all of his scroungers, to look for more solar panels, and more of the big wind generators.

The worst part of the problem, as he saw it, was that the big wind generators had been built in a major city in the midwest, which had taken several nukes. Although the radiation levels were largely disappated, they were still there to some extent.

A twinge of a memory sent him in another direction. Pushing a button on the public address system for the large storage warehouse, he called out to one of his research assistants.

"Jim McMichaels, to the office, please."

The young man was seated in front of his desk inside of five minutes.

"OK, listen... I seem to recall there being some books on alternative power sources, down in the library... I want you to go down there and see what you can dig up. It isn't a top priority, but it's up there... I can give you, oh... three days. See what you can find, and bring back copies as soon as you can, got it?"

"No problem, Sir... what kind of power sources, though... are you wanting to power a field radio, a house...?"

"No... Juniper and Jackson Hole are having trouble keeping up with the needs of their bases... a few others, too... I want something, either solar or wind based. Something we can build up quick, as a stopgap, until we can come up with something more permanent. We can drill for a geothermal source, eventually, but that takes time... I want something we can have built and set up in a week or two."

"Windmills, Sir."

Bergen frowned. "Nope... the factory that made them was practically at ground zero in a nuke strike."

"No, Sir, that isn't what I meant... a fifty, sixty foot wooden tower, a four bladed prop, turning five or six car alternators... run the cables to an inverter, bang... instant AC power, no muss, no fuss, and it'll run as long as there's wind. Make the prop blades right here in the wood shop, three, maybe four feet long, and they could be set up and producing electricity in a few weeks, tops."

Bergen was stroking his chin in thought, but he'd already begun to smile.

"OK, get the engineers working on it. I want you to head it up. Take it to them and let 'em run with it... grab the alternators out of our stores, just so they know what they're workin' with, and tell 'em you need preliminary plans in a week, along with parts lists, time projections, hell, you know the drill... I want a complete package on my desk in two weeks. Thanks, Jimmy."

Mickey Miller was back on light duty, which meant back to training the younger recruits. After two weeks in the class room, teaching them the basic nuances of ballistics, wind drift and bullet drop, mostly, he was finally letting them get out to the range.

Armed with the standard silenced .270 Winchesters, most were, at the least, decent shots. One or two stood out as the best of the bunch, while a few were pretty bad and would require extra attention.

Jeff O'Neil was in pretty much the same position, back on light duty, training recruits in the shooting skills, which suited him just fine; it gave him time to work with Missy, for one thing. The only difference was that he kept his people in the classroom for a full month, doing assorted problems pertaining to shooting at different distances, and under different conditions, and using a variety of different calibers, everything from .22s to .50 caliber BMG rifles that had been in vogue with the American army in the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

He wanted his troops to find something to shoot that they were comfortable with.

He was also spending several hours a day in training himself; the town that he, BJ, and Missy had moved to had just recently taken delivery of a hundred of the electric rifles, and he had volunteered to be one of the first group to learn to use them. From the first time he fired one, he was well and truly hooked. After all, firing a weapon that could melt a hole in a truck is intoxicating, at the very least.

Jim and Jan took a few days off, hooking up a new/old pick-up truck to his ancestor's old boat, an ancient tri-hull design that-according to great grandpa Dan's journals, at least- was as 'stable as a living room couch'. It had been set up specifically as a recreational fishing boat, and the entire area they were in was dotted with lakes and large ponds, full of fish of one sort or another... and most had never seen a lure, of which grandpa Dan had made sure there were hundreds of thousands in one of the storage warehouses.

Jan was using a jig and a short plastic worm, in a color nature never intended, while Jim was working a top water that imitated a grasshopper, both pulling in decent sized bluegills, perch, and bass, while they talked over the newest developments in the labs they had found in the new base, in southern Idaho.

"I'm telling you, hun... there are satellites up there we still don't know about... I've been finding software for spy satellites that can read the time off a wristwatch in Beijing!"

Jim grinned back at her, while unhooking and releasing a largemouth bass. "Well, hell, that's a good thing, babe... but I'd prefer something that lets us listen in on their communications."

Jan nodded, as she reeled in her empty jig and cast back out. "We're finding those, too... I've got a team listening in on them, but most of it is routine stuff... requests for replacement troops and supplies, that sort of thing. Their Politburo doesn't seem to be any too pleased by some of it, though... I guess one of the commanders here in the states is asking for more people than is normal."

Jim smiled. "Gee... I wonder why?"

"They've been having a lot of trouble in a few other areas, too... the Middle East, South America, a few regions on the African continent... "

"None of those are really surprising... the old histories say that the Middle East has always been like that... I'm not sure those people know anything else. Same thing for Africa, far as that goes... South America, too, for that matter. Grandpa Dan wrote something about it... said there were always a few dozen tinpot dictator wannabees for every legitimate government down there."

She nodded as she deposited another chubby perch in the livewell.

"Well, dear... we have more fish in here than we can eat... what do you say to a shore lunch and a nap?"

"I get the feeling a 'nap' is the last thing on your mind, babe."

She grinned back at him. "Ok, so the fresh air makes me horny... and we're alone, for the first time in a couple of weeks."

He smiled at her, nodding again. They'd both been quite busy at the ancient research lab for the past month or so, her at compiling and cross referencing data from the old computers, while he'd had his hands full deciding where the new rifles went, who amongst his newly trained recruits could serve as instructors, and which of the bases was most likely to benefit the most.

They'd both earned a bit of time off.

After taking a lunch break, sipping on homemade wine and eating grilled fish and corn muffins they'd brought along, they retreated to the tent, spending the last hours of the afternoon making love and snoozing in each other's arms, finally waking in the early evening to pack up the tent and bedrolls, loading the old boat back on the trailer, and heading home.

Back at the Cave, he knew there was trouble when Jill Chenn turned up in the garage, looking for him even as they were climbing out of the old truck.

"Sir, we're getting a recorded transmission from the Chinese Commander. I think you're going to want to see it."

In the communication room, one of the technicians turned as they entered the room, looking in Jill's direction.

"They're still broadcasting it, Ma'am... every ten minutes, multiple frequencies."

He spun in his seat, towards the keyboard, and punched in a series of commands, and an image of an oriental man in a uniform, with general's markings, appeared on the screen.

"This is General Minn, commander of the colonizing forces of the Chinese army in the western half of the continent formerly known as America. I am speaking now to the bandits who are attacking our military bases here. I am currently taking many of your people prisoner, and will begin executing them on an hourly basis until you cease and desist from attacking my soldiers, lay down your arms, and surrender yourselves for trial and sentencing."

The screen went blank, and Jim smiled, grimly.

Half an hour later, he stepped in front of the camera, dressed in one of the tiger stripe camo uniforms favored by his great grandfather, and sent a transmission of his own.

"I am Colonel James Archer, of the American Militia. I am speaking now to the invading communist scumbag who calls himself 'General' Minn."

Minn, who was watching the video broadcast in real time, could almost hear the quotation marks around his rank... and it, more than anything, enraged him most of all.

"I have seen your self styled video, and I refuse to accept your occupation of the sovereign United States as legitimate. You have seventy two hours to withdraw your forces from the continental United States; if you do not, I will see to it that your forces are annihilated, down to the last man. Oh... one other thing. As for the American hostages you have unlawfully imprisoned... harm one American, and I personally guarantee you... I will hand you your testicles before you die. I am not open to negotiation; don't bother to ask... the United States does not negotiate with terrorists... take your men and leave or face total annihilation."

The tech at the control panel nodded. The transmission was bouncing off at least a dozen satellites, and would be seen world wide... including in the Politburo in Beijing.

Jan grinned at him as he stepped out of the soundstage.

"As good a way of saying 'Up yours, punk!' as I could think of!"

He smiled back at her, nodding. "I wanted to piss him off... angry and irrational is a good way to make mistakes."

The number of American Militia members trained in the use of the 'electric rifles' grew exponentially; at one point, there were more trainees than there were rifles to equip them with, until the technicians ramped up production of them.

This, along with the discovery of a secondary warehouse full of the exotic weapons, brought the total of soldiers so equipped to over ten thousand troops.

And climbing.

These came in handy in the coming months; at more than one Chinese encampment, they would leave behind stacks of corpses that were cut into chunks by the new rifles, a stark display of the new power they were wielding.

Mike Lee jumped back on the ATV, hauling the last few bales of hay out to one of the many lean to structures that dotted the massive cattle ranch. It was an ongoing struggle, keeping the thousands of head of cattle and buffalo fed. With winter coming on soon, they wanted to build up a good layer of fat on the animals to help keep them warm through the long cold months... and they had bigger problems, as well. They'd found the remains of two cows so far that had been torn apart, either a bear or a mountain lion. Mike was carrying his favorite scoped .308 rifle along, just in case, though he doubted he'd get a shot at the predator. He eyed the local herd as he cut the cords on the last bale of hay and scattered the thick chunks across a small area near the shelter.

Greg Billings sat back on the old tractor, wishing he'd brought his rifle out with him; the new-mown hay that he was baling was attracting numerous deer from the surrounding woods, and an extra hundred pounds of venison would have been a welcome addition to the freezer. This particular farm wasn't completely self sufficient; it was mostly there to supply the local cattle ranch with bales of hay. While they did grow a lot of vegetables along with the two thousand acres of hay fields, the meat production was limited to a couple of big chicken coops and a small herd of dairy cows.

Frank Bergen rubbed at his face in utter fatigue, looking over the long list of current projects. There were hundreds of miles of roads to be repaired, cell phone towers that had to be repaired, powered up, and connected in to their network, water treatment plants to bring back online, and a growing number of small towns to set up with power systems, among other things. He was beginning to wonder if he and his crew were going to get any rest in the next decade.

Militia operations continued apace, as well... by the summer of 2188, most of the heartland of the country, from Kansas to northern Washington state, and south as far as northern California and Texas, was now under Militia control, or nearly so. There were still pockets of Chinese troops all over the country, of course, but they were being rooted out, one by one, either being destroyed by newly empowered locals or going on the run to avoid certain death; desertion was becoming an increasing problem for the occupation forces, and many, caught trying to hide amongst the civilian population, were being summarily executed by the locals as soon as they were caught.

The American people had had enough.