Secrets of Liberty Mountain (Final)

I left the sentence unfinished as my voice went silent. I shrugged my shoulders and nodded toward Sheila and the women of the committee. Sheila held her hand palm-up and spread her fingers open like a flower in a gesture of invitation. The floor belonged to me.

"We would be fucked if this had been the real thing. We lack the force of arms the hold this valley; we are not prepared. Not even close." I looked into the worried faces around the table.

"What about our Defense Force?" Sheila offered.

I turned to Brenda the Quartermaster. "As the only person here with any real combat experience; do you think we could maintain this position against anything stronger than a troop of deranged Boy Scouts?"

"No. No, I don't," Brenda said with a humorless chuckle.

"We're safe, but we aren't secure. The heaviest weapons in inventory are semi-automatics for hunting. We have fifty rifles with two-hundred-thousand rounds of ammunition. There are no military-grade weapons. Short of raiding an arms depot, what do you suggest?" Brenda got the implications of my question, and leaned forward, narrowed her eyes, and gave me a look of concerned determination. Since I was hired-help and this post-event gathering was a leadership meeting, I wasn't sure which protocol to follow. I studied Sheila's face for clues on how to proceed as I took a few sips of brandy and licked my lips.

"Speak truthfully so that we may better know your mind." Sheila lifted her glass of spirits above her head and pantomimed an invisible toast.

"I'm not a soldier, and I don't play one on TV, but I think we've got a problem. This place is now my home, thank you, you've all done an incredible job."

I made eye contact with each sister in turn and nodded my head. I was pleased to see my complement acknowledged with a smile, nod, or at least a raised glass.

"If the shit ever hits the fan, there is no doubt we will be safe. However, it's one thing to survive the storm; it is another to prevail through all the years that will follow. In an all-out battle with intruders, we can't win a war of attrition. You—er, we, yes, we—need a force multiplier." I paused and scanned the faces around the table.

"Force multiplier?" Martha echoed in puzzlement.

"Yes. We gotta add something to the mix to improve the odds," I said as I tried to recall some of the strategic planning sessions I had witnessed while in the Air Force. "Force multiplier is Department of Defense jargon for a component added to a military operation which increases a unit's combat effectiveness without a corresponding increase in personnel."

A trio of blank stares told me that they didn't get it. Only Brenda seemed familiar with the concept.

"Unit morale is also a multiplier, or divider, depending on whether it's good or bad. So is training. The same number of well-trained warriors are much more efficient than an equal number of poorly trained fighters. Equipment is also a significant factor," I explained as I shifted in my seat.

"What do you propose?" Sheila "unrelaxed" and dropped her feet to the floor, sat upright in her chair, and motioned me to continue.

"I don't know. We need to do a brainstorming session," I suggested.

My boss raised an eyebrow at my suggestion to turn her meeting into a think tank for creative problem-solving. I had floated a trial balloon, and like its namesake, the thought bubble floated around the room without direction or guidance. Sheila tapped the rim of her brandy glass against her front teeth while she contemplated my proposal.

After in eternity lasting several seconds, Sheila spoke words that turned my concept into concrete. "Excellent suggestion, Sky. I'm glad you volunteered," she said as she winked at me and stood, glanced at her wristwatch, and addressed her companions around the table.

"We stand in recess for the next hour and will reconvene at the chat nook in front of the fireplace. Mister Wolf will lead us in a by-the-numbers textbook brainstorming session."

My boss grinned at me as she used the base of her glass as an improvised mallet and tapped the tabletop.

"Really? You want me to run the group?" I looked at Sheila with alarm. "Why me?"

"Why not? It was your idea, and it's a good suggestion. We hadn't built our Athenian Library when we put together our defense system. After what happened today, I think it wise we revisit our plans."

Sheila's warm half-smile froze into an icy grimace as she shuddered at the fearful memory of despair when the shit almost hit the fan. Word of our continued meeting spread quickly among the Sisterhood. When we reconvened an hour later, at least a dozen sisters had gathered around the massive fieldstone fireplace at the center of the cabin's great room.

Curious women were seated in the cozy sunken chat-nook designed to encourage free conversation and socialization. A half-circle of built-in terraced benches created a charming and informal meeting area usually reserved for evening entertainment and spontaneous jam sessions.

"Welcome and make yourselves comfortable. Events of today have raised concerns about our ability to defend our home against an armed intrusion," Sheila noted as she called the meeting to order.

"My assistant believes we are not adequately prepared to repel armed intruders in a post-apocalypse world. I am inclined to agree with his assessment, especially after today's scare."

My boss said as she studied the faces of the assembled sisterhood. "Today's brainstorming session will focus on the short-term things we can do to defend our home in the event of an armed invasion. My assistant has generously volunteered to facilitate the discussion, the floor is yours, Mister StormyWolf." Sheila smiled as she took a seat and left me standing alone in front of the fireplace.

"Thank you, Sheila."

I touched my eyebrow in salute and turned to face a growing gathering of women. Curious sisters dropped by to see what the fuss was all about, Word of the meeting had made the rounds.

"For this exercise, we are going to assume today's cluster-fuck was the real thing, and the shit has hit the fan."

I scanned the faces of the dozen women seated around the fireplace. I was relieved to see the familiar and friendly faces of Darlene, Serena, and her daughter, Starshine.

"Civilization has collapsed." I let the words hang in the air and paused and left the nightmare details to the imagination of my listeners. "A sizeable force of well-armed soldiers is advancing on our home."

I raised my arms to encompass the Great Room and all of Liberty Mountain and paused for dramatic effect and lowered my voice to a threatening growl.

"They have orders to kill, capture, or destroy the Sisterhood. Our lives and the fate of the Library of Athenia hang in the balance. What are we going to do to stop them?"

Fear and despair settled over our group as we each played out the nightmare scenario in our minds.

"We have a defense force, of sorts." I made eye contact with Sheila and Brenda, the Quartermaster. "What can we add to the mix to improve the odds? What do we need to do or acquire to optimize our defense capabilities? Any suggestions?"

Brenda was the first to speak. "We need better weapons."

I used a red marker and wrote, "Better Weapons" on the large pad of paper mounted on the art easel next to me.

"Can you be more specific?" I asked.

"Automatic weapons like M16 assault rifles, AK-47s, a couple of .50 caliber heavy machine guns, or at least a few M-60s." Brenda fired off her suggestions in rapid succession.

"Cannons?" Starshine offered.

"Landmines. Lots of fucking landmines," Brenda shouted with enthusiasm.

"Invisibility cloak?" an unseen voice offered with a laugh.

"I'll put that down as camouflage." I recorded the thought on the notepad.

Over the next hour, our thinktank expanded the list to include, among other things:

?Airpower

?Punji sticks

?Boobytraps

?No Trespassing signs

?Bunkers

?Early engagement, ambushes

?Better training

?Lasers

?Handgrenades

?Poison gas

?Flamethrowers

?Body armor

?Armored vehicles

?Barbed wire

The exercise turned out to be a successful enterprise in that the Sisterhood's thinking about ways to defend their home shifted from passive to active. Over the next several weeks, I worked with Sheila and her executive committee to prioritize and categorize the list of suggestions into four parts.

Items we could acquire on the open market went on one list. Equipment only available on the black market went on the second list, and the stuff we could manufacturer found a home on the third. Everything that didn't fit the first three classifications went into a folder marked, "Wishful Thinking."

Military-grade explosives proved impossible to find at any price. Instead, Sheila decided to improvise with bulk purchases of eight-pound and lots of black powder. Brenda used her online connections to arrange for the purchase of one hundred twenty-five units for a total of a half-ton of the explosive mix.

We planned to enhance our inventory of explosives by the acquisition of one thousand pounds of the binary explosive mixture used for exploding targets. tannerite is a super-sensitive mixture designed to be detonated by rimfire .22 caliber rounds, or any bullet moving at twelve-hundred feet per second or faster.

The women of the colony went into overdrive as they weaponized the to-do list dreamed up in our creative planning session. The suggestion to add airpower to our defensive mix resulted in plans to expand our squadron of surveillance drones by half-dozen remote control aircraft designed to carry five to ten pounds of specialized electronic equipment. Instead of hauling gear, the drones would be modified to carry a rack of four aerial pipe bombs, each weighing in at twenty-seven ounces.

The thin copper pipes filled with explosives and fitted with shotgun shell detonators were effective and simple. Inertia and a flat-side-down roofing nail striker did the trick. A grid pattern of shallow grooves etched into the surface of the pipe ensured that each device produced about one hundred fragments of deadly shrapnel. Plastic archery feathers served as tail fins and guaranteed a nose-first ground strike when dropped from a minimum height of one hundred feet.

Test day was a blast, pun intended. I joined the crowd of curious sisters on the balcony of the cabin while Brenda put her drone through the paces in a series of test runs using dummy practice bombs. Aiming accuracy left a bit to be desired, five feet from the bullseye was the best she could achieve. Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and pipe bombs. We had a winner! Four ounces of black powder produced a deafening bang as seventeen thousand PSI of gases blew the pipe to smithereens.

As if the display of aerial ingenuity was not enough, the IED Team's next creation was diabolical. I let out a sharp whistle of amazement and admiration when they presented Sheila with the prototype for a landmine activated by either pressure or remote control.

The body of the mine was a hollow baked ceramic shell about two-inches thick and the size a pie baking tin. Sixteen ounces of black powder filled the container. The device was covered by a thick coating of wax, rendering it waterproof. As a bonus, the tacky surface attracted dust and dirt for camouflage. A blasting cap connected to a nine-volt battery detonated the mine if something stepped on the pressure-activated trigger and completed the circuit.

"I doubt if it'll be lethal," Brenda caressed the IED as if it were a sleeping cat, "but it sure as hell will muck-up someone's day."

On the first day of May, Sheila advised her executive committee that she was ordering a four-vehicle expedition into town to acquire necessary supplies. We had two weeks to finalize our shopping list and prepare for a return to civilization.

We were on a mission to put some bite into our defensive bark.

Chapter 32

"Okay, listen up!" Sheila knocked her knuckles on the conference table and brought the final briefing to order. "We've got an outstanding weather report, vehicles and crews are ready. We are good to go at daybreak..." she smiled as she waved at the huge flat screen display we had installed several days ago and checked her watch for the time, "...which means we're in luck. We have thirty-minutes for one last run-through."

"Time for a quick cup of coffee before we start?" I made it halfway across the room to the beverage cart before she could respond.

To cover my transgression, I returned with two steaming cups of Colombian nectar. Sheila's serving was fixed precisely as she liked it, black with a splash of cream and a dash of sugar. Sometimes it's easier to obtain forgiveness than it is to gain permission.

"Careful. Payback's a bitch," the commander murmured with a half-smile and a roguish wink as she accepted my South American peace offering.

I attributed her spirited behavior to pre-mission jitters. She was entirely in tune with the antsy and excited mood in the room; I felt the same way, an urge to be moving.

Obsessive attention to detail was one of my boss's annoying pain in the ass leadership qualities. The devil lives in the details, and she had me chasing demons and termites in the woodwork for two weeks as we worked the kinks out of the operational details for the Sisterhood's supply excursion.

"I assume you've all had an opportunity to memorize your group's itinerary and route."

The chief held her thumb up and scanned the faces of the assembled teams for confirmation. A sea of nodding heads and a forest of rising thumbs replied in the affirmative.

"Excellent, class! Practice makes perfect; let's do one more review. We don't want another Colfax cluster-fuck." Sheila changed her voice from slightly alto to a nasal falsetto as she mimicked a grade-school teacher from Hell.

The Colfax Avenue Debacle, as I found out later, was a legendary fuck-up of epic proportions. Several years after the founding of the colony, a "secret" resupply mission landed on the front pages of the Denver Post.

Divine intervention from the Airbag Gods prevented any serious injury when a wrong turn down a one-way street put the convoy on a collision course with the Denver Fire Department. The hook-and-ladder truck's steel and chrome bumper sustained minor damage while the Sisterhood's SUV sat crumpled in the middle of the street like a wad of discarded aluminum foil. Thank God for seatbelts.

"Seriously, we gotta be careful out there today. The current circus over the fucking budget is now officially the longest government shutdown on record," Sheila paused and checked her notes.

"Consequently, background checks are problematic. We'll have to play it by ear and do the best we can. Bureaucracies are mindless creatures with a life of their own. Like any living thing, they require constant care and feeding. Otherwise, they get cranky," the commander said to collective laughter as she twisted her face and assumed the hunched over pose of Eyegore, from Mel Brook's, Young Frankenstein.

"They've stopped feeding the rule keepers because the rule makers can't agree on a new rule for their budget. Ironic, you think?" Sheila chuckled and shook her head as she continued.

"Maybe they'll sort stuff out in today's Air Force One Airborne summit, but I doubt it. It's nothing but a grandstand photo-op. More for cameras than citizens. Do you really believe the President and a flock of Congressional leaders and senior Senators will stay aloft until they come to an agreement? I don't."

"Like three blind mice?" I suggested.

"Huh? That's pretty random, Sky," Darlene laughed as she burst into song, vaudeville style, "Three blind mice, Three blind mice. See how they run, See how they run!" my partner pranced in place as if she was terrified.

"They all ran after the farmer's wife, She cut off their tails with a carving knife. Did you ever see such a sight as three blind mice?" Childhood rhyme or not, her voice was beautiful to hear.

"No." I shrugged, "I was thinking the three branches of government. You know, legislative, executive, and judicial," I blushed. I hate it when one of my wise-ass remarks gets lost in the weeds.

"They're stranded in a maze of their own construction, and now they're drowning in their own bull shit. We need a new day and a new toilet. We don't need the same old crap. Although that's all, we'll likely get," I licked my lips and made a face.

"Needs salt," I stuck out my tongue.

"They better watch out for the carver's knife," I pantomimed the guy from Psycho and stabbed the air with an imaginary knife as I stifled a groan and pulled out my notepad and prepared to take notes.

Not so much as a record of events but as reminders of anything added to my to-do list. I preferred pencil and paper over my laptop. The battery on my writing stick never ran out. I, on the other hand, needed a caffeine charge. Five o'clock is too bloody early; I would rather my mornings to start closer to noon.

The schedule called for each of our four groups to hit one pick-up point after another until we completed our assigned shopping lists. In addition to explosives and other survival items, each four-person unit would buy as many .223 rounds as they could get our hands on along with at least eight AR-15s.

Sheila adjusted her paperwork and called the roll. "Belinda, you are the head of the Alpha Contingent, and you'll be hauling a half-ton of gear and three thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate."

The chief clicked the remote control at the giant television mounted on the side wall of the meeting room and transformed the view of shadowy mountains outlined against the star-studded sky into a MapQuest travel route resembling an exploding chrysanthemum blossom.

A Dodge dealer on the outskirts of Golden, Colorado would be the next to last stop for Belinda's squad where three of her team would purchase a trio of heavy-duty four-by-four pickups. The newly acquired transports would be loaded with as much fuel as they could carry before returning independently to home base.

The lace curtains framing the ninety by fifty-one-inch ultra-high definition image enhanced the illusion of an outward-looking window with a stunningly vivid panorama of the valley and the western Rockies. Virtual windows were one of the original ideas the Sisterhood dreamed up during a brainstorming session on security. Strategically placed on barren surfaces in common areas within the cabin, the video feeds did double duty by providing both scenery and a glimpse of the world beyond our shelter's walls.

"Darlene, you'll be heading up Bravo Company, and your primary load will be a thousand pounds of black powder and a ton of Tannerite. Drive carefully," Sheila noted as she switched to Bravo's route.

Like Belinda's group, Darlene's vehicle ended its run with a hat-trick at the last stop, a Toyota dealership located a few miles to the northeast of Denver.

Instead of a rabbit, they would be pulling three electric hybrid trucks out their hat. The new purchases would be cram packed with cargos of high-efficiency solar cells which could be mixed and matched to construct a wide array of sun-powered devices to provide electricity and recharge our squadron of drones while working in the field.

Ruthlessly efficient, the leader's policy required hazardous cargoes of bomb material to return home under the command of one driver. Losses would be limited in the event something went wrong, as in a smoking crater and the thundering echo of cargo gone bad.

Charlie Team had the most straightforward run with only a single stop to load three-thousand pounds of sheet metal, tools, and supplies for our blacksmiths and metallurgy workers.

"Wonderful! One last thing before we head out. At the suggestion of my assistant," Sheila pointed toward me, "I'm going to amend our objectives to make this a tactical training exercise. Think of it as a scavenger hunt. The first to complete their goals and check in at the rally point wins."