Secrets of Liberty Mountain (Final)

I selected a functional wardrobe: camo cargo pants, an olive drab surplus army shirt with epaulets, and a pair of used Desert Storm combat boots wrapped up in a vintage M-60 government-issued field jacket. Standing before the full-length mirror, I repositioned the contraband eagle feather in the hatband of my brown fedora and gulped before I burst out laughing. Trick or treat anyone?

On my way to the armory, I slipped into the kitchen. Caffeine is the genie in the java. I warmed my hands as I rubbed Aladdin's mug, inhaled a fragrant cloud of coffee steam and wished the butterflies in my gut would go back to sleep.

Pre-mission jitters; I didn't want to screw-up.

~~~

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we?"

Sheila nodded at the antique pendulum clock on the armory wall as the second hand clicked to the twelve o'clock position and the 1890s era timepiece chimed the hour. I smiled and said nothing as I took my place beside my teammates. Barely on time lived in the twilight zone between punctuality and tardiness. At least I wasn't late.

"Team, ten-hut!" barked the First Sergeant as she snapped her heels together and stood ramrod tall and presented the Chief with the crisp salute of a veteran.

I instinctively stiffened to attention as training and memory teleported me into the past. My mind was back in the Army again, and it felt like home. Almost like I had never left.

"Stand easy and relax." Sheila returned the tribute as she checked her papers.

"Standing Order Number One: effective immediately, the Society is under military protocol until further notice."

"Aye, Aye!" I shouted in unison with my team.

I glanced around the room and noticed my mix-and-match uniform didn't match the mix. Dressed in utility gray overalls and black baseball caps, the women of the tribe could pass as a team of UPS drivers in training. There were no apparent signs of rank, but I noted Sheila was the only person wearing a French-style black beret.

"Thank you," the Chief acknowledged as she raised her clipboard. "Today's mission and all future deployments will be conducted in the proper combat formation. From this point forward, Brenda will serve as quartermaster and colony's First Sergeant," Sheila announced to a chorus of whoops and cheers, mine included.

The butterflies in my gut rested their wings. Experienced officers and NCOs are the edges every unit needs. The lady knew her stuff. We were in good hands.

"Thank you, Brenda," I whispered.

"Today, we'll get to try out the motor-bikes we picked up in town last week." Sheila nodded to the newly minted First Sergeant who rolled out from behind the counter an olive-drab Onex-80 with oversized tires for off-road travel.

"This amazing device is a true hybrid propelled by human energy or petrol. At full throttle, the 80cc gasoline engine will do forty-five miles per hour or better and can get one hundred twenty-five miles to the gallon. I wish we had gotten sixty instead of six." Her eyes misted as she gently caressed the camo-painted front fender.

Brenda's soft spot for all things mechanical never ceased to amaze me. The story was she once was given one of those Swiss-army vibrators with more attachments than reason would allow. With a group of friends, she'd tested all the device's joy settings, came twenty times in sixteen minutes before the vibrator called it quits. The Little Sex Toy That Couldn't is hung today over her desk, mounted like a prize bass on a plaque inscribed, "R.I.P. Friend. It was a pleasure to know you.'"

"Gracias, this will be fun," I muttered as I scrawled my name on the receipt and took possession of the Sisterhood's newest transportation toy.

I omitted the part about wiping out on a sandy patch when my hairpin turn ended in a sideways slide into a stone wall. With the luck of the foolish, I left the scene in better shape than my borrowed Harley.

Brenda touched my arm and looked at me with concern. "Think you can handle it?"

"No problem; back in high school, I delivered the morning newspaper on a bike, uphill in both directions. Maybe a motor will reset the calendar."

I examined the rig with a skeptical smile. Whatever, it was better than walking.

"Ten-hut!" The new First Sergeant's rumbling bellow smothered the excited chatter of new bike owners.

"As you were."

The leader gestured us to stand easy as she strode to the armory's oaken counter and hoisted a blackbody AR-15 over her black barretted head.

"Armory call. Semi-automatics to those with military training. Belinda and Sky, you'll be riding point. Retrieve your weapons and mission kit from Brenda. Everyone else, follow me. We'll take our pick of the hunting rifles."

Sheila preferred murderously accurate aimed fire to praying-and-spraying.

"It's been a while since I've done any soldering. I might be a bit rusty."

I shrugged as I took my weapon from the quartermaster's hands and checked the safety as I pulled back the charging handle and examined the empty chamber.

"Have you ever done point?" Belinda stuffed the spare mag into velcro pockets of her combat vest and tightened her harness.

"Yes. But only in training," I replied as I examined my weapon.

"Same here, Army basic before I was Spec4 fuel dog deployed to Kuwait, 59th Quartermaster Company, 68th Combat Sustainment Support Battalion, 4th Infantry Division.

"Fuel dog?" I asked.

"Truck driver. Tanker, bulk petroleum," Belinda replied.

The weird homemade tactical garment had once been a three-hundred count Egyptian cotton bed sheet before it was modified with a blurry blend of forest green and slate gray with dark brown and black highlights which matched the natural colors of the Rocky Mountains. Above the treeline, the chameleon's colors resembled the lichen-covered rocks of the barren slopes. Within the woodlands, the same poncho hid the owner beneath a blend of forest shades and in a pinch could serve as a blanket or tent.

"Point? Only once, back in D Troop, 5th Armored Cav. Army reserve active. Infantry assault on foot, it didn't end well."

I checked the first aid pouch on my vest. The real deal with morphine.

"Oh? Do tell." Frosty's eyes widened before squinting with curiosity. Soldiers love to trade war stories.

"We had a Second Lieutenant who, I swear, was the reincarnation of General Fuck-up Custer. He thought the most obvious line of attack would be the least defended. Wrong." I resealed the medical bag, adjusted my balance as I cinched up the straps of my tactical vest and slung my rifle over my shoulder.

"How did that turn out?" Frosty's face melted into a knowing smile.

"Not good. We got beat like a rented mule, so bad the brass stopped and restarted the war game."

I snickered with a shiver. Combat is a deadly contest with no mercy for amateurs and no do-overs for losers.

~~~

"Recon One, clear."

I straddled my machine and strained to hear. My partner's voice was almost lost in a cloud of white noise.

"Recon Two, copy. Moving," I replied before securing my handheld radio.

I turned my head and looked at the Chief fifty yards behind me. I tapped my wristwatch and held up my index finger for one minute, and hand signed, "Follow me," as I pointed to Frosty's place about one hundred yards up the rugged trail.

The bike moved easily as I pedaled to a brisk walking pace, twisted the throttle and released the clutch. The engine on the Onex's coughed into life. Equipped with a Sisterhood modified muffler, the eighty cubic centimeter motor chugged away, no louder than someone sneezing into a pillow.

Advancing into potentially hostile territory against an unknown threat of unknown size is a constant trade-off between stealth, reconnaissance, and speed. The likelihood of encountering an armed advisory this time was remote; it takes more than a week without electricity and Facebook to turn people into barbarians. My hunch was it would take at least a month before the facade of civilization would start to crumble. Meanwhile, we needed the training; practice becomes perfection. Our leapfrog tactics shifted with the mountain. Above the treeline, rocks and boulders offered more cover than concealment.

"Clear," I called as I scanned our south-western sector of travel toward our next lily pad on the path toward town.

Frosty thumped me on the side of my head with the open palm of her hand. "Don't get sloppy. Do it right!"

"Easy, there ain't no one there." I rubbed the side of my head and straightened the tilted feather as I re-positioned my hat.

"True." Belinda turned to me and studied my face. "But study the ground and get to know the terrain. Learn the land." She almost grinned as she poked my arm with her finger.

"Yes, I get it. We will keep each other honest and do it by the manual. My bad," I conceded her point with a poke of my own as I lifted my binoculars to my eyes and did as my partner commanded. I learned the land and connected its contours and features to my memory.

"Ahh, hum, take time but don't take forever," Frosty laughed.

"Thanks. Point well taken," I chuckled.

School might be out forever but this ain't no vacation. To stay alive, we needed to become like summer sparrows among falcons; always alert for threats from every quarter.

~~~

"We'll do a thirty-minute lunch at the next relay point. Clear and hold at the clump of trees."

Sheila pointed to the summit of the saddleback ridge two-thousand-yards to the west of us. The crest of the long saddleback served as a natural causeway between the two misty valleys far below us on each side. It was the same place we had stopped for lunch the last time we went into town.

"Thank God!" I sighed and wiped my forehead with my shirtsleeve and rubbed the sunburn on the back of my neck. I patted my partner's shoulder with a gentle shove. "Your turn."

"Talley-ho!" Belinda laughed as she pedaled and jumpstarted the bike's engine and raced toward the distant summit.

I observed through my binoculars as she sped along the narrow path atop the rocky ridge-line and cringed. The foreshortening effect of the spy glasses made it appear she was riding along the edge of a granite razor-blade suspended a thousand feet above the river valleys on each side.

My partner dismounted before she reached the summit of the rise and crawled to the crest and lifted her binoculars to her eyes. Suddenly, her posture changed, and she abruptly scrambled down the rocky incline, walkie-talkie in hand. My radio came alive with a burst of static, "Intruders...hiss...riders...crackle...weapons."

Chapter 39

With a sandy whoosh in a cloud of flying gravel, Frosty's motorbike cleared the crest of the granite ridge in an airborne glide before skidding to a wobbly stop about a dozen yards down the slope.

"It's Alice and Darlene with five guys wearing uniforms from the sheriff's department!" Belinda took my hand and pulled herself to the top of the incline. "They are under guard, wearing handcuffs. Did the men see me?"

She lifted her binoculars to her eyes and scanned the hilltop at the far end of the trail.

"No. I could only see you. That rise is blocking their view."

I shifted my body sideways, scrunched down, and peaked out from the shadowed corner of a wastebasket-sized rock outcropping. Eye level to the ground, I felt like one of the little people from Gulliver's Travels as I gazed through a forest of withered brown grass scattered before me. Having lost their struggle to survive in thin soil against the summer's heat, the dead and decaying leaves of spring growth swayed and shredded in the wind.

"How far behind are they?"

I glanced upward to check the sun's angle and lifted my field glasses to my eyes. Good; the sun was slightly behind me, no chance for a reflection flash. I steadied my glasses on the distant summit with one hand as I pulled a black and white cowboy bandana from my pocket.

"Not far, fifteen-hundred-yards at the most, maybe five minutes." Frosty took the offered bandana from my hand and wiped the sweat and dust from her face. "Thanks."

"What's going on?" the Commander whispered as she dropped next to me and observed the western skyline as, one by one, seven riders ambled into view.

The lead rider raised his arm, halted, and dismounted before lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. I froze in place like a spider in the weeds and held my breath as a stinging trickle of sweat dribbled down my forehead into my eyes.

"Crap!" Sheila hunched down and let gravity slide her body out of sight of the intruders. "What's he doing?" Her face pressed tightly into the rocky incline as she looked at me and blinked.

I focused on the leader and snickered in surprise as the man's hands fumbled with his midsection before assuming the familiar posture of relief. I stifled a chuckle as he began to swivel his hips from side to side. We men ain't too far removed from our canine cousins. We love to mark our turf.

"Yup, he's taking a piss. He's got his pecker in his hands."

I fine-tuned the focus of the high-quality optics and stared into the faraway face of Fitzwater, the County Assessor. "What the hell is that bastard doing here?" I growled.

"Who?" Sheila inched upward and looked over the rim of our hill.

"It's Pisswater, the little shit is wearing a sheriff's uniform." I coughed and spat. "What are your orders, Commander?"

I unslung my weapon and checked the safety. I noticed Belinda matched my moves as she licked her lips and readied her rifle.

"We've got to free Alice and Darlene, and we can't risk a shootout. We need to stop them here," Sheila said as her eyes scanned the area for concealment and cover.

Sheila slipped down the embankment and climbed to her feet as the grim-faced, and tightly lipped women of our team gathered around her. The leader scanned the several dozens stunted evergreens which had taken root in the scant soil below the summit.

"This is an ideal spot for an ambush, we've got enough cover."

"Better hurry, they're moving again," Belinda warned as she scrambled under her poncho.

"Quickly! Get under cover and be ready back me up. I'll confront them here after they've cleared the crest." Sheila worked the bolt action on her rifle and loaded the firing chamber with a live round.

"Boss! Let me stop them." Slinging my rifle over my shoulder, I scooted down the slope and stood next to Sheila.

"Why?" the leader frowned.

"Because Fitzwater is a sexist pig. He won't take you seriously, you're a woman. He might listen to me. Maybe." I took a pack of cigarettes from my breast pocket, tapped out a smoke and lit it with my Bic lighter.

My boss's eyes widened in surprise. "You really wanna do that?"

"Hell no! But if you do it, you'll get shot." I shuddered as I took a drag and tried to keep my knees from trembling.

Martha stepped to the Commander's side and tugged her shirt sleeve. "He's right Sheila, let him do it."

"All right, we'll cover you."

Sheila joined Martha in the sheltered position behind a rock outcropping. I unslung my firearm and stepped behind a tangle of bushes, knelt down out of sight as I glanced around, and waved to my comrades. As if they were shadows in the night, the caped sisters moved like silent mist between the branches and blended, nearly invisible, with the background.

I took a deep drag from my cigarette, smothered the butt in the soil and closed my eyes for a moment to collect my thoughts and gather my wits. Confronting a group of lawmen with a drawn weapon? Nope. Not a good idea. I fingered the beads on my Vietnam service necklace and moved my mind to a place with neither past nor future. The eternal now was all about me.

"Relax, my friend," I whispered as I pushed worry to the center of my thoughts and acknowledged the terror within me.

Fear is a useful servant, but it is a lousy master. Once I accepted the fact that I was scared beyond words, an icy calm stilled the trembling of my hands and mind, and I was no longer a refugee from reason.

From the far edge of hearing, the sound of approaching hooves tickled the wilderness of silence ringing in my ears. "Okay? What's my plan?" I mused to myself with a shudder. Uncertainty answered. I had no Plan B. Hell, for that matter, I didn't even have a Plan A.

I crouched and peered between the branches and leaves of the shrubbery in front of me and watched as the party of intruders and their female prisoners meandered into view. Whew, the leader's firearm was slung over his shoulder, and the weapons of the mounted guards were safely secured in leather scabbards. When the little twit from town came abreast with my concealed position, I stepped out from behind my bush with the barrel of my downward-pointed AR-15 draped over my forearm, held in place by the rifle butt tucked into my armpit.

The color drained out David Fitzwater's face as his eyes widened in shock and surprise.

"Does anyone have a match?" I took the unlit cigarette dangling from my lips and held it aloft. "I seem to be out of fuel."

"Stop! I don't think you'll be needing that," Sheila called and stepped out from the rocky shadow and squinted down the barrel of her 30.06 Kimber Mountain Ascent rifle as she aimed at a spot between Fitzwater's eyes.

"Same here!" sang a chorus of sisters as they emerged from concealment and took aim at every uniform in the contingent of men.

To his credit, the posse's leader froze in place and made no effort to prevent the gun he had started to unsling from dropping to the ground.

"Now now, that's no way to treat a fine weapon." I slung my long gun over my shoulder and walked forward and retrieved the assault rifle from between the legs of his skittish mount.

I checked the safety, ejected the clip, cleared the chamber and used the sleeve of my jacket to dust the dirt from the gun.

"Much better. I suggest you stow it for safekeeping." I nodded to the empty scabbard at his side.

"Gentlemen, please keep your hands on your saddle horns where we can see them. Thank you very much." With a smile and a slight nod, Martha shifted her steady aim from one rider to the next as she made eye contact with each man in the party.

Sheila relaxed her arms as he slipped his empty firearm into its holster and he rested his hands on the worn cowhide pommel of his seat. "Excellent. Let's keep this a friendly meeting, Mister Fitzwater."

"It is Acting-Sheriff Fitzwater!" he snarled and stiffened his body as his knuckles whitened with rage. His lips formed, but did not speak the next word: "Bitch."

"Mind your manners. Play nice." I ditched my smoke and ground the cigarette butt into the soil with my boot. The tension within the circle reached a new equilibrium. The Commander was in charge.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Mister Acting-Sheriff?" Sheila smiled. "And why are our friends in handcuffs?" Her face melted into a frown.

"I have a court order." He carefully opened his coat to reveal a folded white sheet of paper protruding from the inside breast pocket of his jacket.

Sheila returned my curious glance with a small tilt of her head.

"Slowly, if you please, Sheriff."

I reached up as he took the paper from his coat and handed the tri-folded document to the Commander.

Sheila took a step forward. "An order for what?"

"It's a search warrant for contraband; illegal weapons and explosives," the sheriff explained with an arresting voice as he nervously looked at the array of sisters surrounding his party.

"The order is unsigned and is thus invalid. There is no judge's signature," Sheila said as she examined the paperwork.

"Keys please." I extended my open palm upward after my fumbled finger-snap made no sound.

Fitzwater's eyes narrowed and his body tensed. "They're my prisoners."