Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9) by A American (learn to read books TXT) 📕

the dried meat and stared out the window. I was thankful I drove as far as I did and that it had not been necessary for me to climb up into the turret. Not that it was that different as rain dripped and spattered in through the opening as it was. But it was still better than sitting in that web sling.

The sun was beginning to set when we rolled into Destin. I was surprised by the number of people I saw on the streets. The reason was revealed when the gates to the base came into view and I saw a stream of civilians coming out. I guessed they were working on base in some capacity.

It only made sense. With so much of our military forward-deployed, to use the preferred term, overseas, there was a lack of manpower. And with so many able-bodied men and women around who would happily work for food for themselves and their families, it was an easy choice. Not to mention the only one.

Two Stryker fighting vehicles flanked the gates to the base as well as a number of large Hesco barriers preferred by today’s military. These pre-formed concrete wall sections could be interlocked to form a solid wall. And here they did just that. We had to zigzag our way up to the gates as the Hescos prevented a direct approach.

Dalton pulled up to the gate and stopped. An MP in full battle rattle leaned in when Dalton opened the door. “First Sergeant Mitchell here to see General Fawcett.”

“We’ve been expecting you, Top. Glad to see you made it without any issues. I’ll have someone escort you to the General.” The MP looked at Dalton and said, “Please turn off your headlights.” and he promptly stepped away, shouting orders.

Dalton closed the door and looked at Sarge, asking, “You haven’t used the radio all day. How did they know when to expect us?”

“Cause I told ‘em when we’d be here. We were maintaining radio discipline.”

“Why’d they have us turn the headlights off?” I asked.

“So, no one can see us in the dark. Good way for aircraft to mark you as a target.”

I rocked my head against the bulletproof window. The old man never ceased to amaze me. He did some things as if by magic. Just made them happen. I guess he was always operating behind the scenes. But that would make sense. An NCO of his rank would be used to such methods.

There were no lights on anywhere. The base was blacked out. But since it wasn’t fully dark, Dalton could easily see the truck in front of him. We weaved through the base for a while before coming to typical government-looking buildings with a brick façade. The truck in front of us stopped and the driver quickly got out. Everyone piled out and started stretching. Sarge told them to hang out by the trucks and told Ted and me to follow him.

We went inside the building and down a hallway past an open door. It appeared to be a conference room crowded with people leaning over a large table covered with maps. A large map of the state of Florida was projected on a screen at the head of the table as well. I noted the General was there, but we weren’t invited into this particular meeting.

Instead, we were led to a small reception room of sorts and asked to take a seat. Sarge immediately spotted a coffee pot sitting on a small cabinet and helped himself without asking. Ted did likewise, and I figured what the hell, when in Rome, and poured myself one as well and sat back down.

“What? No training wheels?” Sarge asked.

“It’s been a long day. Shouldn’t your old ass be tired?” I asked.

“I am. That’s why I’m drinking this,” Sarge replied, holding the Styrofoam cup up.

I spent a minute marveling at the cup in my hand. It’d been a while since I’d seen one. Something so common, so nondescript. But at the moment, it was kind of nostalgic.

“It’s the cup, isn’t it?” Ted asked, apparently reading my thoughts.

I looked up and nodded. “Yeah. Just trying to remember when the last time I saw one was.”

Sarge looked at his and said, “This thing? This ain’t nothing. I’d drink coffee from my boot right now.”

I let out a loud breath. “You’re missing the point.”

“And just what is the point?”

“When was the last time you saw one of these?” Ted asked.

Sarge shrugged. “Hell, if I know. I don’t remember the last time I saw dog shit either.”

That got a laugh from Ted and me both. And the more we laughed, the more we laughed. Until even Sarge was laughing. When the General finally walked in the room, he stopped in his tracks and looked at all of us. No one bothered to get up. I didn’t expect Sarge to, but thought Ted might. But he kept his ass firmly in his seat.

“Do I want to know?” Fawcett asked.

Sarge held the cup up and replied, “Cups. Just cups.”

“And dog shit,” I added.

Fawcett shook his head and replied, “You guys have been in the wilderness too long. Come on in,” he added as he went into his office.

We followed him into the office where I slumped into a chair in the corner while Ted and Sarge took the seats in front of the desk. Fawcett sat down behind his desk and stared at it for a minute. It was covered with paper. Forms, images, maps, all sorts of things were spread out. He rubbed his temples. The man looked tired. More than that. He looked drained, totally consumed. He was obviously overworked, and it was starting to show.

He looked up and smiled. “How are your folks fairing, Linus?”

“We’re holding our own. It’s harvest time, so we’re bringing in crops. Things are starting to look up.” Sarge shifted in his seat. “Or it was, that is.”

Fawcett looked back at the desk and nodded grimly. “Yeah, that was unfortunate.” Looking back up, he continued.