Founders, p.1
Founders, page 1
Contents
Disclaimers
Dramatis Personae
Author’s Introductory Note
Chapter 1: Hammer Time
Chapter 2: Getting Out of Dodge
Chapter 3: True Believer
Chapter 4: Rushes
Chapter 5: Trogs
Chapter 6: Walking by Faith
Chapter 7: Wheat Berries
Chapter 8: Monroe Doctrine
Chapter 9: Decrees
Chapter 10: Courting and Quirting
Chapter 11: Space Rifles
Chapter 12: Terminal Ballistics
Chapter 13: Under Escort
Chapter 14: In the Footsteps of Josephus
Chapter 15: Vigilantes
Chapter 16: Good Fences
Chapter 17: From the Oil Patch
Chapter 18: Millennium Falcon
Chapter 19: A Bump in the Road
Chapter 20: Fire Mission
Chapter 21: TDY—Temporary Duty, Yonder
Chapter 22: Belly of the Beast
Chapter 23: Up Close and Personal
Chapter 24: Mole Tunnels
Chapter 25: El Tesoro
Chapter 26: Trampling Out the Vintage
Chapter 27: Anthem
Chapter 28: New Guards for Future Security
Chapter 29: To Dust
Chapter 30: The Second Age of Steam
Acknowledgments
Glossary
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Disclaimers
All rights reserved. Any unauthorized duplication in whole or in part or dissemination of this edition by any means (including but not limited to photocopying, electronic bulletin boards, and the Internet) will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This is a work of fiction. All of the events described are imaginary. Most of the characters in this novel are fictional. A few real-life individuals gave permission for their names to be mentioned. Aside from these individuals, any resemblance to living people is purely coincidental.
The information contained in this novel is intended for educational purposes only, to add realism to a work of fiction.
The case citations contained within this novel do not constitute legal advice. Consult a jural society or lawyer if you have legal questions. The medical details contained within this novel do not constitute medical advice. Consult a doctor or herbalist if you have medical questions. The purpose of this novel is to entertain and to educate. The author and Atria Books / Simon & Schuster shall have neither liability nor responsibility to any citizen, person, or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused, or alleged to be caused, directly or indirectly by the information contained in this novel.
Dramatis Personae
James Alstoba—Baptist minister and part-time metal detectorist, near Williams, Arizona
Dale Bennet—grasslands biologist and rabbit breeder, Scottsbluff, Nebraska
Peter Blanchard—first lieutenant, USAF, missileer at Malmstrom AFB, Montana
Chambers Clarke—fertilizer and pesticide salesman, Radcliff, Kentucky
Hollan Combs—retired property manager and soils analyst, Bradfordsville, Kentucky
Brent Danley—trauma nurse from Waterville, Vermont
Jennifer Danley—wife of Brent Danley
Ron Emerson—father of Rebecca (Emerson) Fielding
Adrian Evans—a Nashville attorney and friend of Ben Fielding
Ben Fielding—attorney in Muddy Pond, Tennessee
Joseph Fielding—son of Ben and Rebecca Fielding; thirteen years old at the onset of the Crunch
Rebecca (Emerson) Fielding—wife of Ben Fielding
Dan Fong—industrial engineer from Chicago; member of Todd Gray’s Idaho survivalist retreat group
Ignacio García—leader of the criminal gang La Fuerza
Todd Gray—leader of a group retreat near Bovill, Idaho
Chet Hailey—owner of Chet’s Crawlers and Haulers, a four-wheel drive vehicle repair and modification specialist garage in Chicago, Illinois
Dustin Hodges—deputy sheriff in Marion County, Kentucky
Maynard Hutchings—member of the Hardin, Kentucky, board of supervisors
Tom “T.K.” Kennedy—Todd Gray’s dormitory roommate and cofounder of The Group
Captain Andrew “Andy” Laine—Army Ordnance Corps officer
Lisbeth “Beth” Laine—wife of Lars Laine
Grace Laine—daughter of Lars and Lisbeth; six years old at the onset of the Crunch; nicknamed “Anelli”
Kaylee (Schmidt) Laine—wife of Andy Laine
Major Lars Laine—disabled U.S. Army veteran
Cliff Larson—HVAC technician from Scottsbluff, Nebraska
Ken Layton—off-road vehicle mechanic, Chicago, Illinois; member of Todd Gray’s Idaho survivalist retreat group
Terry Layton—wife of Ken Layton; member of Todd Gray’s Idaho survivalist retreat group
Kevin Lendel—computer programmer living near Bovill, Idaho; member of Todd Gray’s Idaho survivalist retreat group
L. Roy Martin—owner of the Bloomfield Refinery; nicknamed “El Rey” by his Spanish-speaking employees
Curt Mehgai—oilfield worker and U.S. Army veteran
Jim Monroe—rancher near Raynesford, Montana; father of Kelly (Monroe) Watanabe
Rhonda Monroe—wife of Jim Monroe; mother of Kelly (Monroe) Watanabe
Carl Norwood—rancher in Butte County, South Dakota
Cordelia Norwood—wife of Carl Norwood
Graham Norwood—son of Carl and Cordelia Norwood; sixteen years old at the onset of the Crunch
the Old Man—nickname of the anonymous leader of a Kentucky-based resistance reconnaissance unit
Brigadier General Edward Olds—Mechanized Infantry brigade commander, Fort Knox, Kentucky
Francisco Ortega—ranch hand, Raynesford, Montana; sixteen years old at the onset of the Crunch
Jedediah Peoples—resistance infantryman from Westmoreland, Tennessee
Durward Perkins—farmer in West Branch, Iowa
Karen Perkins—wife of Durward Perkins
Larry Prine—farmer near Morgan City, Utah
Lynda Prine—wife of Larry Prine
Sheila Randall—general store owner and widow of Jerome Randall
Tyree Randall—son of Sheila Randall; ten years old at the onset of the Crunch
Major General Clayton Uhlich—post commander at Fort Knox, Kentucky
Lily Voisin—grandmother (“Grandmère”) of Sheila Randall and great-grandmother of Tyree Randall; eighty-five years old at the onset of the Crunch
Joshua Watanabe—senior airman (E-4), Missile Maintenance NCO, Malmstrom AFB, Montana
Kelly (Monroe) Watanabe—wife of Joshua Watanabe
Brigadier General Anthony Woolson—base commander, Malmstrom Air Force Base, Montana
Author’s introductory note: Unlike most novel sequels, the story line of Founders is contemporaneous with the events described in my previously published novels, Patriots and Survivors. Thus, you need not read them first (or subsequently), but you’ll likely find them entertaining. They will also fill in the backstories for several characters.
1
Hammer Time
“Liberty must at all hazards be supported. We have a right to it, derived from our Maker. But if we had not, our fathers have earned and bought it for us, at the expense of their ease, their estates, their pleasure, and their blood.”
—John Adams, A Dissertation on the Canon and Feudal Law, 1765
Nashville, Tennessee
Eight Years Before the Crunch
Adrian Evans had asked Ben to meet him at the bar after work. This was a meeting that wasn’t in Ben’s comfort zone. Ben Fielding only rarely set foot in a bar, and the only drinking that he did was tiny little communion cups of wine. But since he was about to move his family and he probably wouldn’t see Adrian again for many months, he reluctantly agreed.
Ben had just seen Adrian three days before, at a Sunday afternoon farewell barbeque. Nearly everyone from the law firm, and a couple of Ben and Rebecca’s neighbors, came over for the party. Because Ben was moving his family to the country, the get-together had been organized by Ben’s secretary as a theme party. Many of the guests wore colorful cowboy shirts or coveralls and straw hats. Most of the gifts were back-to-the-land tools. These included a push cultivator, various hand tools, a scythe, several shovels, and a hay fork. The latter, as everyone insisted, became a prop for Ben to hold for clichéd portraits of Ben and Rebecca standing together, looking like the stern-faced couple in the Grant Wood painting American Gothic.
When Ben Fielding arrived at the Full Moon Saloon, he found that Adrian was already there, nursing a gin and tonic. They sat briefly at the bar while Ben ordered a glass of Sprite. Then they moved to a booth to talk. Adrian carried over a paper bag that was gathered at the top. It looked like it held a bottle of liquor for a goodbye gift. Ben was hoping that he wouldn’t have to come up with a “Thanks but no thanks” speech, to explain again that he was a nondrinker.
Their conversation started out essentially as a repeat of what they’d talked about at the farewell barbeque. Adrian wished Ben the best for his move t
Then their conversation moved on to expectations of what things would be like at the law firm after Ben left, and a bit about Adrian’s failed marriage.
Adrian noticed Ben glancing at the paper bag on the table and said, “After the party last weekend, I found a couple of more tools that I’d like to give you. Sorry that I didn’t wrap them or anything.”
He slid the bag over to Ben. Opening it, Ben found that it held a hammer and screwdriver.
Adrian explained, “I hope you like these. The screwdriver is pretty cool. It’s an original Winchester brand, from back when they had a chain of hardware stores, in the 1920s and 1930s. The Winchester-marked tools and signage are quite collectible, especially with gun enthusiasts looking to branch out. I already put together a full set of their screwdrivers for my collection, but this one was a duplicate, so it’s yours.”
“Thanks, so much. This is great.”
Adrian pointed to the well-worn hammer and said, “Now, that belonged to my grandfather. It was supposedly handmade by a blacksmith that he knew in Hartsville. The handle is hickory, and is just as stout today as the day it was made back in the 1930s.”
Ben hefted the short-handled hammer, which had a head that must have weighed a pound and a half. He said again, “Thanks, Adrian. You’ve been very generous. I appreciate the socket set and the gardening tools that you gave us at the party, too. They’ll all come in handy.”
Their conversation wandered into politics, then sports, and finally back to Adrian’s marriage. At just after 10 p.m., the bar’s cocktail waitress walked by and asked, “Would y’all like another?”
Ben waved her off and said, “No, thanks.” He turned to Adrian and said, “I’ve got to get home to Rebecca and the kids.”
Adrian nodded. “I understand.”
They both stood up, and Ben picked up the bag. The tip of the screwdriver was poking through the paper bag, so Ben shifted it to his coat pocket.
They went out the bar’s front door and shook hands. Adrian gave Ben a wink, and said, “You take good care of yourself, Ben. Where you parked?”
“Around back.”
Adrian pointed to his BMW across the street and said, “I’m right here.” He waved and dashed across to the car, taking advantage of a gap in the traffic.
As Ben walked to the back parking lot, he was thinking about some of the things that Adrian had said about his ex-wife. He wondered if there was anything that he would have done differently, under the circumstances.
Two tall figures loomed up in the alley in front of him. One of them said, “Give me your wallet, ’tard.” The man raised his hand, and in the glow of the vapor light Ben could see the bare edge of a knife.
Instinctively, Ben swung with the hammer, still in the paper bag. The hammer connected with the man’s forearm in a half-glancing blow, and he dropped the knife. The other man moved in. Ben assumed that he also had a knife, so he swung with all the strength he could muster, and planted the hammer’s head in the side of the man’s neck. The attacker went down in a heap.
The first man shouted at Ben, “You’re dead, ’tard!” He reached behind the small of his back, as if pulling a gun. Ben stepped in and swung, again aiming for the neck. But the robber ducked. This time the hammer hit the man in the side of the head, making a strange slapping noise. The man fell to the ground next to the other robber.
Ben didn’t wait to see if they’d get up to charge at him again. He ran for his car, hopped in, and zoomed out the back of the parking lot.
His mind was racing. “What on earth just happened?” he asked himself aloud. He quickly got on I-65 and set his Ford’s cruise control at sixty. He was afraid that he might speed if he didn’t. He started praying. Ten minutes later, he was safely parked in his driveway. When he turned off the ignition, his hands were shaking. Growing up, Ben had never so much as been in an elementary school hallway fistfight. He felt overwhelmed by the enormity of what he’d just gone through. He fought to keep control of himself.
Ben picked up the hammer—still in the paper bag—and examined it under the car’s map light. There was no blood on the bag, but he decided to burn it regardless. He turned off the map light, and tried to get his breathing under control. He decided that it was best that he didn’t tell his wife what had happened. “I can’t burden her with this,” he said resignedly.
It took him a long time to get to sleep that night.
It wasn’t until two days later that Ben read in the online edition of the Tennessean that both of the robbers had died. One was dead at the scene, and the other died in the hospital emergency room of internal bleeding. The paper reported that both of them had long criminal records. Two knives and a .380 pistol were found on the pavement. Ben was amazed that just one hammer blow to the head or neck could kill a man. But obviously it could.
After much prayer, Ben decided not to talk about the events with the police. He burned the bag and ran the hammer through an ultrasonic cleaner just in case. Then it went into his tool chest. He didn’t use it again, until after the Crunch. Whenever he saw the Winchester screwdriver or the hammer, they reminded him of that night.
Malmstrom Air Force Base, Montana
September, the First Year
Joshua Watanabe was bored. As he told his squadron mates, “There’s bored, and then there’s world-class bored.”
Alerts were always interesting for the first couple of hours, but once the two duty officers were sealed in behind a blast door down in the launch control center (LCC) capsules, seventy-five feet underground, and after all the systems checks were complete, the boredom set in. Joshua had watched all his DVDs several times each. He disliked playing cards. Instead, he often read his Bible and by-subscription Bible study and devotional magazines.
Joshua was a senior airman missile maintenance NCO stationed at Malmstrom AFB, Montana. Malmstrom had the largest ballistic missile field in the United States. The array of silos was spread out over 23,000 square miles. The LGM-30 Minuteman missile launch facilities and LCCs were each separated by several miles, and connected electronically. This distancing ensured that a “full exchange” attack by incoming nuclear missiles or bombs would disable only a few of the ICBMs. This would leave the rest capable of being launched in retaliation. The downside of this wide separation was that huge distances had to be driven by alert crews, security response teams (SRTs), and maintenance personnel. Montana was a huge state, and at times it seemed as if the missile fields occupied half of it.
Each squadron at Malmstrom was a grouping of fifty Minuteman silos, controlled by five missile alert facilities (MAFs). The MAFs housed the on-duty “60 Teams” and the off-duty “70 Teams.” Three squadrons constituted a “Wing.” Each MAF “Flight” controlled ten missile silos. The silos were also known as “launch facilities” (LFs). The MAFs each had several buildings, including a main office building, a garage building with roll-up doors, and two outlying radar buildings, each equipped with small white radomes. The taller of the two radomes was an EHF antenna shelter, designed to send and receive traffic using secure satellites via EHF radio. The short cone-shaped dome was a hardened UHF antenna, used for the line-of-sight UHF radio located in the MAF. The MAF crews used this radio to communicate with aircraft that were within line of sight.
Each MAF had a small sewage lagoon aeration pond, often positioned right in front. To a casual observer, these looked a lot like the livestock watering ponds that dotted the cattle ranches in the region, but they were constructed differently, with a rubber pond liner. At a staff briefing a few years before the Crunch, a major who had recently transferred into his first missile unit assignment from the Strategic Air Command (SAC) was watching an overview PowerPoint presentation about the LGM-30 system. Seeing a picture that included a sewage lagoon in front of an MAF, the major naively asked, “Do you ever swim in those ponds in the summer?” His question was answered by howls of laughter. Ever since then, the sewage lagoons were referred to as “SAC Officer Swimming Pools.”
Before the Crunch, there was almost always one or more camouflage-painted up-armored Humvees or ubiquitous Air Force Blue commercial pickup trucks parked out front of every MAF. During alerts, there would often be more vehicles.
