Authors: Bobby Akart
Donald once said being a prepper was not a hobby or an obsession. He believed they led a preparedness
lifestyle
. They were committed preppers. He and Susan hungered for more information on the subject. If they found a new survival tool or learned of an interesting food-storage item, they would incorporate it into their plan. They realized how fortunate they were to have the financial backing of the Boston Brahmin. Most in the preparedness community did not have the resources the Loyal Nine enjoyed. But the prepping principles were the same nonetheless—beans, bullets, and Band-Aids.
Donald learned to ignore the media and their condemnation of preppers as the tinfoil-hat crowd, hoarders, and right-wing nutjobs. Prepping was like insurance, he had explained to J.J. that afternoon several years ago while they watched the girls play in the pool. A responsible family might carry home, auto, and life insurance. Fortunately, they might never experience an auto accident or devastating tornado damage to their home. But they carried insurance to protect against these calamities nonetheless. Some sensible families stored sufficient food, water, and supplies to deal with the inconveniences of natural disasters. They espoused the FEMA rule of three days’ stored supplies. Donald believed this level of preparedness, while prudent, was insufficient.
Committed prepping was insurance against those potentially world-changing, catastrophic events resulting in TEOTWAWKI—the end of the world as we know it. He believed many threats were facing the world, and America in particular.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
As the world became more technologically advanced and more reliant on the power grid for survival, the likelihood that a catastrophic grid-down event could bring America to its knees increased exponentially. An EMP, a solar flare, a nuclear bomb, or cyber attacks had all occurred in the past. Any of these could bring America to its knees.
For a moment, they enjoyed the silence of the Quabbin Reservoir. An occasional loon would make its presence known, but otherwise the Rheem air-conditioning unit behind One Prescott Peninsula was the only sound the two couples heard—
until they didn’t
.
At first, what had happened didn’t register on them. Air-conditioning units turned on and off as a matter of course. But one didn’t realize the ambient sounds made by electrically powered appliances. Even sitting outside, in a place as remote and serene as Prescott Peninsula, the low hum from inside the building could be heard—
until it wasn’t
.
“Hey, who turned off the lights inside?” asked Donald. He sat up on the edge of the Adirondack chair and looked around. “Do you think the girls are fooling around?”
“It could be. I’ll check on them,” replied Susan. Susan slipped on her flip-flops and made her way around Sabs’s chair when she accidentally kicked over a beer.
“Hey, party foul.” J.J. laughed.
“I’m sorry, Sabs,” said Susan, looking at the dark sky and the new moon. “I can’t see. A little moonlight would be nice.”
J.J. leaned down and picked up the now half-empty bottle. “It was full too.”
“Can I get you another beer, Sabs?” asked Susan.
“No, thanks,” she replied.
Donald checked his watch. It was 9:13. “Maybe we should wind it up for the night. I’d like to go fishing in the morning. J.J., are you up for it?”
“You know, I’m not much for fishing. I’m too impatient. But I’ll tag along and help you reel them in. I think the girls were going to explore the peninsula, so we can have some male bonding time.”
Donald laughed. He was about to add something when Susan interrupted.
“Hey, guys! The power is out.”
Instinctively, Donald looked up and saw nothing but stars. The weather was supposed to be beautiful all weekend. “Did you pay the bill?”
“Amusing,” said Susan. “It’s on autopay. The last thing I heard was the AC running. Maybe Holyoke Electric is having problems.”
“Now we’re camping out,” Sabs laughed. She pushed herself out of the low-slung chair and began to pick up some dishes from the table. J.J. joined them.
“I guess we’ll turn in early,” said Donald, turning to J.J. “You wanna start around six in the morning?”
“Some vacation,” interjected Sabs. She hugged J.J. around the waist.
“I’m used to oh-dark-thirty,” replied J.J. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen with coffee brewing.”
As the three carried dishes and cooking utensils inside, a cell phone began to ring.
“That’s mine,” said Donald. “Susan, my phone is on the entry table. Do you see the display lit up? Can you see who it is?”
“Darn it!” shouted Susan, with an accompanying thud as she hit a piece of furniture in the dark. “I’ve got the phone, but I was too late. It reads
missed call
.” Donald led the way into the large entry of the main building dubbed 1PP—One Prescott Peninsula.
“I’ll get the lanterns and flashlights,” he said. He found his way to the kitchen and set his stack of dishes in the sink. The building was not equipped with emergency lighting like a commercial building might be. Like so many of the projects commissioned by John Morgan on behalf of the Boston Brahmin, the entirety of the 1PP compound was built without permits or the prying eyes of governmental entities. Publicly, the complex was known as a shelter for families fleeing abusive domestic partners. In reality, it was a state-of-the-art bug-out location developed without cost being a factor. Despite the opulence, one of Donald’s twenty-four-dollar Rayovac camping lanterns shed all the light he needed in the pantry. He grabbed a flashlight and another lantern.
J.J. and Sabs joined him in the kitchen. He provided them a lantern and a flashlight. “You guys can find your way to your bungalow with these. Hopefully, the power will come back on soon enough. If we keep the refrigerators and freezers closed through the night, our food should be fine.”
“I agree,” said J.J. “Tell Susan good night for us.”
“I just got a text from Julia,” yelled Susan from the open living area.
Donald led the way out of the kitchen and lit up Susan’s face with his flashlight. He saw the look on her face. “What?”
“It reads—
grid down
,
long-lasting
,
be ready
.”
Donald leaned against a foyer table and set down his lantern. No one spoke until he broke the silence. “Try to call her.”
“I already did. All circuits are busy.”
“System is overloaded,” Donald muttered. “Send back a text and ask her for details.”
Susan began typing.
He turned to J.J. “Guys, would you mind grabbing a couple of the weather radios out of the pantry,” asked Donald. “J.J., grab our two-way sets. We’ll need to be ready to advise our security after we gather a few more details.”
“I’m on it, buddy,” replied J.J.
“Sabs, would you mind going downstairs and grabbing one of the satphones out of the Faraday cages.”
“No problem, Donald,” replied Sabs. “Weapons?”
Donald thought for a moment. Julia would not joke about something like this. The text message was cryptic, but they were in the city. She and Sarge had a lot of things to do to secure 100 Beacon.
“I think so. Sidearms for us, but not Susan. No need to frighten the girls.”
Susan walked up to Donald after J.J. and Sabs left on their errands. “The message finally went out after several tries. Donald, what does this mean?”
“I don’t know. Let’s use every information-gathering tool available to us. Our cell phones are Verizon. We’ll have J.J. try his AT&T network. The portable radios might shed some light. Let’s give Julia and Sarge some time to get organized. I’m sure she’ll have her satphone up and running shortly.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“I need you to focus on the girls. As far as I’m concerned, let them sleep until morning. If the power is not back on, we’ll kick on the generators for short periods of time. They won’t even notice the change.”
“Okay,” she said. “Anything else I can do?”
J.J. returned from the kitchen with two radios. Donald took the Sony shortwave world band unit first.
“Monitor the Sony shortwave for any station, both in the States and abroad. Make notes. We get clear reception out here.”
J.J. handed Donald the Midland GMRS two-way crank unit out of its box. Donald gave it to Susan. “The Midland will be useful for local communications. You’ll be able to pick up radio stations, citizens band traffic, ham radio chatter, and local law enforcement.”
“Do you want me to grab any of the computer equipment?” asked J.J.
“Not yet,” replied Donald. “Let’s make sure this isn’t an EMP attack. There might be more incoming nukes. Let’s not jump the gun and fry our stuff. Susan has plenty to listen to.”
“All right, I’ll go help Sabs,” said J.J.
“Before you go, let me have your cell. Susan will continue to attempt contact with Sarge and Julia.”
J.J. pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave it to an already overloaded Susan.
“Brad?” inquired J.J.
“He’s next on my list,” replied Donald. He turned as Sabs emerged from the hidden stairwell with three holstered weapons, a satphone, and a Mossberg Tactical shotgun.
“Just in case,” she said as she handed the Mossberg to J.J. and distributed the weapons. Because they had trained together, each of the Loyal Nine knew their partner’s favorite weapon and method of carry. Donald insisted in like calibers for their handguns and rifles. He would have preferred common brands as well, but some of the weapons connoisseurs had differences in opinions. Just like sports fans might argue over who the greatest quarterback of all time was, gun owners would endlessly debate the virtues of Glock versus Sig Sauer versus H & K. Regardless of brand, Donald insisted that everyone carry a full-size .45 caliber in a padded waist holster except for Sabs, who preferred a leg holster. He had thousands of rounds of .45 ammunition stored as well as multiple backups for their preferred weapons. The prepper rule of redundancy applied to security as well—
Three is two, two is one, one is none
.
Donald turned to J.J. and Sabs. “I need you guys to assess our
troop strength
—with humble apologies for being tongue-in-cheek. Who does Brad have assigned to us this weekend, and how many are in position?”
“It’s not Falcone,” replied J.J. “I think it might be Shore.” Chief Warrant Officer Kyle Shore, along with Master Gunny Sergeant Frank Falcone, were Brad’s two most trusted officers.
“Okay,” started Donald. “Try to raise Shore on the radio and find out where he is. Advise him of the situation in person and help spread the word. We need to put our perimeter defenses on alert but without a bunch of radio chatter.” He rubbed Susan’s back and saw a look of concern on her face.
“If we can listen to others, they can listen to us. Let’s maintain radio discipline.”
“We’re on it,” said Sabs. J.J. and Sabs left with their flashlights. Donald thought quietly for a moment until he heard the Kawasaki Mule fire up and head up the trail toward the entry gate. It had been nearly half an hour.
We need information. Assess. Secure. Survive.
Chapter 49
September 3, 2016
9:58 p.m.
1st Battalion, 25th Marines HQ
Fort Devens, Massachusetts
Brad paced back and forth in his office. Gunny Falcone and First Lieutenant Chin Gibson stood just inside the doorway. The generators at Fort Devens were fully operational, and activity on the compound was frantic. Rumors were rampant among the unit, and Brad was just now getting a full briefing.
“Yes, General, I understand.” Brad looked at two of his trusted officers, who remained unflappable. Brad continued to pace and finally leaned against the credenza, seated between the American flag and the Standard—the flag of the United States Marine Corps. As he listened, he looked into the eyes of his men.
Were they ready for this
?
Brad quickly jumped up and repeated into the satellite phone, “DEFCON 2, sir? What intel do—” Brad was cut off.
“Yes, sir, I understand. I will watch for further communications.” Brad ended the call and slumped into his desk chair. He set the phone on the desk and motioned for Falcone and Gibson to sit as well.
“Sir, did I hear you correctly?” asked 1
st
LT Gibson. “DEFCON 2?”
“That is correct, gentlemen,” replied Brad. “First, the extent of the power outage is nationwide and extends into Canada and northern Mexico. Only Alaska, Hawaii, and Texas continue to have power.”
“Sir, may I speak frankly?” asked Gibson.
“Gentlemen, as I have said, we should maintain proper military decorum when in the presence of the others, but in private, we are a team. Always speak freely.”
“Thank you, sir. DEFCON 2 indicates the Pentagon is preparing for a nuclear war. Were we nuked?”
“No. I’m told that an unknown source has perpetrated a sophisticated cyber attack on the majority of the nation’s power grid. The general did not say we were arming the nukes. He said the Joint Chiefs declared DEFCON 2 out of an abundance of caution.”
“Is this because of the Russian sub activity off the East Coast?” asked Gunny Falcone.
“Probably,” replied Brad. “Over the summer, the Russians have expanded their presence in the Arctic region. A cyber attack could be a harbinger of war. Time will tell. Under these circumstances, DEFCON 2 is not necessarily a bad idea. I’m just surprised the President agreed with the designation. He typically doesn’t like to ruffle feathers.”
“You mean, he cowers to the Russians,” said Gibson.
“I get it, Gibson. He’s still our Commander-in-Chief,” said Brad.
“You said speak freely. You know me, sir.”
Brad stood up and observed the activity on the base. Marines scurried about like ants, stopping to exchange information before hustling to their next stop. He wondered how many of these Marines would ask to leave or simply walk away from their post to be with their families.
“There’s more,” started Brad. “The general told me to prepare for orders regarding domestic deployment. They are going to call up all reservists, and we will be given orders regarding the use of troops locally.”