!Woodsmen
 ---
by Anna @ 2024
 ---
Chapter 6: Peril
 ---
The guys came back from the gate giddy, dismissive.
Fuck that guy, one of them said. They headed for a
campfire.

What happened? Mike asked.

Dumb locals, the guy said. Grab your walkie, it's 
over. We'll debrief at the morning meeting.

Nights in the summer woods are loud. Mike was the
only dumb local on security, the only one might have
to cope with fallout, seems like the only one didn't
know what happened.

Back at the fire Reggie and Mama Chris had moved on
to other talk. Mike didn't care. He didn't want to
be dissected anymore.

I'm not local, he thought. I'm from the next county
over. Still, I know local stuff they don't know.

Before he lay down in his sleeping bag with no woman
beside him Mike walked up into the woods past the
areas he made nice for the guys from out of town and
their families. Just inside the woods he stopped,
worked the shell out of his rifle's chamber, put it
in his jacket pocket.

He headed for the ridge. Crickets and cicadas 
hollered, leaves crunched. The sky when he could see 
it through dark lush treetops was painted with the
milky way's brushstroke band.

Was it Floyd at the gate? he wondered.

The thing about Mike was, he was lonely. He was a
man without a place, or he didn't like his place or 
something. He thought about re-enlisting if there
was some way. He could go to meetings and show he
was clean, tell a story about the disease of
addiction. He could tell them he found Jesus in
Shirley Chester's church and Jesus told him he
wanted nothing more than for Uncle Sam to tell him
what to do again.

He'd look at who was in camp the next day, where 
they came from. See if he could find his place in
the movement. Or at least maybe get laid.

He woke in his sleeping bag an hour before the
breakfast bell. At the morning security huddle, the
overnight dispatcher said some guys got too drunk
after Mike's shift, but nothing happened.

Should they do something about the revelers? Pass a
rule about drinking? A sober fire; a curfew? They
needed to keep this thing political, discourage it
from turning into a party.

Would militia leaders think it was petty to call
them together for that? Would free agents resent
being left out? Fuck it, they decided. It'll be
fine. Liberals think people are perfectible. We
don't.

One of the guys would talk to doc, make a plan for
late-night campfire injuries, report back at
afternoon huddle.

It fell to Clint to speak on the gate altercation.
The fucking Sheriff, Clint said. He didn't want to
fuck with us. Still, I had to give him a good reason
to stay off the property, away from our license
plates.

What'd you guys do? Mike asked.

Handled it the Blount county way, Clint said. If he
thinks everybody here's from out of town, we lose.
He thinks there's enough local folks here to put his
re-election prospects in question, well that's our
bit in his mouth, and he's our horse. Strategic
ambiguity on how many voters are here. Tell jokes,
yuk it up with the asshole, direct him elsewhere.

Mike would have liked to see that. He found Dennis
at breakfast.

I don't get it man, he told Dennis.

Get what?

I'm from here. Well, from Madison county. Or, I 
lived there the last three years at least. You know
what I mean. I'm from here. These guys are our
guests, right? They're visiting, we're home.

But then I'm the low guy on the totem pole, even 
though they park on hay I laid, shoot on ranges I
cleared, don't have to slap the skeeters I killed. I
mean, what the fuck, man?

Some of them been doing this stuff longer than us,
Dennis said. They're better organized, they got---
there's a lot of stuff you don't know yet, Mike. 
Just soak it in. Learn what you can. Good things are
happening here.

How many of us are there? Mike asked.

That's need to know, Dennis said. You don't.

Mike guessed he didn't need to know. But he needed
something.

What should I do today? he asked Dennis.

Your shift starts at three, right? There's a ditch 
medicine workshop with doc after breakfast. I know
you been wanting to learn more of that. Regional
meeting's during your shift, unfortunately. Try to
get to know Michigan better. I think one of them's
having a discussion about recruiting at lunch.

All I gotta say is this is an opportunity, Mike.
Everybody here's just people. People are idiots, but
we're trying to be a movement. We gotta get aligned
operationally, ideologically, strategically. Pay
attention, man. This isn't about our egos, it's
about a future for our kids.

Mike crunched his bacon. He might like to have some
kids, kids with a future. He looked around at the
kids in camouflage and little boots piling up rocks,
arguing about the rules of their game.

Some women sat close to their men, some teenagers
off by themselves. Mike could see who knew each
other. If Mike wasn't from here, he'd probably be
sitting with his guys, not just Dennis. But his guys
were keeping the camp running.

Do you have kids? he asked Dennis.

Three, Dennis said. He pointed at the children 
piling up rocks. Jessica's the bossy one over there.
I don't know where the other two are.

Michigan Reggie led the lunch discussion. He didn't
look like he remembered Mike from the campfire. Mike
ate his hot dog.

Movement needs people, Reggie said. To get people,
movement has to ask itself, what do those people 
need? Better yet, ask the people what they need.

In Michigan they delivered firewood, working with
white boys and teenagers to cut and load it. They
paid. They could afford to give away some wood to
neighbors in need.

In Cleveland they joined a dying Elks hall, pretty
much took it over. Then they flyered in the white
projects to promote videotapes they showed and
skinhead punk shows. Different fliers, different
tapes helped them test what people cared about. They
couldn't flier anymore. Housing authority and city
cops were onto them.

What kind of movement can you build out of the
underclass? One guy asked. What kind of soldiers do
wiggers and their stripper girlfriends make?

Too early to say, Cleveland said. We till the earth
we got.

What kind of videos?

Waco and Clinton, the war on drugs, ZOG Jews
sacrificing our best in their wars. Preparing for
hard times ahead.

Hard times are here already for white people in the
projects, said another Cleveland guy. 

Their dads had good industrial jobs, unbroken
families. You're right they been degraded. You gotta
meet people's needs, help them see whose fault it is
they been denied the dignity owed to them. They're
not exactly friendly people to deal with, but if we
can get around the officers, I think we'll get some
very good fighters out of the projects.

Mike found the Michigan fire that night. They told
stories, stuff Mike didn't get, laughed at follies
of people Mike didn't know. They started to say
other stuff, glanced at him, thought twice, stopped.

The sky was clear. Moon was big. Fire was good to
look at. Cicadas were loud.

Mike tried to do what Dennis said, pay attention.
He could hear rowdy laughter off in the woods at
another fire, a guitar. The Michigan people sounded
like they were waiting for something to happen.

Mike got up, walked away from the fire, pissed
against a tree, started back, and there was Reggie.

Mike, right? He said in the darkness.

Yeah, Mike said.

You're quiet tonight.

Dennis told me to shut up and listen.

Good advice, Reggie said. You helped set all this
up? Reggie knew the answer. He wasn't asking. He was
leading. Mike knew that much.

Yeah, Mike said. I helped.

How'd you get conscious? What got you in the
movement?

Mike knew this was the real question, so he thought.
Thinking didn't make his reason any less stupid.

Hard times, Mike said. I work with Jim. Haven't seen
him this weekend, but if you know us, you know him.
He gave me some side work to get me out of a spot. I
met Dennis and the guys through him.

I'm just learning, man, Mike said. I feel like I 
don't know half of what everybody's talking about.
It seems like things are more fucked up than I
know, but I'm just a dumb grunt. I don't need to
understand all of it. I just need somebody I trust
to tell me what to do.

I trust Jim because he was decent to me when I was
in trouble and nobody else cared. The rest I guess
somebody'll tell me when I need to know.

You were in Desert Dust? Reggie asked.

Desert what?

Desert Storm, Reggie said.

Yeah, Mike said. You?

I was, said Reggie. Mike noticed they were walking
toward the fire. You should ask some of your
questions, man, Reggie said. Think before you ask.
No details of movement work, nothing you wouldn't
want to repeat in front of a judge, but open your
fucking mouth, man. We don't know you. We're trying
to relax, be at ease.

I'm sorry, man, Mike said. Reggie's back was turned.
He was heading back to the far side of the fire.
Conversation fell silent. Everybody looked at the
fire. Mike knew he had to say something.

Sorry I haven't said much tonight, he said. A lot of 
what y'all talk about just flies over my head.

You like our company, though, a guy in a red flannel
and a Wolverines ball cap said.

I do, Mike said. I guess.

Nobody said anything.

Dennis told me to hang around y'all til I get
smarter, Mike said. I don't know if it's working.

Reggie saved Mike. You aren't just here because of 
personal misfortune and the kindness of a good dude,
Reggie said. Everybody here's nursing a question.
What's your question? What is it about the way
things are keeps you up at night?

Iraq, Mike said. What the fuck were we doing there?
What did we want with Saddam? What was that about?

Burning branches crackled, sent up a shower of
sparks. One guy walked off into the woods. Dennis 
came out of the woods and sat down.

Wife just about got the kids asleep, he said. Hi
Mike. Good night to be outside. He looked around.
What did I interrupt?

Desert Dust, Reggie said. Mike wants to know what we
were doing.

You're asking better questions, Dennis said.

What kind of political training do you do in
Kentucky? Reggie asked.

This, Dennis said. This campout is us trying to grow
up.

The guy in the flannel and ball cap spoke up again.
How many nations did they say were in the coalition?
he asked.

A hundred, Mike said.

You were on the base or on patrol? flannel asked.

Base, Mike said.

You see a hundred nations?

I mean, Mike said, shit, let me see. Germany. Norway
I think. The British 'course, um, Turkey, Belgium.
What the fuck is the---uh, Jordan, I think? Some
hispanic country, Colombia or Brazil I guess. India.
Uh, there were some tall Africans? Oh yeah, the
goddamn Greeks---

Mike saw Reggie and Dennis were on the same page as
flannel. Why? he asked.

A rainbow coalition, flannel said.

Exactly, Reggie said. What do you guys know about
the new world order?

Dennis talked before Mike could. We know we have 
more to learn, he said.

Start with this, flannel said. A bunch of the colors
in that rainbow just signed a treaty that's going to
put Europe under one government, with one military.
Who's got the most solid citizen's militia in the
world right now?

Mike shook his head.

Croatians, flannel said. They got a blue-and-white
rainbow occupying their backyard. United Nations
troops all over Bosnia and Herzegovina wrecking 
shit, imposing rule by force of arms on the unruly.
Same colors as the Zionists. You better believe they
got some of their big trained silverbacks there,
just like in your rainbow coalition in the desert.

So we're---Mike paused and thought. Night sounds,
fire sounds rushed in. We're gonna be the Croatians.

We're going to be the Croatians, flannel said. If we
can get our shit together. If we don't, we'll be
running away like Saddam's pussies when it starts
here.

Mike reeled through his security shift huddle,
reeled as he bivvy'd down in his sleeping bag.

He'd been thinking with the concepts available to
him. Those concepts weren't enough. He asked about
something he didn't understand. He was answered
entirely with other stuff he didn't understand. To
know why we were in Iraq, he had to learn European
politics, the war in Yugoslavia, Zionism, and the
UN.

If he knew that stuff, maybe he'd understand how
Clinton ran cocaine as governor, got teenage girls
hooked on it to fuck them, got elected when any
other man'd be in jail. He'd know why abortions were
available on demand, why the ATF burned those kids
to death in Waco.

Which ones are the Croatians? Mike thought. Bosnians
are the Muslim ones, Serbs are the bad ones. He had
to watch the tapes flannel told him to watch before
it got too late and he got left behind. He had to
grasp what's happening, what the movement's supposed
to do about it, what he was supposed to do. 

The week after the campout Okonite had a stand-up
meeting at shift change. Management announced the
furloughs they negotiated with the union. A manager
said everybody who stayed home'd get a bonus and a
commemorative cup to remind him to be proud he made
the red, white, and blue submarine cable to the
Statue of Liberty. His cable lights the lamp beside
the golden door.

The weed needed to be trimmed soon. The guys would
need a few more trustworthy people to get it done.
Mike knew Jim was probably thinking the same thing.

Mike was moved off forklift onto a machine that
twisted insulated cable around a core. Together,
wires withstand higher tension, carry more voltage,
resist more shear. Mike felt like a single-stranded
wire in need of that strength and safety.

A video came in the mail that week. Mike watched it
with a meat lover's pizza. He felt more confused. He
needed Jim or Dennis to talk it over with. He didn't
know where either of them lived.

Mike had seen the black helicopters fly from the
bluegrass Army depot. Were they part of the Multi
Jurisdictional Task Force the guy in the video said
swept from the Ohio river valley up to Michigan in
'91, and confiscated gun purchase records from the
file cabinets of sellers?

Where'd the nearest FEMA camp be? The guy in the
video said forty-three were predeployed for movement
people who won't give up their guns. Did he need to
buy something fires ammo he could take off UN troops
when whatever was going to happen happened? Could he
leave no records to be seized? Was this all real?

Mike told me about this period of turmoil later. He
watched newspapers in the Richmond library for the
twenty thousand US troops supposed to be under UN
authority in Bosnia-Herzegovina, twenty thousand in
Somalia, twenty thousand in Cambodia, eighteen
thousand in Peru. He sat next to a globe, learned
where UN-occupied countries are.

Wednesday night Mike left the bar in Richmond before
he drank much. He drove to Shirley Chester's. She
got home from church, startled at him waiting on her
porch steps. She didn't walk back to her husband's
truck.

Mrs. Shirley, Mike said. I'm here to talk to you and
your husband. Him first, before he leaves.

You know I have to get ready for bed soon, she said.
I'm glad to see you. Don't be long.

Mike walked down to the gravel. Mr. Chester's
headlights illuminated him.  Mike got in the
passenger seat. Where'd you go? Mr.  Chester asked.

Back to work.

Why're you back now?

Mr. Chester, Mike said. I'm wrestling with questions
got me completely turned around. I'm here because
you were in Germany and I wasn't.

I have to visit Shirley's boy, Mr. Chester said. I
work tomorrow.

I understand, sir, Mike said. Where is he?

Hospital. He needs surgery for a gunshot leg.
somebody shot him near the old Pauley place on 52.
Sheriff treated it with less concern than I'd hoped.
You go talk to Shirley. Save whatever you got to say
to me for later.

Sorry, Mike said.

Mr. Chester looked at him strange. I appreciate it,
he said. Put him in your prayers. He's not well-
suited to be stuck in there. I can only do so much
to keep him calm. I'm afraid for him.

I mean to say I'm in a hurry, Mr. Chester said. I
need you to get out of my truck.

Mike did. He knocked at Shirley's door. She walked
out, sat on a rocker in the hot dark.

I missed my baptism, he said.

Did you find another church? One closer to you?
Shirley was guarded and tired.

I got caught up in work and things, Mike said. How's
your son.

She looked at him surprised, confused, tired again.
He doesn't do well trapped in, well, anywhere.
School, residential homes, hospital, he explodes so
easy when he's caged. He isn't wicked, just scared,
but they're afraid of him. They don't know how to
keep him calm.

I'm afraid he'll hurt somebody, or they'll hurt him.
God will make a way where I see none, but of course
we can't afford the surgery. It'll cost me this
house if God wills. I pray He does not.

Ma'am, Mike found himself saying. There's a lot of
bad stuff going on in the world right now. I don't
understand it. I don't think it's right. I can pray
for your boy, I think. I can do that. I'll join you
for church once in a while, Mike said, surprised.

Mike paused. I---we need to look out for each other.
Well, you looked out for me already. We---

Mike tried to look at it from Shirley Chester's 
perspective, like Reggie might do. Do you have some
scripture to put on it, Mrs. Shirley?

Shirley Chester rocked. Then she stopped. I do, she
said. Psalm 144.

 Make our sons in their prime
    like sturdy oak trees,
 Our daughters shapely and bright
    as fields of wildflowers.
 Fill our barns with great harvest,
    our fields with huge flocks;
 Protect us from invasion and exile---
    eliminate the crime in our streets.

Mike ejected his Motley Crue tape, drove home
silent. He turned her scripture over in his head.
Sons aren't sturdy anymore, he thought. Daughters
are sullied. We're in debt, eating fried bologna.
Criminal Mexicans and UN troops invade us. We're in
exile at home. Clint probably shot Shirley's son.