!Woodsmen
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by Anna @ 2016
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Chapter 5: Camp-out
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Mike made it through the rest of the week at work
without going crazy again. He paid attention to what
he was doing. He thought about the camp-out coming
up. He thought about how bad it must be in Mexico if
they wanted to come here. He thought about how he
wanted to tell me about the Terry guy and his dead
sister and apologize for he knew not what.
In the break room he ate, drank his coffee and
Mountain Dew, but didn't have much to say.
Cat got your tongue? Don Hansen asked.
Cat? Hell I wish.
Fuck you mean man? Don asked.
Wish I was getting some pussy, Mike said. That
cracked Don up and got him off Mike's back, because
Don had plenty to say on that topic.
Mike's weekend came on Sunday. On the road to the
old Pauley place out past Ravenna, the white Tercel
started to emit a grinding noise from the right
front wheel and pull a little to the right on turns.
He turned off 52 onto the steep road up the mountain
and off that onto the gravel track. He stopped to
open the gate, then continued up and around the
curve to the place where people park, which he had
extended with hay. Jim's truck was there. Him and
Dennis were setting up a pop-up tent for the
security team.
Mike got out of his car and helped. Sympathy for the
Devil was on the radio. The work cleared his mind,
pushing the bad bearing, Floyd, and the bloody truck
on Crooksville Road to the corners of his mind. A
few more guys showed up with folding tables, more
pop-up tents, lawn chairs, coolers.
A guy unloaded a generator and a couple boat
batteries, set up a field antenna for the CB base
station in the security tent. He gave Mike a walkie-
talkie. Another guy rode his four-wheeler out into
the woods and started a chainsaw.
Mike sat behind the table for his security shift
with a guy from the Blount County division of the
Tennessee Militia. The guy had a 1911 .45 ACP open-
carried on his hip and a Colt AR-15 leaned on the
table. Mike walked back to his car, got his Savage
99 .30-30 out of the trunk.
They put a rock on the stack of photocopies of the
hand-drawn map with the loose schedule of events for
the week.
You like the AR-15? Mike asked.
Legos for grownups, the guy said. Look. He pulled
the mag, stripped barrel from receiver from stock,
then tore it the rest of the way down.
No tools, the guy said. You can swap barrels,
change caliber, add grips, put a flashlight or a
laser on the rails, switch stocks, easy as getting
dressed in the morning.
I'm Mike, Mike said as the guy reassembled his
rifle.
This one has an auto conversion kit on it, the guy
said. With a selector switch. I can do single shots,
three-round bursts, or full auto. I'm Clint. I sell
truck insurance in Blount County. It was my mama's
job. When she got killed by a nigger in Knoxville
they hired me because they knew I could do it. You
know anybody needs to insure a commercial vehicle in
Tennessee, I give guys in the movement a discount.
I drive forklift, Mike said. I work with Jim.
Clint finished putting his rifle back together,
stood and slung it over his left shoulder. Want to
test the radios? he asked. I can go do gate
security.
Go ahead, Mike said.
You familiar with CB? Clint asked.
Some but can always learn more, Mike said. He'd
never operated a CB radio.
Let me know if I'm starting too basic. He laid his
handheld radio on the folding table next to the base
station. The radios have numbers. See the label?
This is radio twenty-one. There's four more. Radio
twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, and twenty-
five. We might switch to handles or team handles.
For now call the radio, not the operator.
Base station's radio dispatch. Cut it on and off
here. Clint flipped a switch. We're on channel
fifteen. If it needs to change, that's the channel
selector. Adjust squelch here and volume here.
When you call identify your radio and which radio
you're calling. You might call me at the gate, Radio
dispatch calling radio twenty-one. I say, This is
radio twenty-one go ahead. If I don't understand you
I say, Radio dispatch repeat your last. When we're
done we both sign off. You say, Radio dispatch out.
I say, Radio twenty-one out. Not too bad, is it?
Not too bad, Mike said.
You were in the service?
Yeah. Army.
Great, Clint said. Spell things the NATO way, Echo
Tango Alpha, right?
Good deal, Mike said.
I'll walk just past your line of sight and we'll
check in. Then I'll head down to the gate.
Got it, Mike said.
Good working with you, Clint said. He adjusted his
rifle sling on his shoulder, picked up the handheld
CB radio, walked down the road as two more pick-ups
drove up to the parking area.
One of those guys backed a four-wheeler down two
planks from the bed of his truck, parked it by the
security tent. He cut it off and dismounted. Keys
are in the ignition, he told Mike.
The base station barked, Radio twenty-one calling
radio dispatch.
Hold up, man, Mike said to the guy. He held down the
call button. This is radio dispatch, he said. Radio
twenty-one go ahead.
I hear you loud and clear, radio dispatch, Clint
said over the air. I'm going to head down to the
gate. Radio twenty-one out.
Radio dispatch out, Mike said.
The guy with the four-wheeler said, Dennis wanted me
to bring this by for people to bring their camping
stuff out to the woods. And if security has to get
somewhere fast. I'll be back by later.
Good to meet you, Mike said. Thanks.
The work was paying off. Mike felt good. He wasn't
lonely, he wasn't broke, he wasn't spurned, he
wasn't useless, he wasn't a bad dude.
He had put together a good campground. He was a gear
in a working machine. He lit a cigarette, waited for
Clint to call again. The guy who brought the four-
wheeler turned around on the straw, drove slowly
back down toward the gate.
Mike's little militia-fest officially started
Saturday, but Friday night the early birds sat
around the bonfire. A big woman from Michigan in
full forest camo fatigues held forth. Her guys
called her Mama Chris. She cracked everybody up,
ashed into the fire.
I'm not mad, she said. Lots of the guys in the
movement are mad, but that's a waste of time. I just
pay attention. We need people. That's it. We need to
make a living. We need to be able to defend our
families. No need to be mad, just do it. Raise your
damn kids. Talk to your neighbors. Help each other.
Protect each other. She spit in the fire. No need to
be mad.
Mike had listened to conversations around the fire
for a while, feeling like he didn't know enough to
weigh in. But this woman bothered him.
That's well and good, man, Mike said. Mama Chris
stared into the fire while he spoke, respecting him
better than the guys in his own division did. That's
all well and good, but you tell me to act right when
other people don't, and I don't see as how they
wouldn't just fuck over me.
How so? Mama Chris said.
Well, as I see it, I could do what you say and show
up to run off some Mexican trying to rape my
neighbor's wife, right? So we run him off and then
what happens? My neighbor beats her up the same
night. The next night my neighbor comes up to my
place with his headlights off and stuff, and tries
to steal my tools out of my garage. What, is the
Mexican supposed to come back and help me run him
off?
Mike coughed, found his cigarettes. Mama Chris and
the guys on his side of the fire waited to see if
Mike had more to say. Before he lit the cigarette,
he said, I'm not trying to knock it, just, well you
didn't know my parents. Let's trade parents, maybe
I'd be arguing your side right now. He pulled a
stick out of the fire, lit his cigarette. Mama Chris
got ready to speak.
Lemme tell him what I think, said Reggie, another
Michigan guy but from a different division. All of
them treated Mama Chris deferentially and it was
infectious. Mama Chris picked up her Bud Light and
took a sip.
Now look, Reggie said. Why's that Mexican going to
want to do anything for you? He ain't from here and
what he gets he sends home--
I didn't mean--, Mike started.
You talkin out your ass on that one, Reggie said.
And you know it.
Mike chuckled. Reggie had him.
Your name's Mike right?
All my life, Mike said.
Well Mike, let's take a look at it. That's what we
do in my division with a question. Mama Chris nodded
and picked up her beer. Reggie said, You got your
opinion from the life you lived, so that's where
we're going to go.
Mike's radio barked, Radio twenty-one calling radio
dispatch. It was hard to hear, but that's why the
codes.
Radio twenty-one, I'm on radio twenty-five right
now, Mike said, finger on the talk button. Can't
hear you good. Go ahead.
The radio barked static, ...your last.
He can't hear you, Mama Chris said.
You running that thing on full duplex? another guy
asked.
Hell, I don't know, man, he said. He stood,
shouldered his deer rifle, walked back toward the
security tent. The radio barked again, static. Radio
twenty-one I can't hear you, Mike said to it.
At the security tent he got on the base station.
Radio twenty-one, this is radio dispatch, Mike said
into it. I switched radios. Go ahead.
Dispatch, I hear you loud and clear, it barked. We
got a situation. Get some guys. Bring our agreement
on this place.
Ten-four radio twenty-one, Mike said to it.
Dispatch, be quick. Twenty-one out.
Radio dispatch out, Mike responded.
The guy who asked if it was running full duplex was
just about at the security tent in the dark. Get
some of the guys on security, Mike said. Situation
at the gate.
He held the base station's handset to his mouth.
Security, this is dispatch. Security, we have a
situation at the gate. Who has the agreement on this
place? He waited. This is dispatch. Security report
in and go to the gate. If you have the agreement,
say so. Over.
The base station barked. Dispatch, this is radio
twenty-three. On my way. Twenty-two and twenty-four
called in too.
Radio twenty-three, he said. Get somebody to find
out who has the agreement on this place. Tell him to
bring it to the gate. This is dispatch.
Copy that dispatch, twenty-three said.
This is radio dispatch, Mike said. Come in radio
twenty-two.
Radio twenty-two, the base station barked. Go ahead.
Radio twenty-two, what's your echo tango alpha?
Dispatch, five minutes or less, over.
Radio twenty-two, Mike said. You're my eyes. You
got me? Over.
Dispatch, ten-four. I'll tell you what I see.
Mike sat in silence. He could smell the campfire
back up the slope where he'd confronted Mama Chris.
Racket of night woods, vague voices in the distance
in the intervals when the crickets quit. The
altercation at the gate was too far away to see the
headlights.
Mike grabbed his old .30-30 by the grip and laid it
on the table. He clicked the little magazine out and
pulled out cartridges, one, two, three, four, five.
He pushed each cartridge back into the mag, one,
two, three, four, five.
He stood and walked over to his Tercel, got a box of
ammo, set it on the table, sat down, opened it and
pulled out another shell. He worked the lever on the
old rifle, opened the chamber, loaded a shell, and
clicked the mag back in. Six shots til reload.
The radio remained silent, the summer night up the
ridge loud.
