Grid Down the New Reality Read online

  Grid Down The New Reality

  Part 1, Volume 3

  Bruce Buckshot Hemming

  Published by Bruce Buckshot Hemming, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  GRID DOWN THE NEW REALITY

  First edition. April 12, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Bruce Buckshot Hemming.

  ISBN: 978-1533716781

  Written by Bruce Buckshot Hemming.

  This book is dedicated to Sara Freeman who started this journey with me 5 years ago. Sara lost her battle to cancer last spring. May she rest in peace.

  GRID DOWN

  — VOLUME 3 —

  THE NEW REALITY

  by

  Bruce “Buckshot” Hemming

  Monica Lee Ray

  The New Reality

  Copyright © 2016 Bruce “Buckshot” Hemming

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1530843701

  ISBN-10: 1530843707

  Copyright © All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, for profit or gain by sale, trade, barter, or otherwise © without the expressed and prior permission of authors.

  Cover design: Dawn Smith www.darkdawncreations.com

  Ebook formatting: MrLasers.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This is a fictional book. No tactics or technique are recommended without proper safety training from a qualified expert. Do not attempt anything in this book, as it may result in personal injury or harm. The authors or publisher assume no liability for your actions.

  The reader bears all responsibility associated with the use of the information contained in this book, including those risks associated with reliance of the accuracy, thoroughness or appropriateness of the information for any situation represented.

  The authors and publishers specifically disclaim all responsibility from any prosecution or proceedings brought or instituted against any person or body

  for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, which is incurred as a consequence of the use or misuse and application of any of the contents of this book.

  Other books from the author:

  Grid Down Reality Bites

  Gird Down Perceptions of Reality Part 1

  Gird Down Perceptions of Reality Part 2

  Gird Down Perceptions of Reality Part 3

  The Rabid Mind

  This book is dedicated to Sara Freeman who started this journey with me 5 years ago. Sara lost her battle to cancer last spring. May she rest in peace.

  This book was finished with the help of several people and I would like to take the time to thank everyone.

  Huge thank you to Monica Lee Ray, Co Author, whose attention to detail and hard work makes this a great book to read.

  The final editor for the finishing polish.

  Dawn Smith for another outstanding cover. www.darkdawncreations.com

  And of course everyone else that help with their tips on survival.

  Content

  Prologue: The New Reality

  Chapter 1: Escape from Wisconsin

  Chapter 2: A New Beginning

  Chapter 3: Young Vipers

  Chapter 4: Night Time Cattle Rustling.

  Chapter 5: Walking is good for the soul

  Chapter 6: Freedom or Taxation.

  Chapter 7: When Things Go Bump in the Night

  Chapter 8: True Independence or Bust

  Chapter 9: Keep a low profile

  Chapter 10: A helping hand

  Chapter 11: If you’re going to play you have to pay!

  Chapter 12: A Friendly Cult?

  Chapter 13: The Lazy R

  Chapter 14: The Bull stops here

  Chapter 15: 4-44 Law

  Chapter 16: One out of ten

  Chapter 17: Chicken thieves

  Chapter 18: A Christmas to Remember

  Volume 3 References

  Prologue

  The Chinese had made a serious attempt at conquering the post-EMP United States under the guise of “humanitarian aid.” They had secretly supported the Rainbow Warriors, a loosely organized militant wacko animal-rights organization, with weapons and strategy. They had also landed troops and supplies at ports along the West Coast in cargo ships. The United States was just too big, and they found protecting Chinese troops and supplies on long inland journeys quickly became unworkable. Bands of American patriots stopped them and their surrogates, with scrounged rifles, hoarded ammunition and donated supplies. Local National Guard armories provided heavy weapons and explosives. It was too much for the Chinese.

  China learned what Japan had known in World War II. “You cannot invade the mainland of the United States. There would be a rifle behind each blade of grass.” Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto’s statement was very descriptive of this conflict. Although the death toll due to the EMP was staggering, the remaining citizens of the US drew together to fight for their right to live free. The 10% of people who survived were predominantly rural, armed, and dangerous. They had their pick of weapons from the homes of those who had died. They also opened up local National Guard armories for heavy weapons. Ex-military and Special Forces survivors trained patriots into effective units, defending their homes, their neighbors and eventually their country.

  Admiral Yamamoto also stated, “I fear all we have done is awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.” That, too was accurate in the fight against the Chinese. The sleeping giant had awakened and China was forced to retreat. There were too many lone wolf snipers killing Chinese officers and NCOs, homemade IEDs cutting supply lines, and camouflaged men fading away to strike again. The patriot armies drove out the Chinese just as Washington and Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox, had driven out the British so long ago.

  “These Americans,” explained the Chinese admiral, “even with no power and 90% of their population dead, didn’t stop fighting.” The admiral knew it was simply not worth it. “They fought on using guerrilla tactics—not staying in one place to be defeated. They did not listen to propaganda, they did not fall for traps, and they did not take bribes.” The Russians had learned the hard way in Afghanistan that you cannot subdue a country if its people will not lay down their arms. The Chinese admiral didn’t want to make the same mistake, tying China up in a war that would last for years and end in defeat.

  The Chinese re-boarded their remaining ships and went home. “Let these savages have the land and try to rebuild without our help and direction,” was the sour-grapes parting comment.

  And the Americans did rebuild. As their forebears had in hammering out the original Constitution of the United States of America, they did their very best to restrict the new federal government by giving it only limited powers, authority and money. It was designed to be small, relatively powerless against the people, and fettered to stay that way. This concept had actually worked for the old federal government until the 16th Amendment created a permanent income tax in 1913. This tax quickly grew, allowing the federal government to obtain the money, and thus the power to control its citizens. The New United States was determined that this would never happen again; this bloated tick would never be reborn.

  Ten years after the EMP bomb had knocked out the electrical grid along with all modern electronics, and
nine years after the war had ended, Preston and his wife, Amy, had settled down to raise their son, Preston William (Bill) Riley in the sleepy Midwest town of Independence, Nebraska, on the Missouri River.

  During those years, South America had rapidly become a major power generation and distribution equipment manufacturer. They had not suffered the devastation of an EMP hit, and with their copper and silver mines, it was a natural expansion. Trading food for tech, the New USA was on its way to becoming electrified again.

  For peace keeping, many New USA states initially adopted the Texas Ranger creed—“No man in the wrong can stand up to a man in the right who just keeps on a-comin’.” The rangers had been paid $1.25 a day in silver. The captain in charge was voted in by his men. Once captain, he could pick the men he rode with. At first there was no written law to enforce, but that was not necessary to the initial chore of stopping the gangs and outlaws. Codified laws were for civilization, and that was not what they began with, that was what they were working towards. Old fashioned peace keeping had returned and made most places safe from the roving gangs which had been such a plague right after the EMP. It was now no longer the Wild West, and the Ranger-style lawman gave way to professional law enforcement once again.

  American businessmen were not sitting idle. They, too, started the massive rebuilding of infrastructure and manufacturing plants. After 10 years, most of the cities were again served by a power grid, and the refineries were once again pumping out gasoline, diesel and oil. As electrification, transportation and safety increased, so did commerce. With people once again able to buy food and feel safe in their homes and businesses, the food shortages solved themselves. Commerce could flow and the small farms, which had, of necessity, sprung up everywhere, became bigger and were linked by safe routes to the re-growing towns and cities.

  With a hard currency based on gold, silver and copper, and the first words in the New American Constitution saying, in effect, “No central bank ever,” the country was on a steady path to growth and prosperity. Along with Constitutional checks and balances, the New USA planners had the experience of a long-running success (pre-1913 USA), followed by an ever-expanding failure (post-1913 USA) of government. They were determined that the failure was not going to happen again.

  Chapter 1

  Escape from Wisconsin

  Necessity is the mother of invention.

  “Did all that really happen?” Bill asked his father with a bit of incredulity.

  Preston smiled. “Yes, those were some dark days in American history. We were lucky to have survived it.”

  “Tell me about the Battle of LaCrosse Bridge,” nine-year-old Bill begged, bouncing up and down on a stool next to his dad’s workbench. The problem caused by naming their son Preston had been short-circuited by calling him “William” or “Bill,” for his middle name. “Preston” would be confused with his dad, and “Junior” would be confused with their friend and frequent visitor, Junior Johnson. And anyway, every child should have his own name, even if it’s really a middle name.

  Preston emerged from his hands-busy reverie. Looking down at his son sitting expectantly on a stool next to the workbench, Preston smiled and decided to indulge him, again. Although it was one of little Bill’s favorite stories, it had been a while since he’d heard it. “OK. Well, we were leaving Wisconsin, floating our canoes down the Mississippi River. You see, after the Battle of the Green Bay, Major Charles Windham the third and his men backstabbed Clint slowly over the winter; they turned a lot of people against him. Clint still had the loyalty of most of the troops and the army rapidly started to split into two camps. Instead of waiting for the split to turn into a civil war, Clint decided to leave, and we went with him.

  “It was early spring. Jane, Joe, your mother and I, Clint, Kate, Robbie, Gayle, Junior and their baby Dean. To make traveling easier, we decided to canoe down the river. Our plan was to go down south and find an abandoned barge to live on. We would drift it out into the river and anchor it, so we’d have a clear field of fire in case of trouble.

  “Yes, I know all that. Get to the battle, already!” Bill demanded impatiently.

  “All right,” Preston acquiesced. “We moved at night so no one could see us. We were about eight hundred yards from the LaCrosse Bridge when we saw this World War II tank fire its big gun at a truck on the bridge. It was night, so the flame from the barrel and the truck exploding really lit up the night.”

  “Wow! That must have been really bright,” Bill observed enthusiastically, getting into the story.

  “Yes, it was very bright. We paddled back up the river a ways, pulled up on the shore and hid the canoes. We were not sure if they’d shoot at us or not, if we tried to pass under the bridge.”

  “I bet that tank would have blown us up into tiny little bits.” Bill’s imagination was quite vivid.

  “It sure could have,” Preston continued with a smile. “Clint and Joe walked up the river bank, then snuck up very slowly. They got to where they could see, and it was an old Sherman tank, topped by a machine gun, sitting on the bridge. Those Sherman tanks are tough, but they have a few weaknesses that can be exploited. The belly has weak steel and in the rear, over the engine compartment, is another weak spot. Clint remembered a homemade incendiary device you can make out of common metals.”

  “Yeah, Clint is a smart Special Forces guy!” Bill was getting excited now.

  “It’s fairly simple to make. All you need is powdered aluminum and oxidized iron—rust—and a large amount of heat.”

  “Now I’m confused. I thought this bomb created a large amount of heat!” Bill waited patiently for his dad to explain the troublesome point.

  “It does, but you need a starter to get the metal burning. The starter has to make lots of hot sparks. Once the ‘bomb’ is burning, it’s impossible to stop. It burns so hot it eats through metal like a hot knife through butter.”

  “Yeah! How do you make the bomb?” That was a pattern with Preston and Bill. The boy was always curious, and as he got older he demanded an increasing number of details in every story.

  “I won’t tell you until you promise me you will never make one. This bomb is very dangerous,” Preston said in a dead serious monotone that Bill knew meant his dad wasn’t fooling.

  “OK, yeah, sure, you know I won’t,” which was Bill’s rote answer when his dad got serious about not doing something.

  Preston was not convinced. “Listen to me, son. This is very dangerous. If some spilled on you it would burn through your skin, bone, everything. And there’s no fixing it. This is not some toy. Your mother would never forgive me if you got hurt. Nobody better even hear you talking about it or you won’t be able to go hunting ever again.”

  The boy lowered his eyes to the oil stained floor and then raised his eyes to his father’s. Putting his hand over his heart, he solemnly swore, “I promise.” Then he grinned. “What happened next?”

  “We wanted to make thermite. What it takes is a lot of rust and powdered aluminum. We also needed welding cloth, a heavy metal box, magnets, and a boat flare. You mix three parts ground up rust with one part ground up aluminum. The rust and aluminum have to be ground very fine, then mixed. We used wooden sticks to mix the metals because one spark could be dangerous.” Bill was squirming around. “Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, Dad. Every single word.”

  “We then took a metal box used for electrical wiring. That would be our container. We punched a hole in the side to fit the flare. Electrical boxes have pre-weakened knock-outs on the sides to let different sizes of wires out, so that was easy. Then we glued welding cloth on the top of the box and all four sides but not the bottom. We left that bare. Do you know why we left the bottom bare?”

  “’Cause you wanted it to burn straight down, and the welding cloth would keep it from burning sideways.”

  “Good, you’re listening,” Preston commended him. Bill was asking a lot more questions now. He was growing up. “We put magnets on all fo
ur corners of the bottom of the box so they would hold the box securely to the tank.”

  “Where’d you get magnets, Dad? It was the end of the world! There were no stores where you could buy them.”

  “Good, you are thinking as well as listening. Where would you guess? Where can you find magnets?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a car starter?”

  “That’s a very good guess, but car starters use electromagnets, not permanent magnets. What we actually did was take a couple of computer hard drives apart. They have really strong rare earth permanent magnets called neodymium magnets.”

  “Neo-what?”

  “Nee-oh-DYE-me-um.”

  “Neodime?”

  “Never mind,” Preston relented. “They are so strong that if you get a finger between two of them, you’ll get a blood blister. That’s the voice of experience talking, by the way,” Preston said, holding up his little finger. “When I was in school, kids used to dismantle old, dead hard drives out of computers and stick the magnets on their lockers and everything else. After the EMP strike, there were dead computers in every house.”

  Bill wrinkled up his forehead. “So you needed the magnets to hold the box onto the tank,” he stated.

  “Right. In order for it to work, we needed to make sure the powder was burning in only one spot. It must not move or spread out. We used ten pounds of powder because we wanted it to burn through the metal on top of the engine hood and still have plenty of time to burn into the engine itself, disabling the tank.”

  Bill’s forehead wrinkles got deeper. “And the flare was to heat up the metal so it would burn. Didn’t you need a timer, too? So you could get away?”

  “Think about a flare,” Preston said. “I would rather have had a two minute flare, but one minute boat flares were all we could find. That was our timer.”