Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10), A. American [interesting books to read in english .TXT] 📗

I looked at the rifle, then at Sarge. He shrugged, and I asked the man, “You know how to use this?”

“I spent three years in Vietnam in the Corps.”

I handed him the rifle and he expertly removed the magazine and cleared the weapon. He replaced the round from the chamber into the mag and reinserted it into the weapon, charged it and put it on safe. I figured, what the hell, we’ve got plenty of them.

“Looks like he knows what he’s doing with it,” Sarge laughed.

I unslung the bag and handed it over. “There are mags in here and a bunch of grenades. You know how it works?”

“They didn’t have those back then.”

I demonstrated how to load the launcher and fire it. It’s a simple process and he understood it immediately. “That’s easy enough,” he replied when I finished.

“I hope you don’t need it. But if you do, you’ll have it.”

“Damn straight,” he replied.

Several men, including the one I had just given the AK to, said they would stay up for the rest of the night in case the raiders came back. With more than enough volunteers, we decided to go back to Dad’s and get another hour or two of sleep.

Dad pointed at the burning truck and said, “You may want to stay away from that truck. If there’s any ammo or anything in it, it’s going to cook off and possibly explode.”

“We’re staying behind the sandbags,” one of the men said.

Before we left, Sarge looked at the men staying and said, “Don’t go out that gate tonight. We’ll go out there tomorrow and clear the area. Safer in the light of day.” The men were all eager to stay put; there was no way in hell they were going out there in the dark. With that settled, we headed back to the house.

As we walked, Dad asked, “What is that thing, Linus?”

Sarge looked at the short machine gun slung under his shoulder. “It’s a Minimi. The Army calls it an M249. This is a paratrooper version, so it’s shorter and lighter.”

“What’s it shoot?”

“The 5.56. It’s a light weapon.”

“It shoots like a damn firehose,” Dad replied.

“That’s why I like it. Better than an M4. Carries more ammo and fires at a higher rate.”

With a nod, Dad said, “I like it too. Looks lighter and easier to shoot than the M-60 that I carried.”

We made it back to the house and Dad told us to wait a sec. He went to the door and knocked out an odd pattern. The door opened, and Mom peeked out. She’d sat in a chair looking at the door since we left. We came inside and gave her the details of what happened.

“That’s why I’m afraid to leave. These are our friends,” Mom said.

“I gave them a weapon that will more than equalize the situation for them,” I said.

Dad laughed. “Yeah you did. Blew that truck all to hell.”

Mom fidgeted for a moment, then said, “I don’t think I can go back to sleep.”

“You’re safe now,” Sarge said. “They were running for the hills, and I think we at least took out several of them. No way those who escaped will be back. Ever.”

“Come on,” Dad said as he took Mom’s hand. “I’m tired. Let’s try and get a little sleep. I have an idea that tomorrow will be a long day.”

Reluctantly, she followed him and we all returned to where we were before the shooting started. Even with the heat, humidity and adrenalin, I fell asleep quickly. Stirrings in the house woke me before dawn. I sat up to see Dad and Sarge in the kitchen.

“You want some?” Sarge asked.

“Where in the hell did you find real coffee?” Dad asked.

“We’ve made a couple of trips to Eglin. There’s aid coming in from Europe and a couple other places. Canada is doing a lot. Mainly to stop the refugees at the border from trying to go north.”

As I walked into the kitchen, Dad took a coffee cup down from the cupboard. Blowing the dust out of it, he held it out, “I haven’t seen coffee in months.”

As Sarge filled the cup from his thermos, I said, “Dad, I thought you drank a lot of coffee,” then pointed at Sarge, “Then I met him.”

“One of these days, you’ll grow up, your nuts’ll drop and you’ll learn to appreciate coffee,” Sarge replied.

“He’s just never spent time in a place where the only thing that kept you going was coffee. We didn’t just drink it, we lived on it,” Dad replied.

“Maybe not,” I replied as I twisted the top of my jug of tea. “But I live in Florida where it’s a million degrees in the summer. And I know that a cool drink will always beat a scalding cup of coffee any day.”

“You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’,” Sarge replied.

After I filled my glass, sadly there wasn’t any ice. I asked, “You want to go down to the gate and take a look at what’s left out there?”

“Yeah, let’s get out there and see what it looks like,” Sarge said.

Danny came out of the dining room, rubbing his face. Sarge looked at him, saying, “Well, if you can’t get here on time, get here when you can.”

I offered him the bottle of tea and he took a long drink. Looking at the bottle, he said, “Still cold.”

“Gotta love Yeti bottles,” I replied.

“You two done making out?” Sarge asked. “We got work to do.”

I shook my head and collected my gear as Mom came out. Opening my pack, I took out an MRE and handed it to her. “Here, this is a breakfast. Not the best, but it’ll fill a hollow spot.”

She took it and looked it over for a long time. “It’s strange to be holding a package like this. Haven’t seen packaged food in so long. The one last night had so much food in it.”

“You eat it and enjoy it.”

“We’re going to go look at the gate,” Dad said. “Go ahead and pack