Meetings

(Source)

At one time the facility had belonged to the Virginia DOT, replaced by a newer facility, paid for largely by the federal government, it now belonged to the Eastern Shore Rod and Gun Club. That group was meeting this very night.

Morgan and Johansen were in attendance, they'd managed to spread enough rumors in the DC area to keep the Feds busy for a week or two. The federal agencies they were most concerned with were intently focused on the District of Columbia, not looking outward, but inward.

"Hey fellas, long time no see." Wilt Thompson was a bear of a man, a veteran of the war on terrorism, now a local farmer and the president of the Eastern Shore Rod and Gun Club.

"Mr. Thompson, good to see you," Johansen looked expectantly at Morgan.

"Wilt, how they hanging? This is a buddy of mine, lives down in Virginia Beach, retired Navy, Al Rossi, Wilt Thompson."

Rossi shook Thompson's hand, "Nice place you got here. Lot of members?"

"About fifty come to the meetings, the others, another fifty or so, just use the facilities. The range, the bar, place to hang out. You on the Atlantic or the Bay?"

"On the Bay, got a nice house, private beach. It's small, one bedroom, cost me an arm and a leg, but hey, I got my own dock and a high hedge around the place. Neighbors are close, but ya can't see or hear 'em, most of the time."

"So you fish the Bay?"

"Yeah, in the fall I hunt, I got used to being outside all the time in the Navy. Love the sea, hated the routine though."

"I hear ya brother, hey the meeting's about to start. Why don't you guys go chill at the bar, this won't take long."

Though Johansen had his doubts, Morgan was convinced that these men would be perfect. They were rural, they loved to hunt and fish, 90% of them were veterans, 100% of them had a deep and abiding distrust of DC.

As one man had put it, "Sonsabitches don't know how to mind their own damned business."

Johansen's backers wanted a big showdown between some militia types and the Feds, these people fit the bill nicely. What Johansen's backers didn't know, is that Johansen planned to screw them, big time. He remembered talking about it with Morgan some months ago.

"So some big shots want a Lexington and Concord moment, only this time the redcoats win?" Morgan had asked.

"Yup, big shootout, they hope, lots of Federal casualties, only this time they kick the militia's ass, just barely. More screams for gun control and they think Congress will act this time. Hell, if they succeed, you'll be lucky to get permission to own a flintlock." Johansen was disgusted with the whole thing.

"What about the Second Amendment ..." Morgan began.

"Do you think those bastards give a shit about the Constitution? Most of Congress are lawyers and most think they know it, but most have never read it. The media is on their side, the big corporations as well."

"So you think it's time to water the tree?" It was Morgan's favorite expression, he was a big fan of Thomas Jefferson, though like most he assumed that everything ever attributed to the third President was gospel.

"Sic semper tyrannis¹ brother." Johansen raised his glass as he said that.

"Give me liberty ..." Rossi began.

"And give them death." Morgan finished.

Rear Admiral (select) Alex Choe was walking with his hands clasped behind his back, Chapman thought he looked a bit Napoleonic walking that way, but said nothing. Choe stopped and turned to her, they were at Arlington, the cemetery provided a good place to talk away from prying eyes and ears.

"So this is about gun control?" Choe asked incredulously.

"More than that, Sir. These people are concerned with Federal overreach in damned near every walk of life. Big money wants the American people calm, quiet, and unarmed." Chapman said.

Choe shook his head, "This is ridiculous, Beth. You wearing a tinfoil hat these days?"

"Negative, Sir. I'm on the inside, I see the memos, I sit in hearings with Congress. Come on, Sir, every time some asshole shoots up a bar the media goes nuts, calling it a 'mass shooting.' Hell, Sir, Chicago has these events all the time, but no one cares. If it happens on the bad side of town, no one cares. But shoot a few white people and bang, it's all over the news. You don't see an agenda here, Sir?"

Choe thought for a moment, then he nodded, "I trust you, Beth, what do you need from me?"

"Nothing, Sir, just keep your eyes and ears open. There are elements in the military who like the idea of a disarmed populace as well, you know that."

"Well most civilians aren't trained to ..."

"Bullshit, pardon my French, Sir. A lot of firearms owners have had some training, heck, Sir, a lot of them learned proper firearms handling in the military. We may have some shitty training we put people through, but firearms training isn't one of them.²"

"Could you have your agency make a formal request?"

Chapman just stared at Choe, "Sure Sir, I'll commit career suicide, no problem." She shook her head.

"Sorry, Beth, you're right, we'd both get put out to pasture."

"Or worse."

"Seriously?"

"Yes Sir. These folks will kill to preserve their rights. The tide's changing. We don't want to be on the wrong side of history. There won't be a chance to write memoirs, people are going to die if we f**k this up. Lots of people."

"I'll do what I can, Beth. But I can't make any promises."

"Just keep an open mind, Cap'n, it's all I ask at this point."

The two found themselves at the Tomb of the Unknowns just as the guard was changing. Both stood at attention, both remembered people lost. Choe made up his mind.

"I'll do what you ask, Beth."

"Thank you, Sir."

¹ Latin for "thus always to tyrants," the motto of the Commonwealth of Virginia. In other words, tyrants must always fall.

² Unless you were in the Air Force, the training I received in Basic was ludicrous. NATO did a better job, where we had to qualify every year.