The scorching summer heat lagged on into August. For the past two days, Calvin and Neil had been travelling by ATV through the forest trails that ran parallel to the North Thompson River. The rebels were conducting reconnaissance missions. They monitored the volume of enemy activity that crossed the bridges over the river. Camouflaged in tan, black and green fatigues, the duo crouched down amongst the straggly bone-dry spruce and pine trees that dotted the hot, dry hills on either side of the North Thompson River. For the past few hours, Calvin and Neil had been watching the bridge outside of Barriere. From their position, the small community appeared very quiet. Three North American Police troopers stood guard on the bridge that spanned high above the fast-flowing river.
“Calvin, do you believe that this is a good candidate?”
“Most definitely. From the looks of things, this bridge is used frequently. Once we blow the bridge, it will take their engineers a considerable amount of time to rebuild it, possibly months.”
“Anything to slow them down,” Neil said. “We better be getting back to base. They’re going to be wondering if something happened to us or not.”
Calvin and Neil returned to camp just as the others were making dinner. As the group ate, they listened to a broadcast on an old radio Kevin had managed to get hooked up. It was an illegal broadcast from the Underground Patriot Network, a clandestine news organization located somewhere in the American Southwest. The Unified Movement to Restore North America, a conglomeration of militias and guerrilla bands scattered throughout the continent, urged all citizens to fight back against the foreign and domestic military forces at every opportunity. Many of the insurgent units operated in the reclaimed areas of the continent such as western Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Montana, Wyoming as well as parts of Alberta and Saskatchewan. How long these ragtag, isolated groups would be able to hold out against superior forces was another matter entirely.
“At least we’re slowly inching our way towards victory,” Mallory said quietly. There was a trace of hope in her voice.
“Unfortunately, not here,” Jake said. “So far, it would appear that we are the only ones in this entire region of B.C. who are actively resisting. If the district doesn’t erupt in rebellion-and soon-we may be up shit creek without a paddle.”
Kevin had spent a considerable amount of time fiddling with one of the blasting caps Shamus O’Reilly had given to the rebels. It took an incredible amount of steady nerves, but he finally got the device to work.
“How hard will it be to sneak in there undetected, blow up that bridge and get out before all hell reigns down upon our heads?” Kevin asked his nephew.
“Because that is a frequent crossing area, there is a small contingent of NAP troopers who work on twelve-hour rotations,” Calvin explained. “Usually two or three on during a shift.”
The rebels munched on wild game they had caught a day earlier.
“We take out the sentries,” Jake said. “Those night vision scope fit our rifles perfectly. Now, we’ll have to carry out this attack late, at least at midnight. We have four blocks of C4. We’re going to use two of them for this operation.” Jake looked at Sarah Jane. “Are you ready yet?”
“I’ll come along. Observe. But I flat-out refuse to---“
“We’re well aware of your stance on war.” Jake turned to Calvin and Mallory. “As it turns out, you two are the best snipers in the group. You will be in charge of popping the sentries. Kevin and I will set the charges.”
“On what night are we going to do this Jake?” Neil asked.
“I’m thinking perhaps two days from now. We’re probably going to end up spending a night or two in the woods so we’ll have to bring some extra provisions along with us.”