Free Last Stand: Patriots (Book 2) by William H. Weber Page A

armed men on horses rode through the middle of town. Even with the naked eye it was easy to see the defensive points they’d set up. The flat rooftops of buildings were reinforced with sandbags. There wasn’t a ring of them as much as they were spread all around.
    “Defense in depth,” John said. After a quick glance, he saw the others weren’t catching on to what he was saying. “The Russians perfected the strategy during the Second World War. It was meant to wear down an attacker and cause mass casualties rather than stopping him at the gates, so to speak.”
    The set of train tracks that ran through town led to a yard about half a mile away. Its location would eventually make Oneida an important supply junction for getting the country back on its feet—once the trains got moving again, that was.
    “Over there,” Marshall said pointing to a row of white eighteen-wheelers approaching the city from the north. There were maybe three of them. John peered through the binoculars, noticing the black UN decal on the front and sides.
    “At leas t one town’s getting resupplied,” he said.
    “That’s the confusing part,” Moss told him. “We’ve managed to use the radio to make contact with a handful of neighboring towns, some twice as big as Oneida, and none of them have received any aid yet.”
    “There’s FEMA and the UN for you,” Sullivan said.
    “Maybe,” Marshall responded, “but we know this isn’t FEMA and I’m not sure it’s the UN either. And one of our contacts tells us some of these shipments may contain more than just bread, purified water and medical supplies.”
    “Weapons?” John asked, remembering the men he’d seen at the checkpoint outside Oneida.
    Marshall nodded. “For the last few weeks we’ve been gathering intel and drawing up a battle plan to assault the town. This morning, Rodriguez received a report over the radio from our contact in Jefferson City, Missouri. Says there’s a convoy moving east along Interstate 64, headed for Oneida. A large one. And at least one of those trucks is rumored to be filled with all the firepower we’ve been waiting for.”

Chapter 17
    After arriving back at camp, the men assembled in the command tent. Rodriguez was by the radio, waiting for them.
    “The ETA on that large convoy is five hours and counting,” Rodriguez told them as they entered. “My contact tells me ten trucks in all.”
    “We saw a handful roll into Oneida earlier today,” John said, “but they looked like rigs to me. Will this batch will be military vehicles?”
    “Negative,” Rodriguez replied, tapping the pencil against his knee. “According to our man in Jefferson City, they should be the same UN type that’s been rolling in these last few days.”
    Marshall drew in a deep breath, which pushed his belly out another few inches. “What do you make of that?” he asked Moss. In spite of Moss’ mohawk and quick wit, it seemed as though Marshall valued the younger man’s counsel.
    “We’ve put enough money into the UN over the years,” Moss said. “It’s about time we got something out of it.”
    Marshall was smiling as John turned to Rodriguez and asked: “Did your contact in Jefferson City say whether the convoy had an armed escort?”
    Rodriguez shook his head. “ He didn’t mention any escort. I’d get on and ask him again, but we only communicate once a day. Even with all our precautions, we can’t risk the wrong people zeroing in on our signal.”
    “Best to assume an armed escort is shadowing them then ,” John offered. A map of the area was on the table and he tapped a finger on a spot north of Oneida. “If you want my two cents, I suggest we create a roadblock here, just inside Daniel Boone National Forest along route 27. Lay down some spike strips in case they try and break through.”
    “Attack the convoy before they reach the town ,” Marshall said, scratching his bearded chin. “Good idea. How many men do you think it’ll take?”
    John