Black Knight Squadron_Book 1_Foundations

  Black Knight Squadron

  Book 1

  Foundations

  By John Chapman

  Text Copyright © 2018 John W. Chapman

  All Rights Reserved

  Some of the characters in this book represent real people. Their personalities have been hijacked with their permission, but their names have been changed to protect their privacy.

  All other characters are fictitious; and any resemblance or similarities to actual people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

  To Kris

  Those too lazy to plow in the right season will have no food at the harvest. Proverbs 20:4

  “The only moral judgements in war are made by the victors, and victorious armies are led by those who have mastered the latest, most efficient tools of their trade.”

  William Manchester; The Last Lion Vol.2: Biography of Winston Churchill

  Black Knight Squadron General Order No. 1:

  Do not expect someone else to do for you what you can do for yourself.

  To learn more about the Black Knight Squadron saga, and to see more content, including pictures, lessons learned, maps and updates, find us on Facebook by searching @blackknightsquadronbooks

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Consolidated Brick Corp

  Alliance, Ohio

  Chris Mason was frustrated. His job as the manager of the Brickyard was usually fulfilling; he enjoyed the challenge of keeping a century old brick plant in operation and profitable, and the people he worked with were salt of the earth. While only 29 years old, Chris was mature beyond his years, and his ability to fix almost anything combined with his natural leadership abilities and willingness to work hard had led to his appointment as the plant’s manager the year before. He started working at the plant in high school, and had quickly risen in responsibility. He’d never had another job and didn’t particularly want one.

  His frustration this morning stemmed from the actions of one of his employees, Carl, a man twice his age, who seemed to lurch through life in an endless cycle of putting in a half ass workday, getting drunk in the evening, then waking up late to start the cycle all over again. About 20 minutes ago Carl brought in a load of sand. While dumping the load in the aggregate shed, a brand-new structure Chris had worked hard to design and build, Carl had managed to put the top 7 feet of the dump bed through the roof of the building. When Chris asked Carl what the hell happened Carl told him “I was dumping the load and when I tilted the bed, it felt sluggish, so I goosed the hydraulics. I guess the sluggishness was the bed hitting the ceiling joist”. Chris was struck dumb for a moment. When he found his voice he asked Carl, “Why did you have the bed up inside the shed at all?” Carl just shrugged his shoulders and said, “I thought it would be faster to unload.”

  Chris didn’t trust himself to speak, but finally managed “Go sit in the office while l take some pictures and call corporate.” Chris took some pictures and thought about how he was going to word his report so corporate HR couldn’t stop him from firing Carl this time. After he took some pictures and wrote down the truck number, Chris walked out the open front of the shed and pulled out his smartphone to call corporate, when he noticed something was wrong.

  It took him a couple of seconds to realize it was quiet. The usual rumble of a working brickyard was absent. “What the hell happened now?” Chris said out loud, “did we lose power?” It was early December, there was some snow on the ground and it was cold, but the sky was clear. Chris shrugged it off and told himself to focus on one problem at a time, and looked down at his phone. He pushed the home button and nothing happened. His phone wasn’t even displaying the date and time like usual. As Chris was trying to figure out what was wrong with his phone, he heard a godawful screech of metal tearing, and looked up in time to see a dump truck smashing through the corner of the shed from the direction of the road, then plow over Carl, who was standing next to the building smoking a cigarette. The truck, loaded with 25 tons of gravel, barely slowed down.

  The driver, getting no response from the brakes, turned the wheel hard right, turning the entire 80,000-pound monster over onto its left side, spilling a sea of gravel onto the ramp and finally stopping the truck on its side about 150 feet from the corner of the shed. Chris managed to sprint into the shed and avoid the carnage, but one of the yard’s frontend loaders wasn’t so lucky. When the noise stopped, Chris stopped running and turned to look back. He was having a hard time processing what he was seeing but began to walk back toward to wreckage, shaking his head to try to clear his mind. As he walked Chris realized he had his phone in his hand, and tried to wake it up again. Nothing. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted, more out of frustration than seeking answers.

  Chris ran to the frontend loader, climbing up the dune of gravel trying to see inside the cab. When he got where he could see, Chris could see the operator had been thrown from the open cab, and he couldn’t see him. He realized the guy must be buried in the gravel. Chris heard voices and people climbing up the gravel, and yelled “Somebody got buried, get some shovels. Someone run to the office and call 911!” A couple of minutes later someone yelled, “I found him!” off to Chris’ right. Chris got up and stumble-ran through the gravel to where everyone else was converging. When he got there, he saw several people clawing frantically at the gravel around a heavily tattooed hand and arm, but they were having trouble because no matter how much gravel they scooped away more would pour back down into the hole. He recognized the arm immediately, because of the sleeve tattoos, as belonging to Willy, one of the equipment operators who worked at the shed.

  A couple of minutes of rough labor had Willy’s limp body being lifted down off the gravel pile and laid on the ground. Chris kneeled down next to him and could see immediately Willy was dead. His head was lying at the wrong angle, and he wasn’t breathing. Chris was having a hard time keeping his emotions under control; Willy was a good man and one of the “old hands” who had worked at the brickyard longer than Chris had been alive. Chris stood up, and suddenly remembered seeing Carl getting hit by the truck. He ran around the gravel pile to the corner of the shed but pulled up short when he saw Carl, or what was left of him. Carl was in several pieces, torn apart by the force of the truck combined with the sharp metal of the shed corner that had been torn off the building during the collision.

  It was more than Chris could take; he dropped to his knees and vomited. Chris thought he was tough, and in a lot of ways he was. But Chris had only touched death in the clinical world of a funeral home. Seeing the bodies of two people he called friends in the immediate aftermath of a chaotic death shook Chris deeply. He began to lock up as his mind focused on the grisly scene in front of him, when Carol, one of the office workers, ran up to him crying. As Chris stood up and tried to compose himself, Carol ran into his arms and started cry-talking in a long stream of consciousn
ess “I tried to call 911 but the power is out and none of the phones work and my cell phone is dead” Carol took a ragged breath “and I went into the bookkeepers’ office to see if Margret’s phone worked and she is slumped over her desk. What is going on?”

  The rest of the yard guys and a few of the office employees had gathered around Chris. He looked up and asked if anyone else’s cell phone worked. Everyone fished their phone out of their pockets and Chris heard lots of mumbling. No one’s phone would wake up or show any indications of life at all. “Shit!” Chris mumbled. He raised his voice “Everyone, go try to start your cars.” Most looked confused, but as he broke away from Carol to run to his car, another of his guys, Ed, let out a curse of realization and began sprinting to the employee parking lot. He beat Chris there by seconds.

  Chris hit the unlock button on his key fob as he ran, and almost fell down when he reached the door and snatched the handle, expecting it to open, but it remained locked. He fumbled for the key, got it in the lock, and was able to manually unlock the door. He jumped in the seat, turned the ignition, and nothing happened. No door dings, no lights on the dash, nothing. “Please start,” he said out loud, “This cannot be happening”. Still nothing. His Subaru was dead.

  Ed had a little better luck. His 1971 Chevy truck started as usual. Ed did notice none of his gauges worked, but given his suspicions about what just happened, he didn’t care. Ed left his truck running and jogged to Chris’ Subaru, where he found Chris getting out. “Anything?” Ed asked. “Nope. It’s dead.” Chris replied. Ed let out a long breath and said, “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Chris looked at him for a minute and said, “EMP”. Ed nodded his head and said, “We need to check the area and make sure, then we need to get to the range.” Chris nodded and opened the back hatch on his car while Ed went back to his truck. Nothing more needed to be said; they had trained together and been friends long enough to know what needed to be done.

  Chris took off his jacket and opened an old Blue Force Gear DAP pack on top of the stuff in his trunk. He pulled out a Blue Force Gear chest rig with some AR mags and a medical kit already in it, and put it on. He put his Carhart work jacket back on over the rig and zipped it up. Next, he pulled his EDC pistol, a Glock 19 with a Trijicon RMR milled into the slide, and did a press check. Then he checked the RMR, but it was dead. He cursed to himself and unloaded and field stripped the pistol quickly. He unzipped his jacket and found the right allen wrench and spare 2032 battery in his vest, then changed the optic’s battery. When he tried to turn the optic back on, it was still dead. “Crap, the EMP must have gotten it.” he said to himself. The backup iron sights would have to do, he thought. He realized he wasn’t carrying a spare magazine for the Glock, and rooted around until he found one in his bag. It was loaded with the ball ammo he used on the range instead of the Federal HST hollow points he liked for “social occasions”, but it would have to do.

  Realizing he didn’t have a spare pistol mag pouch with him, he put the mag in his pocket and grabbed his rifle, a BCM Recce 16. He loaded the carbine with a 28-round mag and cycled the bolt. Out of habit, he checked the Aimpoint T1 he used as an optic and his Surefire Scout light and B.E.Meyers MAWL laser, then realized all three were working. He didn’t understand why his rifle optic would work while his pistol optic was fried, but quickly decided to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever it was, he was thankful to not be facing the Apocalypse with an iron-sighted carbine. It also gave him hope that his brand new TNVC Sentinel night vision goggles had survived. He worked so hard to save the money for them.

  Chris started sorting through the gear and ammo he had in his trunk, when Ed backed out of his parking space and pulled over to the Subaru. Ed Jumped out and Chris could see he had already put on his plate carrier and all his mag pouches were full. Ed said, “I wish I had spent the money on a Team Wendy Helmet now. Just grab all of your crap and put it in the bed bro, you can sort it out later”. Chris realized Ed was right, and started grabbing bags and throwing them in the truck bed. Once the three bags and his tent were loaded, Chris cross-loaded the cases of 5.56mm and 9mm ammo he kept in his trunk for training. He was at the range every day and never knew what kind of training he would be able to jump into, so he always kept a lot of ammo in his car.

  When he was done, Chris closed his hatchback and driver door. He stopped for a second and closed his eyes to gather himself. He thought about Amanda, his new wife, and thanked God she was at the police department, where she worked as a dispatcher. She would be safe there for a couple of hours while they figured out what was going on. Chris opened his eyes and let out a breath, feeling better about the situation, and jogged to Ed’s truck. As he tried to jump into the passenger seat of the truck, his rifle swung on the two point sling, wedged against the seat, and used his momentum to punch him squarely in the testicles. Chris saw stars and let out a “oof”, then collapsed against the door. So much for having my crap together flashed through his mind. Ed was looking right at him when it happened, and burst out laughing. “Good thing there isn’t much to hurt there,” Ed said. Chris felt like vomiting again, the pain was so intense. But the embarrassment overwhelmed his pain receptors and Chris gingerly found his seat and closed the door. Ed was still laughing at him as they drove back to the aggregate shed.

  When they got to the shed, none of the employees were there. Ed noticed a man sitting on the high side of the overturned dump truck, and assumed he was the driver who careened out of control. He nodded his head at the guy to make sure Chris saw him, then stopped the truck and turned to Chris and said, “Hey, you alright little buddy?” Chris flipped him off and said, “I’m fine, and you’re a dick.” Ed thought of a witty comeback but decided instead to say, “Common, we still got work to do.” while smiling at Chris. Chris flipped him off again, but got out of the truck and began carefully walking over to the dump truck.

  “What happened?” Chris yelled up at the driver. The driver didn’t look down at Chris, but shook his head and said, “I don’t know man. I was turning into the lot when the engine died and I had no power. I hit the brakes but they didn’t work either.” The driver then looked down at Chris and continued talking, “I tried to get the load all the way in to the ramp, but I was going too fast and misjudged the turn. I remember hitting the building but everything went black after that.” Chris told the driver, “OK. I have to go find my employees and figure out what’s going on.” The driver said, “Is the fire department and an ambulance on the way? I’m hurting pretty bad, man.” Chris replied, “No, none of the phones work. I think we may be on our own.” The driver started asking questions but Chris was already headed to the office to try to find his people.

  As Chris passed the truck, Ed said, “Hey bro, I’m going to walk up to the road and see if any traffic is moving.” Chris, deep in thought, didn’t look up, he just said, “Ok, I’ll be in the office.” When Chris got to the office, he found three of his employees, Carol, Jeff and Bonnie, sitting in the main office area. Carol was curled up in a ball on a chair, crying softly. Jeff, the sales manager, and Bonnie, a sales clerk, were standing in front of the TV trying to get it to turn on using the remote. Jeff looked over his shoulder when he heard Chris and said, “Trying to get the TV on to get some news…” Jeff stopped talking when he saw Chris’ rifle on the sling. “Why the hell do you have a gun Chris?” Jeff thundered. “The power goes out and you’re going all Rambo?” Chris stopped, looked at Jeff and said, “Shut up Jeff. You’re an idiot.” Jeff puffed up with indignation and started to speak, but Chris cut him off, “Jeff. Shut. The. Hell. Up” biting the words out. Chris had always disliked Jeff, and he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with his douchebaggery right then.

  Chris said, obviously speaking to all three of them, “Listen up. I am pretty sure we have been hit with an electromagnetic pulse, from either the sun or a nuke. You guys need to get home and take care of your families.” “That’s a bunch of horse crap Chris, the power is just out” Jeff said,
in his best condescending voice. “I’m not here to convince you Jeff,” Chris said slowly, trying to calm himself down. “I’m just taking the information we have and drawing a conclusion. If you want to stay here, be my guest.” Bonnie told Chris “My car won’t start, can you give me a ride home?” Chris told her Ed’s truck was the only one that would run, and they would drop her off on their way out of town. Bonnie said, “I’ll go grab my stuff and meet you at the truck.” Chris told her to wait for him. He didn’t trust Bonnie, and he didn’t know if Ed had left the truck running. He wouldn’t put it past Bonnie to just steal the truck. She was generally a pretty selfish person.

  Chris asked Bonnie, “Can you see if you can get Carol ready to go home?” Bonnie said she would try. Jeff interrupted, “I can take care of Carol.” Bonnie just looked at Jeff and said, “I’m sure you’d like that Jeff, but I’ll take care of her.” Jeff started to say something, and Bonnie got in his face, “What? You have something to say? You want me to tell them about how you tried to ‘take care of’ me,” Bonnie used her finger quotes “that night I got drunk at the Mexican restaurant?” Jeff looked pissed but he just turned around and sat down at a desk.

  Shaking his head, Chris went into the bookkeeping office and checked on Margret. As Carol feared, Margret was indeed dead, at least as far as Chris could tell. Chris remembered hearing something about her having a pacemaker, and supposed the EMP, or whatever it was, had stopped her heart. That was a damn shame; Margret was not only a great lady, but she grew up in the 30’s and knew how to can and garden. She would have been a real asset if this was indeed “the big one”. Chris ripped the curtains down off the window behind Margret’s desk and covered her up, then said a prayer over her.