The Fifth Horseman by Billy Roper

Author:Billy Roper
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2015-09-26T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Job 36 King James Version (KJV)

12 But if they obey not, they shall perish by the sword, and they shall die without knowledge.

The preacher stood in Sheriff Kilgore’s office, leaning over the roadmap spread out on his desk, staring at 64, 40, and 49. These three main bridges, the first two crossing the Mississippi directly from Memphis, the last a bit further South at Helena, were their targets. The Sheriff opened the door of the cast iron stove and pushed another chunk of split wood inside, before commenting.

“I have a couple of old boys who used to do blasting at gravel quarries and such. They knew where all the caps and primaries is stored, too.” he said.

“That’s good, but we may also need an ammonium nitrate and fuel oil mixture to do the kind of damage we’ll need to do. Those are some big columns,” the preacher observed.

“Well, we can use the one to kick off the other. I know the co-op has plenty of fertilizer left, and I bet we can rustle up a few tanks of diesel from some of local farmers who’ve been holding it back for Spring planting.” It would hurt them, but it would hurt more to lose everything they had to the invaders.

“Great. So, we get there, mix the ANFO in fifty-five gallon barrels, attach the primary charge and blasting cap and det cord, and boom, huh?

“Pretty much, except, will we park the trucks on the bridge, or…put the barrels onto barges, to bring the charges into direct contact with the support structure?” the Sheriff asked, feeling like a terrorist.

“Ruining the road deck will probably be sufficient. Remember that their primary goal is to secure river ports on the East bank of the river. We want to make them feel unwelcome, and keep them on that side for as long as possible while we get our act together here,” the preacher confided.

“Sounds pretty straightforward then.” Said the Sheriff. The pr eacher looked at him and smiled a crooked grin as freezing rain clinked against the window.

“Yeah, that’s what scares me.”

Later, as they sat in the café enjoying the heat of the new fireplace crackling in the corner, the Sheriff asked him about Heather.

“So, I hear you’ve got a new family, now. That red-headed lady and her kids move in with you?”

“Heather, yes, we got married, and she’s been instrumental in helping publicize the Army of the Ozarks. People aren’t even calling anything the Razorback militia any more because of her, it’s all one and the same in most of their minds.”

“Why that’s great, Cap-, um, Preacher! I’m glad to hear it. When did ya’ll get married?” He sounded hurt that he hadn’t been invited.

“Oh, around Thanksgiving. It was just a small, private ceremony.” The preacher chewed on his fried potatoes with gusto.

“Really? Cool, who performed the wedding?” the Sheriff asked, suspicious. He waited to hear the answer before he took a drink.

The preacher looked at him. “I did.” And swallowed his mouthful. Kilgore barely got his milk choked down without laughing.

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