The Farm - 05 Read Free

threatened. She didn’t want to go there, so she lowered the rifle from her shoulder instead.
    “Guess he’s going to defend God’s Little Acre for as long as he can, huh?”
    Biggs glanced over her shoulder to see Klein standing behind her. Powers was hauling himself up the ladder in the background.
    “What?”
    Klein motioned to the house, visible through the open hay loft door. “Our new pal. The jarhead.”
    Biggs shrugged. “Where you from, Specialist?” It was a question service people asked each other all the time. Klein was brand new to her unit, and she didn’t know him at all. As a matter of fact, she could only remember seeing him a few times when they were securing the New Jersey side of the upper George Washington Bridge, along with three other infantry battalions and one New York Army National Guard military police unit.
    “Chicago,” Klein said. He seemed to reconsider his answer. “Well, Winnetka, actually.”
    “Winnetka...ain’t that a money ‘hood?” Powers asked as he stood up in the loft. He looked up at the wood beam ceiling overhead, scowling at the dusty cobwebs that swayed gently in the air.
    Klein shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
    Powers glared at him. “I hate rich kids,” he said.
    “Then you got no beef with me, Sergeant. I’m not rich.” Klein pulled on the mandarin collar of his ACU coat. “If I was, I probably wouldn’t be wearing this, right?”
    Powers grunted, and said nothing further.
    “Where you from, Sergeant?” Klein asked, after the silence had grown uncomfortable.
    “I come from a place where they kick people’s asses for fucking around. Get your shit squared away. I’m hungry, and I want to take a load off and have somethin’ to eat,” Powers said. He looked at Biggs.
    Biggs nodded to him, then leaned her rifle against a nearby wall and shrugged off her pack. As she opened up the bag, she looked over at Klein.
    “People in this part of the country don’t abandon their homes, Klein.”
    Klein looked at her, confused. “Ma’am?”
    “You said the guy over there”—Biggs jerked her chin toward the farm house—“was going to defend his home for as long as he could. I’m telling you, you’re right. People like him, they’re the salt of the earth. You couldn’t pry them out of their houses, any more than you could take away their guns.”
    “Aw, the guy’s nuts, Captain. He should’ve evacuated days ago.” As he spoke, Klein removed his own MOLLE gear and dropped it to the floor at his feet.
    “Maybe he is,” Biggs agreed. “But our Marine pal is helping us out, so show some respect.” She reached into her pack and pulled out an MRE packet. It was chicken with noodles, in her estimation the worst field ration the military had ever created. A few weeks ago, she would have just pitched it or given it away. Now, the sturdy, tan-colored plastic wrapper practically contained a banquet. Biggs never expected the day would come when she would look forward to a Meal Rejected by Ethiopians, especially the reviled menu item #3. But here they were, and she and chicken with noodles were practically BFFs. She cut open the thick plastic liner with her knife and pulled out the bag’s contents as she settled down onto her haunches, spreading the culinary bonanza out before her. Across from her, Klein did much the same thing with his own MRE, as Powers ambled over to the open loft door and regarded the world outside.
    “Anybody want to trade me for my beef enchilada?” Klein asked.
    “You out of your mind?” Powers said. “Even the stenches won’t eat that.”
    “Powers, I’ll take first watch,” Biggs said. “My NVGs are just about out of power, so I might as well use them up now. You take second, and Klein, you get the last one. We don’t fire unless the barn’s been compromised. Hooah?”
    “Hooah,” Powers said, turning away from the door and reaching for his own pack. “Sounds good to me, Captain.”
    Biggs nodded and dug into her