The response from the community was stunning!  Every male from 15 years old to 70, and many women, volunteered, showing up at the township hall once they understood the potential danger, rifles in hand, ammo filling their pockets.  The rest of the women prepared in town, many of them ready to shoot, to make a stand, the others to offer whatever support would be needed.

What we didn’t know at the time, and it might, or might not, have made a difference on the volunteer level, was where, or perhaps that should be who, the gang was comprised of.  Marquette has a maximum security prison, where the baddest of the bad are kept.  With limited resources in the county, some of the prisoners were out on a work crew, clearing snow, freeing up fire-hydrants, shoveling roofs for seniors; they killed the single guard, buried him in a snow bank and took off, just walked away.  Approximately two dozen of them raided an RV store, leaving with winter wear, helmets and eighteen 4-wheelers and snow-mobiles.  From there, the sheer number of them overwhelmed the two armed guards at Gander Mountain; while the majority went directly to the back and cleaned out the stock of high powered rifles, filling knapsacks with as much ammo as would fit, two of the younger prisoners took turns raping the young girl behind the counter before beating her and leaving her for dead.  She survived, barely, and will need reconstructive surgery, that just isn’t available anymore.

The prisoners cut across to the loop that bypasses downtown; the same loop I took when I would go to town.  When they came to the National Guard road block, they figured something up that road was worth protecting and started their un-opposed rampage.  There was no way for them to know the road block wasn’t to protect anything, but to keep people out not in.  Because these prisoners were from other places and didn’t know the area, which was intentional, they didn’t know that once they started their northward trek of destruction, there was no place to go once they got here; no place except to go back, to the waiting law enforcement.  Of course, they didn’t count on the resistance they were to encounter.  Had they turned south instead of north, they might have been unstoppable.

Once it was arranged for Danny to drop a load of logs at the Big Guppy, Paul joined his wife in organizing the new militia.  A total of 25 men and women, armed to protect their town, their lives, headed for the small settlement of Midway Village, less than a ¼ mile stretch of a dozen homes.  Vince was sent as a lookout to give an alert; no one remembers suggesting that, but it made the world of difference to those waiting.

While the blockade of logs kept the gang from using the road, what I hadn’t counted on was the creek freezing.  A couple of the snowmobiles charged around the logs thru the snow, only to discover a frozen marshland that was not even remotely capable of stopping the determined 4-wheelers.  Onward they came.  As soon as Vince saw the first sled go around the bridge, he headed back the short distance to Midway to spread the warning.  Fortunately, everyone was in place, unfortunately they’d been there for hours, and many were getting tired.  The roar of sleds and wheelers could be heard a mile off, and the adrenalin started pumping, wiping out any signs of fatigue.

As anticipated, as soon as the Wheelers came upon the first of the houses, they slowed down for a better look, likely scoping out which would be worth ransacking first.  Once most of them were within the fire-zone, the concealed shooters opened up.  With fire coming at them from both sides, those that could, sped up and kept going north.  Out of two dozen men, on 18 ATV’s, only ten were killed.  Two of our men went down. There should have been higher totals; it should have been like shooting fish in a barrel, but in hind-sight there was fear of hitting each other.  The Wheelers numbers were down, but not enough; and now they were prepared for resistance.

The day before, I had pulled the FRS radios out of the faraday cage, and put all fresh batteries in.  There was one for me, for John, and for Jason.  I gave Tom one, too with the instructions to keep in on and keep it close.  I even delivered one next door to Bobby, and explained what was going on.

“With your Ham you might get just enough warning to give us some warning.  Will you do that?”  I held the small FRS out to him.  They weren’t very good for long distances, but would work for this purpose.

“Of course.  Is there going to be … shooting?” he was hesitant.

“Likely.  Does that bother you?”

“No, but I’m nearly out of ammo, and I’d hate to just get started and run out,” Bobby admitted.

“What are you shooting?”

“308, been good for deer,” he grinned.  “We’ve been living on venison.  I have to tell you that mac & cheese you gave us tasted mighty good.”  I smiled.

“Walk back with me and I’ll give you a box,” I was feeling lighter, having an extra pair of eyes, and an extra shooter, and I was more than happy to give up some of our ammo.

It was decided that Jason should be on the roof.  He went up to decide on the best location, then built a short but long wall of snow for concealment.  It would be cold up there, but it was also the best vantage point for the best shot, and Jason was the best of the three of us. I kept hoping that none of this would be needed; that the Wheelers would be stopped in Midway; or that they would drive right past our obviously cleared road.  Fruitless wishing: the Wheelers weren’t stopped in Midway, and they didn’t drive on past.