The Trading Post
The day after the Polaris Union completed its third transport run without a hitch, a familiar column of vehicles came rolling up the dust-caked road.
Watching Mike climb out alongside Gibson, I could read the lieutenant colonel's intent clearly enough — he wanted this business finished, and fast.
Mike caught my arm, his face bright with emotion. We exchanged greetings, then headed for my trailer with Gibson and his people.
Once everyone had taken their seats, the lieutenant colonel's aide opened a briefcase and drew out a thick sheaf of documents.
The title was as imposing as what lay inside. Packed densely across those pages were our roles, our authorities, and the full scope of support the Nevada National Guard would provide.
Lieutenant Colonel Gibson set another bundle of papers beside the first contract and spoke.
"And this, separately, is a Blanket Purchase Agreement for Military Support covering the Polaris Division."
Listening to Gibson and Mike walk me through it, I scanned the new contract. It spelled out the Polaris Division's comprehensive cooperation on the Nevada National Guard's logistical operations for the coming year. In exchange, it laid out regular compensation and supplies — fuel, rations, the works — on a scale more than enough to sustain a battalion-sized force.
I glanced at Mike as I reviewed the papers. He gave me the faintest nod, meant for my eyes alone. I could tell this hard-nosed old veteran had already picked through every clause. That single look melted the worry I'd been carrying about how to cover the Division troops' pay and supply. It vanished like snow in a thaw.
And so we signed.
The moment the pen left the page, we were no longer just a transport cooperative.
Gibson gathered the documents with a look of satisfaction.
Having finished with the signatures, Lieutenant Colonel Gibson collected the papers, then spoke as if something had just occurred to him.
"Ah, and there's one more piece of good news."
Our eyes locked onto him.
"As of today, cell phones will work here in Fallon."
"Is that true?"
I asked, startled. After the catastrophe, cellular networks had barely clung to life in major cities like Carson City and Reno — and even there, the service was so unstable it was practically useless.
"It is. Until now it was only barely possible in the major cities, but it seems the state government has put some real work into restoring the networks. They've prioritized strategic hubs like Winnemucca, Wells, and Fallon here. The Union should find it a lot easier to stay in contact now."
With the contracts signed, I unfolded a map I'd prepared and continued.
"Colonel, there's something I need to discuss regarding our base of operations."
I pointed to the Fox Peak site Gunner and I had surveyed.
"Here. We want to make this location, close to the Fallon checkpoint, the Polaris Division's base and the Union's stronghold."
Gibson studied the map for a moment, then smiled with satisfaction.
"Good thinking. You've picked an excellent location. There's a helipad attached to the community hospital right next door. And about a mile east, toward the Churchill County cemetery, there are plenty of open lots that would make decent training grounds. Solid choice all around."
"Will there be any trouble securing the land?"
"I know that ground. A few phone calls and it'll be sorted. Don't worry about it."
I said nothing. Gibson went on, considering the empty stretch of country on the map.
"Still, it's the middle of nowhere out there... Well. I'll have battalion-grade garrison facilities prepared for you. Field-deployable DRASH — rapid-assembly shelters, of course."
"Thank you, Colonel."
"I'll take my leave for now. If anything's lacking, pass it along through Mike."
After the lieutenant colonel left, I sat down with Mike and Gunner to review the Division's founding preparations.
"Mike, how's progress?"
"Coming along. We've already got the roster from the retired veterans' association and we're screening candidates. A few have completed in-person interviews, and I'm looking to run the finals soon."
Mike flipped through a folder as he continued.
"Ah, and once this mission wraps, Matthews and Ryker — their squads want to join our Division. They've already sent word."
I couldn't help but light up at that.
"That's excellent news. We've already worked together, they're people we can trust — if that happens, it couldn't be better."
"That's not all. There are quite a few applicants among the Guard's active-duty personnel who are about to separate, too."
He paused, then frowned slightly.
"Though some of them have rather unusual MOS or skill sets. That's giving me pause."
"Unusual how?"
"Rotary-wing maintenance, for instance — we operate helicopters, so that'd be useful to have. But... mortar specialists are a bit of a gray area."
The moment those words left Mike's mouth, Gunner's eyes lit up and he jumped in.
"Mortars? Boss, that's great. Wouldn't it be good for us to have a mortar section?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know. We always maneuver by truck. Even a light mortar takes time to dismount, emplace, and get ready to fire. Doesn't seem like a fit for us."
Gunner grinned at my skepticism and pointed at Mike.
"We've got Mike and Jed, don't we?"
Mike's expression shifted. He stared into space for a moment, as if sketching something in the air, then snapped his fingers.
"Gunner's right. There's a way."
I waited.
"The problem was thinking we'd have to set them on the ground every time. What if we mounted two or three mortars permanently on a flatbed trailer?"
I said nothing, turning it over.
"It'd be a mobile battery — ready to fire the instant we stop. Mortars are usually humped around by infantry, right? But if the tubes and ammo are already loaded and the gun crews are riding along, we'd essentially have our own self-propelled artillery."
Hearing Mike lay it out, I had to admit it made sense.
"Fair enough. It could be an effective strike capability."
Gunner added,
"Cody or Carlos could serve as spotters with the drones. Until now we've always had to wait until the enemy came within rifle range."
He paused, as if recalling the frustration of past fights, then went on.
"We need indirect fire now — something that can hit the ones hiding behind cover."
Gunner had a point. We'd grown accustomed to crushing enemies with overwhelming firepower, but against a clever opponent with comparable guns who knew how to use terrain, we'd be in for a hard fight.
"All right. We'll include the resources we need in our share after the fourth transport run, so get things ready in advance. What caliber would work best?"
Gunner considered.
"Well, with guns, bigger is always better. But too big and it gets hard to operate. I'd say 81mm is about right."
"Hmm. Then I'll put in for one 120mm, two 81mm, and a few 60mm just in case. Mike, I'll leave you to work out how we employ them."
With the discussion wrapped up, Mike stood to catch Lieutenant Colonel Gibson's vehicle. He shook hands with Gunner and me in turn.
"I'll head back to Carson first."
"Yes, Mike. I'm counting on you."
"And Chan — while you were gone, the atmosphere around the Union and Carson City has shifted in a strange way."
Mike smiled with a knowing look.
"Word of the last battle has already spread far and wide, whether we meant it to or not."
"Already?"
"That's the thing. News isn't doing its job, so rumor outruns it. On top of that, photos from the fight are already making the rounds on Reddit. My guess is..."
He let the thought hang a moment.
"The Guard might be running a bit of an information campaign to expand their support and influence. You know the line — 'This time we held because of one hero, but we need to strengthen our defenses for next time.' That kind of atmosphere."
"Ah..."
And with that, Mike rode back with Lieutenant Colonel Gibson.
That night, I called Dave at Carson Camp.
"Wooow. It actually connects! Chan! You all right? Nothing hurt?"
"Yeah, Dave. I'm fine. Everyone holding up?"
"Hang on, Frank's right here too. I'll put you on speaker."
A moment later, Frank's voice joined the call.
"Hey, hearing your voice is a load off! We were worried."
Dave picked back up.
"Worried doesn't cover it. We were on pins and needles thinking something had gone wrong."
"Sorry for the scare. There were circumstances."
"I know, I know. But do you have any idea how busy I've been while you were gone? I've been running Tahoe and Carson, trading salmon, instant coffee mix, even cigarettes — made a killing. Hahaha."
Frank launched into it, thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Used the money to stockpile truck parts and consumables — and I scooped up every last drone I could find rolling around Carson and Tahoe."
"Parts and consumables I get, but drones? Do we need that many besides Cody's?"
Frank laughed, thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Haha, that was Cody's idea, see. You know FPV drones? He says we can turn them into kamikaze drones. Sounds like the Fallon fight left him frustrated. So I've been buying every one I can get my hands on."
"Ah, right. If we can secure expendable drones, that's definitely usable."
A sudden worry overtook me.
"Wait a second, Frank. Does that mean you've been running Tahoe alone, with no escort?"
"Come on, do I look like the kind of guy who'd handle it that sloppy? Every trip I rounded up a proper convoy — TSP folks and the Carson City Guard kids. Slip them a few salmon and they're more than happy."
Dave cut in on Frank's answer.
"Don't even get me started, Chan. This guy's turned into a full-blown politician. And that's not even the half of it — he went and opened a marketplace right here at Carson Camp."
"At our camp?"
"That's right. Carson City PD and the Guard are running patrols, handling security and everything."
Dave's voice mixed admiration with a hint of envy.
"People are calling this place the Carson Trading Post now. We're running a market bigger than Tahoe's, ourselves."