[b]Day 1, 2100 hours
International Product Distribution, LLC
Monroeville, Pennsylvania (east of Pittsburgh)[/b]

Sergeant William Peterson and his team had begun their mission on foot, double timing it. Along the way, though, they began [i]acquiring[/i] bicycles through various means. [i]Stealing[/i] might have been a more appropriate word. But it wasn't as if they'd ripped a rider off the two wheeled vehicles. They'd simply [i]nabbed[/i] the bikes when found unguarded.

Riding a bicycle with a full pack, arms, and armor wasn't the easiest thing to do. It certainly wasn't something for which they'd been trained. And yet, somehow -- with just two spills for which laughter and recovery came -- they'd managed to reach IPC after less than an hour. Dismounting and checking their surroundings, they continued the last quarter mile on foot.

Monroeville was a quiet suburb of Pittsburgh with a population of less than 30,000. On any other Thursday night at 9pm, the city was relatively quiet. Tonight, though, there was activity in just about every direction. The people wanted to know what was happening to their world. Most of them by now knew what Willie had realized hours earlier: an attack or strange phenomenon was about to change their lives.

As they reached the entry gate to IPC, Willie ordered a perimeter guard set. Moving to the gate himself, he found it very well secured. As he and two others attempted to lift the leading end of the rolling gate out of its track, gunfire suddenly erupted from beyond it. Without even thinking, he threw himself to the ground as he hollered out, "[i]Cover! Cover![/i]"

A moment later, half of his Guardsmen were firing their automatic weapons in the general direction of the [i]enemy[/i] fire. He commanded, "[i]Cease fire! Cease fire! Jesus fucking Christ, cease fire![/i]"

As the guns went silent one by one, he chastised, "[i]What the fuck are you doing? Who ya shooting at?[/i]" Around him he could see sheepish expressions illuminated by the bright moonlight. He ordered quietly, "Reload ... and fucking [i]relax[/i]."

Scanning the parking and working area beyond the gate, Willie hollered out, "[i]My name is Sergeant William Peterson! I'm from the Pennsylvania National Guard, from the Training Center just on the other side of town.[/i]"

He paused a moment and was about to continue when a voice from the dark called out, "[i]Willie Pete...? Is that you?[/i]"

It took Willie a moment to realize who it was. He chuckled, answering back, "[i]Crabgrass?[/i]"

"[i]Yeah![/i]" the unseen man confirmed. "[i]What the fuck? What's going on?[/i]"

To his men, Willie said softly, "Relax, guys. He's one of our own." Sitting up to look toward the distribution center, he explained, "[i]I'm here to secure IPC ... to prevent it from being looted. You okay with that?[/i]"

"[i]You gonna shoot at me again if I say I'm not?[/i]"

"[i]Probably,[/i]" Willie said, hoping the humor was obvious in the single word. He stood tall, saying, "[i]Come let us in, Crabgrass. I'll catch you up on what's going on. I mean, as much as I can.[/i]"

Ten minutes later, with pairs of Guardsmen on the corners of the distribution center's roof, Willie told Craig Grassman all that he knew about the current situation. It wasn't much more than Craig already knew, unfortunately. "What I [i]can[/i] tell you is that if this continues any longer, people [i]are[/i] going to come here, looking for food. We were tasked with ensuring the [i]peaceful[/i] distribution of your warehouse's contents."

"Company's not gonna be happy with you just giving away their shit," the former National Guardsman told the current one. "They aren't as patriotic as you and I."

Willie thought about his friend's comment on patriotism. Patriotism wasn't what had kept Willie in the Guard all these years. He'd served his time in Iraq and Syria. He'd even done a quick stint in Gaza when the army helped with the distribution of food and water there. He'd seen all he wanted to see in warzones and other areas of strife.

No, Willie had remained in the Guard simply for the paycheck. As a Sergeant with 18 years in, he made more money for less work and far better security than he would out in the private sector. He'd contemplated becoming a Private Contractor when invited to do so by a friend. And he'd been close to signing up. Then, that same friend was blown into a billion little pieces by a suicide bomber in northeast Syria. Suddenly, Pittsburgh seemed like a pretty nice place to live and work. 

A pounding sound caught Willie's attention. He gestured Craig to be silent and listened closely to the Morse Code being pounded onto the roof. When silence returned, Willie told Craig simply, "Reinforcements."

Returning to the gate, he laughed at the sight. One of the two Guardsmen who had arrived at Natgat that afternoon on horseback was once again in the saddle. Behind him were two more soldiers in a golf cart overloaded with gear, arms, and ammo. The horse was noticeably unhappy with the extra load trailing behind it by rope.

"Eleven more arrived," the newly arrived soldier reported, quickly listing names. Speaking about the Corporal in charge at the Training Center, he said, "Connors split them up between the three sites. You get us."

In the distance, a bright light revealed itself to be a rising fireball. A moment later, an explosive boom washed over them. They couldn't know for certain yet, but Willie was pretty sure it was a gas station or maybe an above ground fuel tank. [i]Shit's seriously hitting the fan,[/i] he thought to himself.

He and the rider talked over commands and communications before the latter again rode off into the night. Willie and the two newly arrived soldiers used pallet jacks to move crates from the building to the parking lot. They set up a [i]machine gun nest[/i] of sorts to watch not just the gate but a good portion of the two fences to their left and right flanks. With the other 8 men on the roof, he felt certain that they were ready for whatever might come their way tonight.