Dale found this service both meaningful and convenient.
The militia had discussed the southern border problem for weeks but had finally come to this compromise. The whole militia could have loaded up and gone down to Texas where they would be welcome. But they all had jobs.
Except Fred, the Captain, who was on social security.
And Donnie, with his disability. They were both gung-ho to take the trip south.
Both Justis and Junior seemed to be living off of some settlement, and they didn’t seem eager.
But Dale had to work. So, he’d said he couldn’t go to Texas.
So, they set up this outpost on the southern Idaho border to protect our country from the invasion.
They had their tactical gear and rations. Though Dale’s wife, Betty had pointed out to him the cost of all that gear equaled a car monthly payment, maybe more.
The wind was cold. The sun slanted west. Again, he wasn’t at the barricade, but up on look out. He thought back to when they had been protecting the unborn. That had gotten dramatic. He wasn’t sure of any unborn children saved, but at least they’d made a stand.
But this border thing was a bit harder for him to understand. He really didn’t want foreigners moving into his neighborhood. But Paco and his wife sure seemed to be reasonable folks. Paco did concrete work and she made tamales. They were good neighbors, though their kids were wild. Dale smiled as he thought of their antics.
But he had seen on the videos how there were tens of thousands coming across bringing fentanyl to poison his neighbors. And they were bringing in sex slaves, children to be defiled. He felt a righteous purpose. This righteousness brought him peace. Lord, he needed peace.
He scanned the southern horizon. They had been warned to look for vans, since the unlawful immigrants are often piled together. It was chilly, but he was warm. The low sun and the peace left him time to think.
He thought of his next job. A dairy south of him needed another water line. He could rent the trencher and knew how to make the connections, but working down in that trench was beyond his girth. His last employee was violated and now serving a rider.
The dairy seemed to have lots of Spanish speaking workers. He wondered if any of them were part of this invading horde. He also wondered if any of them knew how to glue PVC.
He shook his head to clear it. Too many thoughts can distract you. But he saw nothing in the distance.
He thought again about the pipes and the trencher and some young skinny guy he could teach down in the ditch.
His radio crackled. “Red Leader to Blue outpost.”
He toggled. “Copy”
“You see the white van from the south?”
Dale looked as far as he could, but the wind brought tears to his eyes. He held his hand up to block it and sure enough, a white van was coming north across Idaho’s border. “Roger. I see it.”
There was a long pause from Red Leader. Then, “We will intercept. Must protect the border.”
Dale dropped below the ridge and got out his binoculars. He could see the militiamen move the barricades out onto the road and shoulder their arms, like in the drills.
The van slowed and stopped. They were interrogated. The road militia stood with arms ready, but after the questioning, the barricades were removed, and the van passed.
Dale asked. “No illegals?”
Red Leader was chipper. “No, just some Mormons fundamentalists coming back from Mexico. They’re OK.”
Dale felt good about his duty.