By the Author of Dear Diary: It’s Me, Jessica

Find the previous chapter here.

Dear Diary,

It’s me, Jessica.

Mom and I were tending to the gardens when we heard the sound of horse hooves clattering on the road at a run.  

It was Daisy Miller from the Miller farm.  She reined in the horse before us, her horse in a lather, nostrils flaring from the run.  

“Someone is taking shots at us!”

“What?” Mom exclaimed, eyes wide.

“We were doing morning chores when a shot whizzed by Billy’s head and hit the barn side!  We all ran for cover!  I was in the barn with the horses when Dad sent me to get the militia!  I ran flat out as soon as I cleared the barn!”

“Tie up your horse to the tree.  Jessica, get a bucket of water for the horse.  I will take Daisy to Jack.  Meet us at his house!”

I nodded and ran into the house to get water while Daisy and Mom took off for Jack’s house.  When I caught up to them at Jack’s, Jack was sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch with Samson and the puppies lying on their side.  He looked off into the distance as Daisy finished telling him of the situation.  

“Everyone is pinned down?”

“Yes.  If anyone tries to move from one of the barns or the house, he shoots.  Took a shot at me as I ran the horse out of the barn to come here.  I heard it whiz by my head!”

“Okay.  He is a good shot.  A bad shot would not have come close to Billy’s head.  We need to mitigate his ability to shoot.  Jessica, I need you to go over to the Andersons and ask to borrow their Beagles.”

“Beagles?”

“The first and greatest threat to a sniper is another sniper.  The second threat is tracking dogs.”

“Are Anderson’s beagles tracking dogs?”

“I dunno.  The boys are.  But beagles make a heck of a sound from a long way off.  The more dogs barking, the better,” Jack grinned.  

Entry two

Jack was more mobile but still not able to run or ride on a horse.  We set up the litter and garden cart we used to bring Jack back home from Four Corners to move him.  He sat more upright.  Samson, the puppies, and the Anderson’s beagles were alongside him. 

The rest of the militia marched at a fast march behind him.  We were moving for speed, so we had a minimal combat loadout: rifles, ammunition, and water.  That was it.  Jack had us stop well short of the Miller’s farm.  He got out of the cart and had everyone gather around him.  He took a long stick and drew in the dirt on the side of the road.

“Okay, here is the road, the Miller’s farm, the woods across from the farm where we think the sniper is, just back in the treeline.  Here are the Miller’s fields and the meadow across from them.  We are going to form a line here,” he nodded over his shoulder, “From the road, into the woods as far as we can, within about ten feet of each other.  Once we are formed up, we will get the dogs barking. That is the signal to start a slow, steady march toward the Miller’s farm.  Make as much noise as you can.”

“Why?  Wouldn’t that alert him?” Rae asked, looking confused.

“The dogs, the sound of that many people in the woods, coming his way, he will think we are trying to net him in.  He will either try to outflank us in the woods away from the road and the Millers’ or crawl low across the meadow to the woods on the other side.  If he thinks we are netting him in, the best choice is to make it across the meadow to the woods beyond.  Then he can take a few shots at us as we come out of the woods and into the meadow, halting us as we take cover.  He will then make a run into those woods to escape while we will be too cautious to follow him.  Daisy,” Jack said to the young girl still on horseback, “Once we start moving, I want you to run to your farm, find your dad, and tell him what we are doing and what he is to do, and wait for the signal.”

“Okay,” Daisy responded, but did not sound sure of herself. 

“Questions, comments, concerns,” Jack asked as he looked around the militia.

“Would he try to hide, let us pass him, and then come back this way to escape?” one of them asked.

“Not if he thinks we have tracking dogs.  Anyone else?”  

After several seconds of silence had passed,

“Okay.  Let’s form up our line.”

Entry three

It took about ten minutes for us to form up the line, as parts of the woods were dense, requiring us to step over fallen trees.  Jack sent me with the dogs to form up in the middle of the line.  He gave me the command and hand signal for the dogs to “speak,” to get them barking.  The Beagles may not be trained, but would likely join in. 

Jack stayed on the road.  As he had planned, we were all about ten feet apart.  We communicated by word “pass-along.”  From behind a tree, Rae said to me, 

“The far end is set, pass the word to Jack.”

I turned and repeated it to the next militia member.  A few moments later, word from Jack came back.

“Get the dogs going.”

I looked down at Samson and the puppies and said,

“Speak!”  And gave the hand signal.  They all started barking, and just as Jack predicted, the Beagles joined in.  It was a riot of noise.  The line set out on our slow march.  

Fifteen minutes passed when I heard a single shot from the direction of the road.  It was Jack’s signal.  Another five minutes passed, and I could see the woods’ treeline and glimpses of the meadow beyond.  We were close to the Miller’s farm now. 

Word was passed from Jack for us to stop just short of the treeline in case the sniper was going to take a shot.  

We all stopped and took cover behind trees.  I stopped the dogs from barking, but the Beagles would bark a few times more, then they stopped.  

“Jessica,” Rae said to me, “Word from the far end, they think they see where the sniper entered the meadow, or it could be a game trail.”

I passed it on.  

I heard people shouting, loud whistles, and then a few gunshots coming from the Millers.  I tried to look through the trees, but I had no luck.  

Then they came into view.  It was the Miller’s herd of cattle, with Mr. Miller, Billy, Janet, and Justin on horseback driving the cattle into the meadow.  For cattle, it was more like a trot than a stampede.  But for a man on foot, it would be an all-out run.  They drove the cattle straight across the middle of the meadow, then around the meadow on the far side, then around to the side we were on and back across again.  

Jack sent word for us to line up along the meadow and then start a slow march across.

We lined up somewhat hesitantly, expecting a shot, but none came.  The Millers were driving the cattle back across the road to their fields as we began our march.  We were about halfway across when someone from the far end shouted,

“Found him!”

I turned toward the road and where Jack would be and repeated,

“Found him on the far end side!”

I heard two or three others repeat my words. 

We all turned and walked over to where a group of the militia was standing around, looking down.

As we walked up, I heard one of them say,

“Ohh!  That is ghastly!”

Another let out a low whistle.

A moment later, Jack walk through the little circle we had formed around what was left of the sniper.

“I think I saw him try to run, but it was hard to tell from a distance,” one of the militia reported to Jack.  

“He didn’t hear them coming,” another asked.

“Not until it was too late,” Jack answered.  “The grass is nearly waist high, the ground is soft.  The cattle were not running full out like a stampede.  He might not have known until they were almost on top of him.”

One of the militia bent over for a closer look, using the barrel of his rifle to lift one of the sniper’s shoulders, almost rolling the body over.  He quickly pulled the rifle back, looked up at Jack, shocked.

“She.  The sniper is – or was – a woman.”

Entry four

After a search of her things, nothing turned up about who she was, where she was from, or even her name.  Jack guessed she might have had a camp somewhere nearby, but did not see the point in trying to find it.

Why would she just start taking shots at the Millers?  What was the point?  Was she just crazy?  Did she have something against the Millers?  Where was she from?  Did she have a family somewhere?

Diary, I am not sure how I feel or think about that.

About 1stMarineJarHead

1^stMarineJarHead is not only a former Marine, but also a former EMT-B, Wilderness EMT (courtesy of NOLS), and volunteer firefighter.

He currently resides in the great white (i.e. snowy) Northeast with his wife and dogs. He raises chickens, rabbits, goats, occasionally hogs, cows and sometimes ducks. He grows various veggies and has a weird fondness for rutabagas. He enjoys reading, writing, cooking from scratch, making charcuterie, target shooting, and is currently expanding his woodworking skills.