Farther around the ring that had kept the men of the 5th Brigade captive, the two older members of Osborn’s small force found themselves engaged in a spirited fire fight with the U.S. marshal and the FBI agent occupying observation post Number Five. Neither of these Federals had exposed themselves long enough for Osborn’s men to get a clear shot. And when the militiamen had opened fire, their initial volley had been wild and wide of the mark.

That’s not to say that they were being ineffective. On the contrary, the two middle aged patriots were doing exactly what they had been sent out to do. They were keeping the Federals at Position Charlie busy and unable to do anything to help their companions at Bravo.

Stopping only long enough to look to his left and then to his right to make sure that there was no fire coming at him from the positions he had designated as Alpha or Charlie, Osborn shifted his feet about in pit Bravo in an effort to find some firm footing. The bodies of the two men who had occupied it had been reduced to a tangled heap of lifeless arms and legs, making it difficult to find solid ground to stand on. When he did, Osborn placed his hands on the top of the sandbags, gave himself a boost up and out of the front side of the pit. Once there, he squatted on the edge and looked back down into the bloody pit at his partner. “Keep your eyes and ears open. If someone comes at you from any direction other than the ranch, shoot them.”

“What if he’s one of ours?”

Anxious to be off, Osborn snapped back, “Then he fucked up and he deserves to be shot. Now, shut up and stay here.” Without another word, Osborn was on his way toward the silent cluster of buildings that had, for so long, been the center of Ben Branson’s world.

If there was one part of the entire operation that Osborn had misgivings about, it was this part. He had no sure way of knowing if the besieged men of the 5th Brigade knew of their plan. He had been told that they would be warned. But he had also been cautioned that this was a warning only. “It wouldn’t be wise,” his contact had told him, “to tell them too much. All they need to know is that someone will be coming.”

Even as he approached the first building of the compound, Osborn was still unsure how best to make contact with his fellow militiamen. To shout out while he was still approaching might draw attention to himself from a Federal at another, unsuppressed observation post. Yet creeping right up to the buildings where the members of the 5th Brigade were holed up could be just as dangerous, for they might mistake him for an FBI agent using the confusion as cover.

In the end Osborn didn’t need to do anything. Even as he was making his way carefully forward, trying hard to decide what to do a low, menacing voice called out. “Halt!”