The dream starts out on the Mackinaw Bridge. The Northern side of the bridge has been evacuated, St. Ignace is a pile of rubble, the Northern connection to the bridge has been severed, and there is now just a a telescoping iron platform that is used to reach the shore. I am part of a 4 person squad; the three others each have a role but mine is support. There are two non military personnel on the northern end of the bridge, trying to get a jeep to start. The wind is very bad and I am trying to set up a tripod for some sort of incendiary device that is needed to blow the bridge.

I get the tripod set up and the three others on my squad are trying to get the jeep into position to use the bridge apparatus so we can land safely on the shore. The four of us have what looks like .38 special tomcat berretas, some sort of black hunting knife, extra clips, and one guy in our squad has a mossberg 590, or some tactical shotgun. It’s like we had just gotten out of a fight, and our last job is to blow the Mackinaw Bridge and get back to our camp on the Northern side of the straits.

The three in my squad, and the two civilians finally get the jeep upright, and we all get in it. I have finally set the device on the tripod and secured it to the wire harnessing on the bridge. It is on a tall skinny tripod that is made out of some tough steel. The device looks like a surveying scope but it actually triggers some sort of explosion once we start to disengage from the bridge.

We all get in the jeep and initiate the telescoping sequence to land on the northern shore. I am the last one to make it safely to the jeep and by this point the wind is so bad I have to claw my way to the jeep, a good 20 yards of holding onto the interwoven wire that makes up the roadway. I get to the jeep and we start moving on a platform that is connected with wires. It is creaky and in disrepair, but we land on the shore after about a 200 ft drop. We all rest on the beach, and the heat finally sets in. It must be August or September.

At the shore, my brother is there, he is talking to my squad about how to properly operate a small gas powered device that can be used as a makeshift explosive, or as a firestarter.

About a mile from the shore, we walk to a makeshift camp of huts and cabins. Probably enough living space for 1,000 troops, but the thing is, we aren’t US troops. We are some sort of State sponsored militia and many of the soldiers do not want me there. There is a tension. 100 or so of these soldiers (including many women) are gathered outside the front of a barracks listening to someone talk. It is a young man with blond hair, about 6 ft tall, he is sitting on a wooden picnic bench and everyone is listening to him, he is demoralized and can barely maintain their attention. Then, the leader of this rabble points at me and says, “He should be in charge here, he as family, he was raised on this land, like many of you. He knows what we need and how to get it. I propose that Laverty is the new leader.” Then there is dissent, a young black man stands up and says, “He doesn’t know us, we don’t know him.” Mostly, the soldiers are quiet, and seem to agree with their current leader. The soldiers disperse and many of them greet me on their way into the barracks. There is a sense of calm. Among the soliders are people I have not seen in years. My childhood neihbor Mark, kids I went to high school with, etc.

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