They set out the next morning: Alpha Company of Gamma Battalion, one hundred men, ten cargo tricycles, and five ‘civilian auxiliaries.’ Their first objective was the Rte. 18 Interchange, two miles away. On trikes they’d make it in about fifteen minutes, and an old-style army would barely even consider it a hike; but Brown warned Morgan to assume at least an hour to get there. “The militia can fight, but it ain’t really used to being mobile. And it’s even worse when they’re all together.”
Morgan Barod had decided on hearing that this would be the first thing that got fixed, starting right now. Accordingly, he had the company load the trikes up with the expedition’s supplies, then set a firm and inexorable pace that had everybody except Morgan, Brown, and one of the other sergeants puffing a little by the end.
They weren’t bad troops, Morgan decided with the easy arrogance of youth (admittedly, he was also right). Their gear was good, they knew how to use their weapons, and they weren’t shy about fighting. He had seen that. But they were just a little too used to having the Sand Dune to protect them.
There also weren’t enough militia. A company was about as much as the militia could afford to lose without it being an utter disaster. Morgan’s only real consolation was that Freehold really wasn’t in a much better position.