The group of forty one had never had it easy. In the early days, just before a meteorite named Saris 7 struck the earth, their struggles were mostly those of conscience: how could they let themselves live while so many of their friends and loved ones were dying? The seven year freeze was no better than a long prison sentence, trapping them within the off-white walls of an abandoned salt mine deep in the bowels of the earth. But at least it was safe there. After the thaw, when the survivors broke out into the sunshine again, they faced a new danger. They'd been able to raise livestock, and even a limited number of crops, while locked within the earth. Now there were others who saw what they had and wanted it for themselves. Others who were more inclined to take things by force, than by reason. The group fought fierce gun battles to protect what was theirs. Now, when it seemed they'd finally won, they looked forward to a long period of peace. Then the Army came calling. On a beautiful spring day, out of a clear blue sky, a helicopter landed. The tall colonel was an officer, but certainly not a gentleman. Neither was he diplomatic. Instead of reason or negotiation, he merely stated his demands. "By order of the President of the United States, I have the authority to seize your livestock and your crops. Prepare them now. My people will be here to pick them up tomorrow." Now the group of forty one had a decision to make. Should they roll over and give everything they'd worked so hard for to the United States Army? Or do they risk everything, including their own lives, to take on the Army and the government, as they'd taken on other outlaws and bullies? They were a proud and determined bunch. Much too determined to just roll over and surrender.