by TW Powell
Tom dropped his head in disgust. A chopper was approaching from the south. It didn’t sound like a Huey or a Blackhawk. It sounded more like a gunship.
“Heads up Junior, you too Doc! Sounds like an Apache approaching from the south.”
Junior replied in his typically blunt, but truthful manner, “Cowboy, if that’s an Apache, we’re toast.”
What neither Junior, nor Tom would openly discuss over the walkie was their ammo situation, they were running low.
Jo paused behind a creosote bush to catch her breath and slightly raised her bloody head. She and Max both heard the chopper. Her ears were ringing, and her head was spinning. The blood running into her eyes was making it nearly impossible to see. Josephine couldn’t determine just what species of bird was heading their way, but company was coming. Right now, Jo desperately needed a good cutman, but she first had to make it back to her corner.
“Cowboy, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, we have a LAV-25 hauling ass through the desert on our left flank.”
“Where in the hell did that beast come from? We didn’t see any armor during any of our recons.”
“Tom, that LAV can travel 60 miles per hour on the highway. He could have been over in Tonopah for all we know.”
The Light Armored Vehicle was an eight-wheeled amphibious recon vehicle mounting a 25- millimeter Bushmaster chain gun in addition to two 7.62 mm machine guns. The LAV-25 was lightly armored, its armor averaging about a quarter-inch thickness. That armor could protect the occupants from small arms fire and shrapnel, but Grandpa’s sniper rifle could penetrate that armor. The LAV carried a three-man crew plus up to 6 infantrymen. That 25 mm Bushmaster was yet another problem and it announced itself with a vengeance, firing High Explosive Incendiary-Tracer rounds in short bursts.
The mystery chopper came in fast and low directly over the LAV. The Huey Cobra’s XM195 20mm Vulcan gatling gun cut the LAV-25 to pieces with a mix of armor piercing and high explosive rounds. Then, the Cobra made a 180 degree turn and strafed the Peoples’ Militia column with its 7.62 mm machine guns, 20 mm cannon, and 2.75-inch rockets.
The Peoples’ Militia had just been stopped three miles south of Kingston at Bowman Creek. Apache and Juan Hernandez were dead, along with four of their comrades. Jo, Dawg, and Bobby Ray were wounded and lying unconscious out in the desert, medical condition unknown.
Grandpa John had worked his way almost completely around to the rear of the Militia’s position. He got in two last parting shots as the badly mauled Militia Strike Force retreated back to Carver’s in total disarray.
Junior turned to Tom, “Where in the hell did that Cobra come from?”
Before Tom could venture an answer, the other MQ-9 Reaper overflew Bowman Creek at about 500 feet, wagging its wings as it passed. The Reaper then turned and fired its Hellfire missiles at the retreating Militia.
The Morning News Hour
While all hell was breaking loose in Nevada, the Peoples’ News Network’s Morning News Hour opened with somber music.
“Members, we have breaking news from California. The Peoples’ favorite couple, Member Delvin Smith and Member California Coordinator, Alexis Jones, were murdered early yesterday morning in a terrorist attack in rural Nevada. We have unverified reports that the Resistance also murdered Member Smith’s elderly widowed mother while she slept in her modest Stockton, California home.
“The Resistance is said to have recruited several Member Smith look-alikes and may be plotting some type of disinformation campaign.
“We are also receiving reports that the Resistance executed three Peoples’ Militia Security Officers in Fallon, Nevada. One of those officers was a Black mother of two. She was raped and brutally executed by the White Zionist pigs who dare call themselves ‘Freedom Fighters’.
“We will be following this story as it develops.
“Please join us in singing the Peoples’ Anthem in honor of the fallen Members.”
HVAC
It was approaching noon in Las Vegas. Many of the high-rise casino resort hotels had been converted into cramped apartment blocks that were now crammed full of immigrants. The lights dimmed at 11:10 a.m., then went out completely at 11:16, along with the air conditioning.
Earlier that morning, when Elvis left the building, the Arizona Rangers’ Riverine Force headed up the Mighty Colorado. Four Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats, colloquially known as Zodiacs, each holding 11 Rangers, departed from Willow Beach and headed north toward Hoover Dam.
Simultaneously, the 400-man strong Kingman Posse began rolling north along I-11, formerly US 93, toward Hoover Dam. The 250 men of Havasu Posse headed north along US 95, toward the solar plants located in the Eldorado Valley, just south of Boulder City, Nevada.
The Riverine Force directly assaulted the Hoover Dam complex. The dam itself was virtually indestructible, but the hydroelectric power plant, located deep in the bowels of the dam complex, could be sabotaged. The Arizona commandos had practiced this assault ad nauseum and captured the entire dam complex intact. After a few skirmishes, the Kingman Posse linked up with the Riverine Force from the Arizona side of Hoover Dam.
Havasu Posse easily captured the massive solar projects in the Eldorado Valley, on the Nevada side of the river. By 10 a.m., the Resistance master electricians had arrived. 70 minutes later, they began dimming the house lights in Sin City.
By noon, massive civil unrest erupted all along Las Vegas Boulevard. The 200,000 remaining inhabitants were now sweltering in the 115F midday heat. Across Vegas Valley, refrigerated food was quickly spoiling and frozen food was rapidly thawing. Then, the water pressure began dropping. The upper floors of the high-rises, where those with higher Social Quotients dwelt, lost water pressure first. Then, the looting, burning, and killing began.
Railroad Valley
Nevada’s basin and range topography is relatively young, geologically speaking. Beginning around 30 million years ago, Nevada’s crust began intermittently stretching, in an east-west direction, then relaxing. This stretched and folded crust is thin, allowing molten rock from deep within the earth to percolate its way up to the surface. Nevada owes its mineral wealth to its thin, active crust.
All that stretching and relaxing and thrusting and collapsing results in what geologists call faulting. Basically, this means that the layers of rock underlying Nevada are not nicely arranged like layers of a cake. Nevada is faulted. As you travel Nevada, it is not uncommon to see rock strata running almost vertically. Just imagine the force it takes to pick up a small mountain and toss it over on its side. Nevada’s geology is young, active, and chaotic.
Nevada is not typically the place to look for large underground basins of petroleum bearing rock, but there are always exceptions. A layer of hydrocarbon rich shale dating back to the Carboniferous Period, around 300 million years ago, lies deep beneath Railroad Valley. Coincidentally, this shale is called the “Chinaman” shale. The Chinaman shale runs roughly in the same southwest to northeast direction as the Nevada basins and ranges. Several small oil fields in Railroad Valley tap into that petroleum resource. The small Eagle Springs Refinery is centrally located amongst those oil fields and processes that crude into various fuels.
The Collective disdained fossil fuels and their Red Chinese friends weren’t interested in a micro refinery, surrounded by several micro oil fields, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. So, their loss was Deseret’s gain. The refinery and associated oil fields lay only 64 miles southwest of Ely along US 6.
When the 400 Salt Lake Troopers arrived at Eagle Springs Refinery, a tandem tanker trailer truck was waiting. One trailer was full of gasoline, the other was full of a close match for JP 4 aviation fuel. The tanker driver pulled out onto the highway and fell into line behind Salt Lake’s Hummers. Then, he fired up his CB.
“Good Buddies looks like we got ourselves a convoy. So, let’s put the hammer down. 10-4!”
Asylum
“Lucy, Honey, pull over and let me drive for a while.”<
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It was just getting first light and Slick figured that two unknown vehicles approaching Austin this early in the morning might draw a rather vigorous response.
When Delvin got out to switch places with Lucy, he motioned for James to pull over and join him.
“Delvin, where in the hell are we?”
“James, I reckon that we are less than 5 miles from Austin, Nevada, 5 minutes from freedom.”
“Why are we stopped here?”
“Hang on Inspector! If I know my compadres, they’ve got some pretty heavy artillery trained down on US 50.”
Puma 1 was off to an early start that morning.
“Dead Eye to Vet, we got two unknown vehicles about 3 miles to the southwest.
“Hang on. Vehicles have stopped. Occupants are milling about outside the vehicles.
“Taking Puma down to 500 and zooming in on targets.”
James instinctively reacted when her heard a faint buzzing.
“Delvin, do you see a bee, or a wasp?”
“No, do you hear something?”
“Yeah. I’m allergic to bee stings, but this could be something else. I’ve heard this before.”
James was once again on the lookout for Puma.
“Dead Eye to Vet, I think Captain Smith is down there.”
“Take it easy son. Just because Slick is down there doesn’t mean everything is OK. Do you see any weapons?”
“Nope, just Captain Smith and maybe a Chinese guy, he’s definitely Asian.”
“There it is! That’s one of those damned drones! Your friends are watching us!”
Inspector Wu laughed as he flipped Puma 1 the Bird.
“The Asian guy just flipped Puma the Bird and it looks like Delvin is giving him an ass chewing.
“I’m going to take Puma down to about 50 feet.”
Adam took Puma down and loitered in a circular track above the two vehicles.
Delvin waved his arms and made the “OK” gesture with his right hand. Adam wagged Puma’s wings in response.
“James, get your crazy ass back into the minivan and follow my lead. No more kidding around. There are probably a bunch of Mormons up there who would just love to blow a ChiCom to hell, or whatever it is they call the infernal regions.”
The two vehicles slowly proceeded toward WestBlock with emergency flashers on. Once inside the roadblock, the car and minivan slowed to a stop.
Delvin shouted, “Everyone slowly get out with your hands up! No sudden movements.”
“James, where are we? What ‘s going on?”
“Hana, Honey, you and the girls do exactly as they say.”
“Captain Smith, who in the hell are all these folks?” Vet was carefully sizing up Delvin’s traveling companions.
“Allow me to make the introductions.
“This is Inspector James Wu, excuse me, former Inspector James Wu, Chinese State Security.
“I believe this is his lovely wife Hana, although we have not been formally introduced.
“These three young ladies are James’ daughters.”
James interrupted and pointed out his daughters, oldest to youngest, “Lisa, Dawn, and Faith.”
“Thank you, James.
“Hana, my dear, might these folks be your Mom and Dad?”
Hana was still trying to grasp what was going on, “Yes, Captain Smith. This is my father, Henry
Huang and my mother, Katrina. Excuse me Captain Smith, aren’t you Member Delvin Smith, Hero of The Collective?
“Former Hero of The Collective, Hana my dear. Now, I’m just Delvin Smith.”
“Please excuse me once more. Why did that man call you Captain Smith?”
“Pardon me for not being totally forthcoming. I am Captain Delvin Smith, United States Marine Corps.” With that. Delvin reached out and kissed Hana’s hand, “And I am totally at your service.”
Hana smiled and blushed.
Lucy was rapidly growing tired of Delvin’s pleasantries, “At your service my ass! I took him in when he had nowhere else to go. That slick son-of-a-bitch fucked me for an entire day. Then, after I took care of him in every way imaginable, he got me into all this bullshit.”
Delvin deftly interrupted Lucy’s tirade, “And this is Lucy, former Peoples’ Militia Sergeant Lucy Thompson.”
“That’s right, former Sergeant Thompson. Now I’m stuck out here. Exactly where in the hell are we?”
“Lucy, dear, we are safe in Austin, Nevada.”
“Cram all the sweet talk up your ass Smith. My two boys and my mother are still over in Fallon.”
“Yes, they are. That’s next on our to do list.”
The House That OJ Built
The High Desert State Prison is located about 7 miles southeast of Creech Air Force Base near Indian Springs, Nevada. The prison is one of the largest in the United States and gained some notoriety when OJ Simpson took up temporary residence at the facility. After the ’26 Revolution, all the inmates were released. According to The Collective’s sociologists, there was a remarkable 0% recidivism rate among those released.
A second facility, The Southern Desert Correctional Center, was located less than a mile to the east. All its inmates were also released and, wouldn’t you know, all those inmates had 0% recidivism too.
In the last few weeks prior to the Deseret assault on Indian Springs, and for the first time in 14 years, new inmates began arriving at those two facilities. The first to arrive were the local Southern Paiutes, followed by the Northern Paiute, Shoshone, and Washoe tribes. Essentially all Nevada’s remaining Native American population were now imprisoned.
The Peoples’ News Network had recently begun running a documentary series chronicling the Resistance’s genocide of Indigenous Peoples. No viewer dared ask a somewhat obvious question, “How did the PNN manage to capture such up close, live, footage of the Resistance’s atrocities?”
The Collective was simply following the ‘Socialist Playbook’. Rule #1 was, “No crisis should be wasted. Rule #2 was, “If no crisis is available, manufacture a crisis.”
Native Americans had finally outlived their usefulness to The Collective. They refused to castoff the old ways and embrace the new order.
For instance, the Paiutes believe in Puha, a universal life-force, that resides in material things such as the sun, moon, stars, wind, and thunder. Shamans were believed to be capable of channeling Puha.
Then there were the funeral rites. Paiutes buried their dead in the hills and cremation was reserved only for those accused of witchcraft.
Finally, there were the Rez Dogs.
While feigning a deep, almost religious respect for the Indians, The Collective gradually came to regard Native Americans as just another fanatical group, like Mormons or Mennonites. Now, how could the eradication of the Indians best serve The Collective?
Just a couple of nights before Vet and Adam took their 33-mile hike from Indian Springs down to North Las Vegas, Peoples’ Militia disguised as Resistance fighters surrounded the Corn Creek Paiute Reservation. A PNN remote camera crew just happened to be in the area to document the atrocities.
Pets, particularly dogs, were strictly verboten in the Peoples’ United States. The Collective was a patchwork of various radical special interest groups. Unlike the patchwork masterpieces sewn together by the Mennonite ladies in Eureka, The Collective had sewn together a monstrosity. These disparate groups required constant appeasement and coddling, lest the fabric of The Collective be torn asunder. Immediately after The Collective assumed power, animal rights groups allied with fundamentalist Muslim sects and demanded that pet dogs be eliminated.
For untold ages, Indians and their dogs had forged a strong bond. From Huskies in the Arctic to herding dogs in the Navajo Nation, Indians and their dogs were inseparable. Native Americans did not view their dogs as pets. They were more like friends, or neighbors. Dogs freely roamed the Rez. Some of those animals were working dogs, some were watch dogs, but all were Rez Dogs.
Across Nevada
, Indian Reservations lay abandoned, with the butchered carcasses of the Indians’ canine friends lying bloated in the midsummer sun.
Only hours after Creech AFB was secured, the now reunited 500 Zion Troopers moved on the two prison complexes. The Troopers blew the front gates and rushed the cell blocks expecting a long, bloody fight. The Mormons moved through the two prison complexes cell by cell, block by block, building by building. The lights and HVAC had been shut off for days, along with the water supply. The buildings were dark, stinking ovens. Then came the chanting.
The Paiutes and Mormons were like oil and water. In the early 19th Century, White men of various ilks, explorers, trappers, prospectors, missionaries, and California emigrants, had crossed paths with the Paiutes, but they were not existential threats. They were just passing through.
The Mormons were a different breed of White man. They came to stay. In the latter half of that century, Mormons transformed the land. In so doing, they threatened the Paiute way of life. The Mormons and Indians fought many battles and skirmishes in the years following the American Civil War.
In recent years, Paiute Shamans had revived the Temascal, the Sweat Lodge. Similar to a Scandinavian sauna, the Temascal was a place of purification where one could pray, meditate, and contact the Great Spirit.
There was no steam in the prison cell blocks. It was bone dry. But the heat was oppressive. This was no Sweat Lodge, but the few surviving Paiute elders and Shamans were in the midst of their death chant. Without food or water for days, amid the infernal heat of the desert, the Paiutes were commending their souls to the Great Spirit.
The Great Spirit would have to wait.