Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1)

by L. Douglas Hogan

  “Gunny, these men report to be Army Rangers,” he replied.

  “And they didn’t put up a fight?”

  “No, Gunny. They were lying prone about fifty yards from the Hawk. They surrendered voluntarily and had no weapons on them.”

  “They were searched thoroughly,” Corporal Smith said from the rear escort position, and then added, “The pilot was shot in the head. He’s dead in the pilot seat.”

  Franks looked at them sternly and then turned his attention towards the sergeant first class.

  “Are these your men?” Franks asked him.

  “No. They’re America’s sons, as I am.”

  Franks perceived he was speaking to another patriot like himself, but the fatigues and the attack choppers threw him off a bit. He rolled the idea around in his head that maybe they were just in a bad situation and found a way out.

  The man appeared “saltier” than the others, and that intrigued Franks the most, especially because he was the same rank as Franks.

  “We’re going to see our CO and you’ll get a chance to talk your way out of this mess,” Franks told him.

  With that, Franks stepped aside and motioned the Marines to continue marching their prisoners toward Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan.

  Sergeant First Class Reynolds was, indeed, a salty Army dog. He had seen quite a bit of action in the Middle East wars against the jihadists. He generally chose his words wisely, carefully thinking ahead and making sure his words couldn’t be miscomprehended. When he was escorted to Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan, he knew one of two things would happen. Either he would be killed, which he felt was the most unlikely of scenarios, or he would be spared and closely observed to determine his motives.

  Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan was helping to locate the bodies of the fallen Marines. When Franks arrived with Reynolds, he counted upwards of thirty fallen Marines. Buchanan was laying the Marines in a neat row along the highway, in the grass. Buchanan had just crouched to lay a Marine down when Franks arrived with Reynolds. Buchanan took one look at Reynolds and asked, “Does he speak English?”

  “Yes, sir, and he’s an American,” Franks replied.

  Buchanan walked away towards the flat-roofed building. Buchanan wasn’t ten feet away when he called out, “Gunny, bring our friend into this fine establishment.”

  Gunnery Sergeant Franks escorted Reynolds into the building, leaving behind the other two soldiers, who were being placed in a sitting position on the ground.

  By the time Franks and Reynolds entered the building, Buchanan was already sitting at a table in the middle of the room. “My name is Lieutenant Colonel Charles S. Buchanan. These Marines are following me and those Marines have gone to a place I cannot lead.” Buchanan was pointing to the fallen Marines in the front.

  “Our objective, Sergeant First Class, is to find as many Americans as we can, liberate them, and re-establish an America free from tyranny.” Buchanan sat and looked at Reynolds, but Reynolds chose not to speak until he was given permission to do so.

  “That’s my endgame, what’s yours? How about you start from the beginning and finish with how you watched four helos shoot up my men.”

  “First off, thank you for your hospitality. I know how this must appear.” Reynolds had an East Coast accent. He pulled a package of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered a cigarette to Buchanan.

  “No, thanks. I was forced to quit when I could no longer afford them.”

  Reynolds then asked, “May I?”

  Buchanan nodded to Reynolds as he lit his cigarette.

  “Before the flush, I was stationed in Georgia and assigned to the 75th. I am a direct action Ranger. Been doing that for years with a background in Airborne.

  “My unit received a command to unite with the Washington units and head to D.C. Once there, we were briefed on operation ‘Shakedown,’ which was a fancy code word for ‘confiscate, inventory, and control.’ The briefing was conducted by a UN general by the name of Muhaimin. In the room with us, there were ten white-collars, whom I was able to identify as regional czars. Two more showed up late to the party, for a total of twelve. We were briefed of impending riots, mob action against President Baker, and unprecedented crime rates. We were assigned with specific tasks to enter these hostile environments to quieten the ‘resistance.’ It was the word ‘resistance’ that first confirmed my fears that our government was the ‘hostile.’

  “At first, there were no operations we had to engage in. It was like that for months, until recently. We received an order to fly northbound, along the Mississippi, and engage rogue Marines that had committed treason against the president. When we arrived, I thought you were attacking civilians. I saw an explosion and a plume of fire. But then I saw the choppers we were with open up on both your Marines and those civilians. I pulled my pistol and put it to the head of the pilot. He was a UN thug and was about to open fire on everyone. I was confused at first, but my suspicions were that I was on the wrong side. I told the pilot not to shoot or I would put a bullet in his head. Everything happened so fast, by the time I had my wits about me, I gave a directive to the pilot to drop the last chopper. He did. Then I commanded him to land on the turnabout in the apartment complex’s parking lot, back that way. Once we landed, I killed the pilot. The men that are with me are US Army Rangers and they’re under your command now, Lieutenant Colonel.”

  “You didn’t know about the Americans being taken as prisoners and forced to board shipping containers bound for only God knows where?”

  “No, sir. I knew Americans were being relocated, but I was under the false impression they were being moved for their safety, to save them from starvation, and I guess I never really thought it through to a conclusive end.”

  “No, Sergeant, you had it right, but what you didn’t consider was the fact that government doesn’t give you ‘safety’ without taking liberty.”

  The District

  General Muhaimin opened the door to the Oval Office and walked in, uninvited. His stern countenance was apparent as he began to speak in his heavy Middle Eastern accent.

  “Your wealth of incompetence is astounding. At every turn, you have managed to get my men killed and have accomplished almost nothing. You are weak, and even when the people presumably believe you’re in the lead, they still do not follow.”

  “General, the American culture is not like the culture you’re used to. They grew up with liberties that cannot simply be extinguished. Our history is full of literature on the spirit of resistance and how it’s catapulted this nation into recognition as the land of free and the home of the brave.”

  “Worthless rhetoric, President Baker. I have just received word that five of our most advanced attack choppers have been shot down over the southern tip of Region Five. Can you explain to me how this can be? Can you explain to me how southern rednecks and hillbillies can take out a group of trained pilots with an armament of heavy guns?”

  President Baker sat quietly as Muhaimin pulled a .40-caliber Caracal F from his holster. President Baker, now scared, began to speak. “General—” But she was interrupted.

  “Silence, President Baker,” Muhaimin said as he walked around to her left and right up behind her. She could hear that he was now directly over her left shoulder. He leaned down over her and grabbed a few strands of her hair and smelled the perfume-based shampoo that she had used to wash it that morning.

  “Growing up in Iran, I wasn’t afforded such amenities. You Americans think you’re so much better than the rest of the world. You think that because you are spoiled with riches and wealth, good farmland and capitalism, that you don’t have to bow to anybody.”

  General Muhaimin released her hair and stood up. He took a few more steps to almost complete a circle, but stopped short, choosing instead to stand at about her two o’clock position. He pulled up his pistol and pointed it directly at her face.

  Now terrified, the president stood up and said, “General Muhaimin, I will destroy the resistance and they w
ill not be heard from again. I will destroy their families, their homes, and fly their bodies north and dump them in the river to send a message to everybody south that resistance is fruitless.”

  General Muhaimin slowly lowered his pistol and holstered it.

  “Now you’re speaking my language, President Baker. Don’t forget your place. I am taking command of your armies and you are relinquishing the title of commander in chief. The United Nations have voted and this is the will of the global community. You are to be a face for the people of America and nothing more. As for these people you call the resistance, they will be killed for conspiring against the new world order.” General Muhaimin turned and walked out of the Oval Office.

  President Adalyn Baker, now realizing she had made several grave mistakes, knew she was a puppet of the blooming new world order. She had envisioned a global community where leaders of the world worked together to free it from violence on every level. She envisioned a world where global leaders worked together to focus on the important issues of climate change and weapons treaties. She knew that if she worked to collapse the American economy, it would be forced into one world currency and that no country would have to rely on another, and that all would be fair and even. She viewed America’s abundant resources as a world resource to be shared. She viewed every nation’s resource as a global asset. Little did she consider, things don’t always turn out the way you plan them.

  When Adalyn had come to her senses, after her near-death experience, she pushed a button on her phone and said, “Get me the Joint Chiefs of Staff, immediately,” and then released the button.

  President Baker waited patiently, at length, for her Joint Chiefs to call, but the call never came. She exited the room and was not met by her two regularly assigned Secret Service agents. They were replaced by two European men in black fatigues. She walked out of the White House and to her car, where she requested the driver take her to the Pentagon. She was followed by white UN military vehicles. Less than fifteen minutes later, she arrived at the Pentagon and was not greeted with the usual military brass and fanfare. She made her way to the command room, but the door was being blocked by UN soldiers and they would not allow her to pass.

  “I am President Adalyn Baker. Please step aside so I can enter.”

  The guards looked at her and spoke in a European language she did not understand. She made one more attempt, this time grabbing the door handle. The guard grabbed her arm, jerked it off the handle, and pushed her away. Shocked, Adalyn began to walk away and heard her escorts communicating with the two guards at the door. She then looked at the escorts and asked, “Do you speak English?”

  They both smiled and one of the guards said, “We do,” in a very strong European accent.

  “Then tell them who I am and to let me in the door.”

  The escort smirked at her and replied, “He already told you. You’re not in charge anymore and your Joint Chiefs aren’t either. They are dead.”

  Her escort blocked the door while the other guard opened the door wide enough for her to see in. Five Chief of Staff members were lying on the floor.

  Elsewhere in the District

  General John James, commandant of the United States Marine Corps, and Admiral Belt McKanty, admiral of the Navy, two of seven Joint Chiefs, were anything but dead. Their use of secret word-of-mouth-based communications systems may very well have saved their lives. General James and Admiral McKanty saw impending dangers on the horizon as the president began usurping authority from Congress by ever-increasing use of executive orders. Each order went unchecked by Congress until there were too many to manage. By the time the Flip came, it was too late to act. All that was left was for them to react. It was against John’s nature, as a hardened Marine, to wait for a crisis before he acted. That’s why he confided in Admiral McKanty. He needed one person to trust with his life, and he had known Belt for two decades. Now, both John and Belt sat in a cab, having barely escaped the same fate as the other five Joint Chiefs.

  Their day was much like most of them had been until the Chiefs of Staff were requested to report to the Pentagon. The phone call didn’t come from the usual secretary at the usual time, but was from an unknown voice at an odd hour. That was John’s cue. He and Belt had a contingency plan for such idiosyncrasies. They both noticed congressmen and women were failing to show at capital hearings. It wasn’t isolated events that they had noticed, but was a long and growing concern. At first, it was assumed that they were quitting and merging with their districts and states, but later it became all too apparent that oppositional right-wingers and conservative politicians were vanishing off the grid. Slowly and methodically after that, the moderates were not showing up. Only the staunchest of executive supporters remained, until at last, there were twelve.

  Admiral McKanty and General James were military men. They kept their political opinions reserved, but when the shady call came, their contingency plan initiated. As part of the contingency, they each called their families and stated, “Headed to work. Won’t be home tonight.” That was code for “Get out of town and rejoin me at X.” As for Belt and John, they met at a predetermined historic location in Old Town, Alexandria, on the corner of Lee and Queen. From there, they jumped in a cab and requested the driver take them to the southernmost tip of the District.

  The District was the only place travel was permitted after the Flip. No one was allowed to enter or exit the District. It was strictly controlled by police and military force. Any unusual activity observed by the drivers of cabs and other public transportation was to be reported to the Department of Homeland Security immediately. Every cab and bus had emergency contact numbers on the dash and visor.

  Commandant James knew diplomacy was now nonexistent. The republic he had hoped to be restored was now gone and the democracy he grew up in was dissolved.

  Admiral McKanty was sitting in the backseat with the commandant. He looked over his left shoulder at John and saw John had already removed a pistol from his waistband. He was in the process of screwing a silencer onto the barrel when the driver looked into his rearview mirror and said, “You gentlemen are going to need some additional transportation beyond the borders of the District.”

  Neither John nor Belt replied to the driver, but remained suspicious of him. John was planning on shooting the driver to close off any loose ends and secure their safety.

  The driver looked in his mirror at his two passengers. He knew that they were planning on evacuating the borders and felt his life was in jeopardy. In a last ditch effort to save himself, he started talking about his family and a hope that freedom would soon be restored. When that attempt proved fruitless, he said, “I know a way out.”

  Belt and John looked at each other. Belt broke the silence by saying, “Go on,” in an inquisitive voice.

  “Sirs, I live in the northwestern side of the District. We can go there now and I can show you a way through the barricades without any confrontations. My two sons are very patriotic and want to be soldiers and they are constantly searching the woods in the District, looking for vulnerabilities. Gentlemen, if you will agree to take my sons with you, I will happily take you to them.”

  Belt and John looked at each other and John asked the cab driver, “Why do you want us to take your sons?”

  “Because I want my sons to be free and they have a better chance serving their country outside the confines of the District. That is their desire. They are twenty-one and twenty-three years of age, old enough to serve a cause greater than themselves.”

  John put his pistol away, looked at the cab driver’s name on the visor, “Joshwa Benski,” and said, “If my companion agrees, you may quietly take us to your home.”

  John looked at Belt and Belt said, “Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER XII

  Jess and Denny took a census of who was saved from the UN prisoner barges, which they code-named “Alcatraz.” The barges were a whopping two hundred and forty feet long by seventy-two feet wide. The shipping conta
iners were about forty feet long and eight feet wide. They stuffed about one hundred and fifty people into each Alcatraz. Only half the containers were actually filled with people, the other containers were filled with polymer boxes and “Martial Law” signs. In total they managed to save about four thousand two hundred people. Many of them ran away and only one thousand two hundred fifty-six stayed and took up residence in shared billets in Gorham.

  Denny reported to Nathan’s quarters and presented the census to Nathan, in the form of a neatly scribed notebook with all the figures. Everything was neatly arranged so that Nathan could easily thumb through the notebook and find what he was looking for.

  Denny was used to taking good notes and writing up instruction-based literature. His last year in the Navy was serving as a curriculum coordinator for training Seabee Corpsman.

  As Nathan thumbed through the pages, he was most interested in the assets. He wanted to know specifically what it was he had to work with, i.e., who could shoot, who could sew, who could cook, etc. In all, he only had thirteen veterans and only two of them were actually grunts. Nathan knew that all thirteen of them would be fine because he knew that they would be able to take orders and know how to carry them out. He didn’t discriminate much on what they did in service, though it was important; he just wanted to know who he could communicate best with, and who he could trust the most.

  Nathan placed the notebook in a watertight ziplock bag and stuffed it into one of the pockets of his assault pack. “Thanks, brother! You did a great job organizing all this data.”

  “You’re welcome. What do you plan to do with all that information?”

  Nathan looked at Denny then peeked out of the blinds of his front-room window. “Jess didn’t share with you?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “I think I like her,” Nathan told Denny.

  “In what way?”

  Nathan just smiled.

  “Oh, c’mon, man, you can’t leave me hanging like that,” Denny pressed.