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

by L. Douglas Hogan

  At the end of Nathan’s operation plan, he didn’t ask if there were any questions. Instead, he asked Jessica to step outside with him. Looking at Denny, he said, “Can you wrap things up here?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Denny replied.

  Stepping outside with Jess, he afforded her a moment to say anything she wanted to say. She saw the opportunity and seized it by saying, “Look, I wasn’t completely honest with you before, and now I’m not blind to the fact that you think I’m shady.”

  Nathan continued to look at her and to give her the time she needed to spill everything.

  She continued, “Nothing I told you was a lie, although I omitted a few things that happened to me after I regained consciousness.”

  Before Jess could finish her last sentence, the siren alarm went off from high in the water tower. Everybody in town stopped moving. Denny and the Posse exited the old firehouse. Nathan dropped his assault pack and fetched his binoculars. He held them up to his face and pointed them towards the tower. He saw one man cranking the siren and the other was pointing towards State Route 3. He held up one of his hands in what resembled an okay sign, but Nathan had trained the guard tower in hand and arm signals for fighting purposes. The hand signal the man was giving Nathan was the number nine. It was followed by a closed fist that rocked back and forth, signifying vehicles.

  “GRAB YOUR WEAPONS AND HEAD FOR COVER NOW!” Nathan shouted. “WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”

  Since everybody had packed their belongings, Nathan felt they had been caught short; even with advance preparation, they had been too slow. His worries now shifted to his sister, Katie, who was last seen packing her belongings and helping others. He didn’t have time to run to her aid, and so chose to take more immediate action, hoping to catch the raiders off guard.

  Nathan looked at the Posse and said, “Let’s hit the tree line. We can snipe from the cover of the woods.”

  Hearing what Nathan just said made her history of killing two men seem less grim. As they were heading to the tree line, Jess said, “So, what I was about to tell you—”

  Nathan interrupted, “Save it, Jess. You can tell me later.”

  Jess kept her silence until they hit the trees. Once they were snug into a sniping position, she began to speak. “I’ve saved it long enough. I need to tell you guys this. It can’t wait, because I don’t like the idea of you feeling you have to watch over your shoulder with me.”

  Nathan and the others just sat quietly and let her softly talk.

  “Nathan, I already told you about a guy named Scott that was coming onto me and acting weird. I thought he had got the picture and left me alone. I opened the bus door to put away the weapons and I don’t remember anything from the time I got on that bus until the time I woke up in some dreary and dank basement. My hands were bound behind my back and I was gagged with a sock and some duct tape. I managed to free myself and found a pen in the drawer of an antique desk. I heard a voice and recognized it as that weirdo Scott. I put two and two together and waited. He came downstairs into the basement and I shanked him to death.”

  The Posse members just looked at each other. It wasn’t the response she was expecting.

  “With a pen?” Denny asked.

  “Yeah?” Jess inquisitively replied.

  “That’s awesome,” Warren said.

  Nathan and Denny looked back at each other one last time before returning their attention to the incoming assault. They still could not hear vehicles.

  “Everybody stay alert. They may be on foot, so watch your six.” Nathan said.

  “I killed another man after that,” Jess continued.

  “With a bobby pin?” Warren bantered.

  “No, with a kitchen towel,” she said.

  Everybody that was looking at Jess couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking at this point.

  “I took this after I killed Scott,” Jess held up her new acquisition, the M4 with an M203 grenade launcher.

  “There was a man in Murphy that shot and killed a woman over a bag of goods. I killed him and tried to save her, but I was too late.”

  “You did what you had to do,” Nathan interjected. “We’re all on the fringe of doing the same thing,” he continued. “There’s no judge but God now. There’s no phones ringing and calls to senators or sheriffs for something to be done.” Nathan looked into Jess’s eyes and continued, “There’s only tyrants and patriots. Those two men were tyrants and you are a patriot.”

  Nathan and Jess seemed to be lost in the moment as they continued to look into each other’s eyes. No sooner than Nathan had lightened her spirit and they both had let their guard down, a single shot rang out. Everyone flinched at the sound of the rifle shot, no one more than Jessica. She felt a sharp, burning sensation in her back and saw blood splatter on Nathan’s face. He had been shot in the face. She had never lost eye contact with Nathan. The bullet that penetrated Jessica’s back had split Nathan’s cheek.

  Chester, Illinois

  When Buchanan arrived at the river bridge road, he noted two prisons that weren’t on his map. There was a medium-security prison right off Route 3, on the western side of town, and what appeared to be a larger, more sophisticated prison down in the valley behind the medium-security prison.

  From there, he drove toward the bridge and was impressed by the view he had of the river. He cautiously took his Marines across it and was relatively surprised not to come across any opposition. Buchanan left one hundred fifty men on the Missouri side with communications and half of the combat engineers. He put Captain Riley on the Missouri side with Sergeant First Class Reynolds and his men. In all, they were set pretty good, and close enough to respond in a hurry.

  Buchanan had set the combat outpost at the Chester Welcome Center on the Illinois end of the bridge.

  The TOW and heavy machine gun Marines that were positioned on the bridge were settling into their positions of control, when one of the TOW gunners began sighting out the environment. He could see, in great detail, people in the community that were still freely moving about, notwithstanding they were doing it cautiously. From the bridge, most of Chester appeared to be wooded, with occasional structures sticking out through the canopy. He scanned the hilly area and spotted the courthouse. A mile or two north from there, he spotted the maximum-security prison they had seen from Route 3 earlier.

  The corporal behind the TOW sight was drawing a map, detailing anything he could identify through his sight, a tactic common amongst CAAT (Combined Anti-Armor Team) gunners. As the corporal was sketching his map, he peered backed through the sight of his TOW system and zoomed in on the riverfront adjacent the prison.

  Grabbing his PRC-77 radio, the gunner said, “Bravo One, Bravo One, Echo Four Juliet. Over.”

  Hearing the radio traffic, the lieutenant colonel walked toward his radio. “Echo Four Juliet, this is Bravo One. Over.”

  “Bravo One, this is Echo Four Juliet. Several tangos heading southbound on Romeo. Stand by for SALUTE report. Over.”

  SALUTE was an acronym for information being relayed. It stood for size, activity, location, unit, time, and equipment.

  Buchanan grabbed a pencil and a paper and then returned to his HMMWV for a flat surface to write on.

  “Echo Four Juliet, Echo Four Juliet, this is Bravo One. Ready to copy. Over.”

  The gunner, now carefully looking through his sight, was cautiously studying several barges heading southbound down the Mississippi. They were winding around a curve in the river and appeared to be docking at the prison. Their freight consisted of several shipping containers, multiple vehicles, and UN troops.

  The corporal pushed the button on the handle of the radio and said, “One hundred troops, two T90 tanks, four BTR90, five deuce and half, coordinates north 37.55.68, west minus 89.52.30, repeating, north 37.55.68, west minus 89.52.30. Over.” The gunner’s assistant was careful to write down everything that was being relayed to Buchanan.

  Buchanan thought for just a second then returned to
his radio. “Echo Company and Weapons Company return to COC. Over.”

  Once all of Weapons Company had rallied at the command outpost, Buchanan called for all the platoon leaders, opened a map, spread it across the back of his HMMWV and began barking commands to the company.

  “I want my 0341s right there and my TOWs here. What I don’t want is for us to get bottlenecked here.” Buchanan was pointing at the road that ran along the river. It had an elevated wooded area to the east side of it. The idea of storming through such a tight area with his light armor would be a death trap, especially with the two T90 Russian tanks and the three Russian APCs the corporal had spotted from the bridge. This area along the river was certainly a choke point that he was careful to avoid.

  Buchanan had four HMMWV M1046A1s set up above the prison, where they had overwatch against the tanks and armored personnel carriers. He also sent the 0341 mortarmen with the 0352 TOW gunners. The heavy machine gunners took the train tracks with Company C, the Rangers, and Reconnaissance, all on foot. Buchanan wanted the helo to sit this one out, because it was their only aerial asset.

  Once every assigned unit was in place, he listened closely to the intelligence briefs that were coming in over the radio. The barges, which had normally been traveling north on the river, were now carrying less freight containers than previously noted.

  The barges were definitely docking near the prison. It took a while for the barges to come to a stop; in fact, they had partially passed their location when the motors went into reverse. That too, it took a while for the tugboat to push the weight of the barges and freight against the flow of the river. Once it had begun its push in the opposite direction, it was noted that the barges were backing into a man-made levee that protruded out into the river. The current was weaker here, so once the barge was close enough to it, the workload was lessened.

  Buchanan gave the command to all units that he wanted personnel to get off of the transport before they opened fire. His instructions were clear that he wanted prisoners.

  Taking notes, the TOW gunners observed a UN brass disembark the tugboat and give orders to others still on the barges with the heavy armor. Another man in a UN uniform exited the prison and walked up to the officer. He saluted him and they began talking. The Marines could not hear what was being said from this distance, but they were following their body language. It appeared as though the officer was giving orders to the UN prison guard. The prison guard turned and returned to the prison.

  The Marines were relaying information back to Buchanan on everything they had seen so far. The only question Buchanan asked was, “Have they begun disembarking the armor?” which they answered, “No.” Buchanan told the Marine units, “Maintain visual.”

  With that being said, the Marines were chomping at the bit to kill UN invaders, but they continued to watch.

  The ramp on the barge lowered and one hundred UN soldiers stepped off. All of them were wearing blue UN uniform hats, opposed to the usual blue helmets. They lined up in a row and stood there. About that time, the UN prison guard returned to the parking lot with about sixty others that were dressed similarly. The officer ordered the guards to stand in formation. He then stepped to the rear of the UN soldiers that had just disembarked the barge. He gave the order and they began firing at the guards that had just come out of the prison. They shot until every guard was lying dead.

  This information was relayed back to Buchanan, who saw an opportunity to take the prison while it was emptied of guards. He gave the order and the Marine heavy gunners, Engineers, and Rangers all began their assault on the unsuspecting armed UN soldiers.

  The TOWs, which were high above the battlefield, began launching their missiles towards the freight train cars the soldiers were using for cover. The heavily armored APCs and tanks were taking minimal damage because they were not manned. They caught an occasional stray bullet, but the real damage would have to come from the TOWs, and they were not firing on them. Similarly, the mortars were landing in the parking lot near the dead bodies, deterring any UN soldiers from running back inside.

  After a few minutes, the Marines on foot traveled along the river, using a concrete wall for cover. They called up to the TOW and mortar units asking for visual. There were less than a dozen POWs and the rest appeared to be dead. The word went back to Buchanan, who had with him Captain Riley at the command post. They jumped in their HMMWVs and headed to the prison.

  Buchanan arrived at the prison and saw the Marines were already playing with the spoils. Several were climbing on the Russian tanks and BTRs. Others were in the tugboat.

  Buchanan walked up to Franks and shook his hand. “Great job, Gunny.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Franks replied. “Should we shake down the bodies for keys, ID, weapons, and such?”

  “Absolutely,” Buchanan said. “We need the ESB crew up there figuring out how to drop the ramps on that barge so we can get our new gear unloaded.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll get them on it right away.” Franks said.

  “Also, find me the body of the officer that was reported on comm,” Buchanan ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Franks went and spoke to some of the Marines while Buchanan looked around, feeling proud that he had won the day and some new toys.

  The prisoners were rounded up and each one flexi-cuffed behind the back.

  CHAPTER XVII

  General John James, Admiral Belt McKanty, and Joshwa Benski, along with his wife Zamora and sons, Aaron and Gideon, had successfully saved themselves from the barricades and armed checkpoints within the District. Joshwa’s sons had held true to his word that they knew a way out. They had also saved their lives with the close call at Joshwa’s residence, which was no longer a safe spot.

  Together they had traveled about forty miles on foot and were now near Opal, Virginia. Aaron and Gideon were leading them to their friend’s ranch house. He had both weapons and ATV transport, which could get them out of the densely populated state of Virginia.

  John’s big worry was running into a group of survivalists that wouldn’t take too kindly to their presence or, worse, welcomed them in. John was especially wary of these types of groups because he worried they would be radicalized morons eager to shoot outsiders or maybe even kill them and take their belongings.

  “How much farther before we reach your friend’s house?” the general asked Gideon as they ducked tree limbs and stepped over protruding tree roots. They had spent a large portion of their travel going through the woods.

  “We’re not far now. He has a group of people with him that are good people too,” Gideon said.

  “I hope you’re right about this. We can’t make one mistake, seeing as we only have pistols to defend ourselves with,” McKanty said.

  Aaron, looking back over his shoulder, said, “We’re right. We know him well. He will be a good ally and arrange to get us to safety.”

  “How long have you known this guy, and what is his name?” John asked.

  “We grew up with him and went to school with him. He will trust our opinion of you,” Gideon reassured them.

  After a few more minutes of small talk and traversing through some seriously overgrown forest, they arrived at the edge of the woods and a wide view of an open ranch-style area, supported by wooden guard towers on every corner. The area was surrounded in an almost perfect square of forest area. There was an enormous fort-looking structure in the center with a guard tower in the center of it. Each guard tower was manned with two people armed with scoped high-powered rifles. All around the center structure were mounds, on average about forty feet by ten feet, about five in all.

  Every gun in the towers was trained in their direction. While John and McKanty were taking in everything they could mentally note, Gideon took a bright orange flag from his cargo pocket and threw it onto the property.

  A guard from one of the towers yelled down to Gideon, “What month is it?”

  “July,” Gideon answered.

  Everybody kn
ew it was October, but this was a ritual to determine friend from foe.

  Another voice from the tower asked, “What year is it?”

  “Seventeen seventy-six,” Gideon responded.

  This time the rifles lowered and the heavily armored door of the center structure opened, revealing a young man in his twenties. He exited the doorway and walked toward the tree line.

  “Let’s go, guys. It’s okay,” Aaron said, stepping out into the clearing. Gideon followed suit and stepped out of the woods.

  John and McKanty were reserving their opinions for now. Even though John was impressed with their security, he wasn’t impressed with the size of the group. He had already calculated that there was no plausible way a group large enough to squeeze into the structure could resist a platoon-sized attack by trained active-duty military or veterans.

  McKanty whispered to John, “Take me to your leader,” in an attempt at satire.

  John smirked and whispered back, “Let’s see what we have here. It’s better than nothing.”

  John and McKanty watched as the three men talked. They were studying their body language and watching the men in the tower.

  “You can come out,” Aaron yelled at them.

  “You first,” McKanty said to John as he looked at him.

  “First in,” John said to McKanty, making reference to his Marine Corps heritage. He stepped out of the woods; McKanty, Joshwa, and Zamora followed him.

  Looking to Gideon and Aaron, they saw Gideon wave them in to meet their friend.

  Once the crew had walked up to where Aaron and Gideon stood with their friend, Aaron looked at them and said, “I would like you to meet Michael.”

  John extended his hand to Michael and studied his handshake. He noted that his handshake was weak and almost limp-wristed.

  “I’m glad to meet you, Michael. My name is John,” he said as he grasped his hand firmly in an attempt to assert himself as a masculine alpha-type individual. “This is my friend Belt,” John said as he extended his arm toward Belt.