What the young junior sergeant wanted to tell Zacharov next was that the FLIES drone was barely keeping up with the speed of the motorcycle Tori had acquired. The drones were built for maintaining a human-paced run, not the speeds that automobiles can attain. If not for the lock the FLIES drone had on the signal being emitted from her RFID chip, she would have been lost again.
Captain Alexander Zacharov was in a separate building, apart from the soldiers that were busy securing the streets around the capital, and those working for General Abdul Muhaimin. He didn’t know where the Southern Illinois Home Guard was located, but was busy dispatching E-Tech to suspected areas.
There was a suspected SIHG attack on the UN base in Marion, but the nearest FLIES drone was still hours from that location. Captain Zacharov cursed in Russian, then said in his Russian accent, “How are we supposed to maintain surveillance on these extremist groups if we can’t find them?”
Zacharov’s secretary was a male junior sergeant, not unlike the one monitoring Tori. With the Chinese technology that had recently reached the shores of America came Chinese instructors learned in the ways of spy programs. They had instructed many Russian Army office associates on surveillance using the drones. They had since left America and their Russian counterparts, and returned home. This frustrated Captain Zacharov. He had sent continuous requests to liaison logistic coordinators for better E-Tech or a way to optimize the signal-receiving capabilities of the drones. The way things were going, they wouldn’t see much progress in the upcoming months.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I forgot to leave a note out last night. We received an email notification from the Chinese that they plan to ship a new beta program allowing us to maximize the transponders on the FLIES.”
“Did they say when they expect to ship the program?”
“Yes, sir. The disc should have been shipped today, according to the message.”
“I need details. Anything I can find out about the program can be most useful. It will save time developing an actionable plan if we have details now rather than later. Email them back and request every bit of detail you can securely receive.”
The District
Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin came walking out of the room that was once known as the Oval Office. Walking out directly in front of him was a captain of the IHSF, or Iranian Homeland Security Forces, as it was known. The IHSF was created post-jihadi war for the purpose of monitoring weaknesses in the United States’ security systems, whether it be cyber security or national security. The captain traveled to America for one purpose, to reach his supreme commander on earth, General Muhaimin.
“Thank you for stopping by, Captain Kianoush Delwadewala. The information you have provided me is greater than you may know.”
“Sir, if ever you need me, please call on me. My plane leaves tomorrow morning; after that, you know how to reach me.”
“Indeed, I do, and you have assured yourself a future in my service by proving your loyalty. There may be an opening for you to promote up sooner rather than later.”
“Thank you, sir, and good day.”
Captain Delwadewala bowed his head to the general and left. He had given Muhaimin information that was beyond valuable.
Apparently, the IHSF had intercepted cyber communications from the UN Council to key members of the UN forces on the ground in America. The information told of an Operation Black State, which was a fallback plan should General Muhaimin fail in securing the Agenda in America. According to Captain Delwadewala, Operation Black State was a biological weapon that would kill enough people to meet Relocation Protocol. Operation Black State was believed to be a weaponized form of the Black Plague pandemic that killed upwards of two hundred million people in the mid-1300s. The operation would make America uninhabitable for some time, so it was slated to be used only in the event of a worst-case scenario. The Russian and, of course, the Iranian representatives were deeply opposed to such a tactic.
Also, according to the captain, Ambassador Pao, of the Peoples Republic of China, had expressed a dislike of General Muhaimin on multiple occasions, sometimes calling him a demagogue and denigrating his name in front of other members of the council.
The information brought to the general both gladdened him and angered him. The general had always been a lover of the phrase knowledge is power, and being given this information prepared him and gave him the upper hand.
MGRS 16TEL35, Tippecanoe River State Park, Indiana
General John James’s Marines arrived at the predetermined rendezvous point hours before Buchanan’s men were expected to arrive. They had set up snipers in key positions throughout the park. John had no desire to shoot any of Buchanan’s men, but he was smart enough to know the difference between preparedness and unpreparedness. What the general didn’t know was Buchanan had Reconnaissance Marines and shared the same tactical readiness, but had better trained Marines. Their ability to locate and neutralize unseen threats through the use of counter-reconnaissance had proven useful. The Reconnaissance Marines had located the snipers and taken them at gunpoint. One of Buchanan’s men radioed back and gave a situation report to their commander. The rest lay there quietly, with their fellow Marines tied and gagged, watching the rendezvous point until they received commands to do otherwise.
Within an hour, a platoon-sized group of Buchanan’s men arrived and met up with an equal-sized group of James’s men. It was Gunnery Sergeant Franks and Sergeant First Class Reynolds that stepped forward first.
“My name is Gunnery Sergeant Franks, Recon, and this is Sergeant First Class Reynolds, Ranger. We are here acting on behalf of our commanding officer. Which one of you represents General John James?”
A Marine Corps sergeant by the name of Rick Hammel stepped forward.
“I’m Sergeant Hammel, Comm.”
Franks looked at Reynolds and said, “At least they didn’t send a non-rate.”
Franks stepped up to Sergeant Hammel and extended his hand.
“Is the general lacking brass that he sends a sergeant?”
“I’m afraid you’ve called it, Gunny. With all due respect to Sergeant First Class Reynolds, all he has is a Navy admiral and an Army National Guard captain, but we’re still gung ho.”
“The commandant said he dispatched intel for our commander?”
“Yes, Gunny. I had to memorize a frequency and channel for you to tune to for continued instruction. The commandant didn’t want to say it over the radio, knowing the enemy may intercept it. The UHF radios we have mutually confiscated from the enemy can be used to communicate via SATCOM. Unfortunately, if we’re not careful, the UN can gain access to our frequencies and receive our transmissions. I understand the science of satellite communications and have been selected to assist you in maintaining tight radio security.”
“This is all very interesting, and we definitely could use your assistance in tightening our radio traffic, but I have a concern that must first be addressed,” Franks replied.
“What’s that, Gunny?”
“You have yet to prove to me that this isn’t bum scoop. How can we trust you?”
“Gunny, the CMC (commandant of the Marine Corps) ordered snipers be placed in random locations around this park. He did this in the event you proved to be a hostile force, but I can see now that you’re not and I’m ordering them down now.”
Hammel turned and grabbed a mic from the communications Marine behind him.
“Overwatch one, we’re secure. Rally on me.”
“Roger that,” the reply came back.
Gunnery Sergeant Franks already knew there were snipers placed in the park before he had ever arrived. He was playing coy to test the sergeant’s truthfulness and mettle. He kept his silence about having secured the snipers to see Hammel’s reaction to the fact that he had the upper hand all along, and that was a mutual symbol of his truthfulness, as well.
It wasn’t long until several Recon Marines came walking down off of key hilltops with Marine prisoners.
<
br /> “Sergeant Hammel, you’ve proven yourself. Let this be my gesture of goodwill.”
Franks turned to the Recons and said, “Cut them loose and let them go. We’re on the same team now.”
Hammel couldn’t help but feel small and at the mercy of Franks. He was feeling quite relieved that he had mentioned them being on the same team.
Hammel joined Franks and Reynolds and headed back to Bicentennial Park. Of the remaining group of General John James’s men, they did a head count and headed back to Fort Wayne, where they shared everything that had happened to them at Tippecanoe State Park.
Carbondale, Illinois
Tori’s Harley was softly rumbling in idle. She had both feet on the ground and her head was cocked to the right as the stranger walked towards her. He was tall with an average build. His hair was long, brown, and matched the facial hair that dominated his face. He was right-handed with a Colt-style rifle slung across the front of his body, the buttstock of the weapon at the top right shoulder of the man. It was tucked too high into his chest with a tight three-point sling that would make it difficult for him to aim down the sights. Tori knew this man was familiar with gear, but was not a veteran. The man boldly walked in close to her.
“Are you in need of assistance?” the man asked.
“Not at all. I’m trailing a group of friends that might have come through this way. Maybe you’ve seen them?”
Tori was confident that if Nathan had passed through here with a group of Marines, the man would most certainly know of it.
He didn’t answer her question immediately. He strolled around Tori and checked out her gear. He noticed she was traveling light. There were saddlebags on either side of her seat, with a rifle holster and her Remington resting on the left side of the bike. When he had made a full circle, the man stopped with his back to the crowd that he had left behind.
“Yeah, we saw a group of military men coming through here, just today. They kept heading east.”
The stranger pointed in an eastward direction, towards Marion.
“You’re a brave woman to travel alone.”
“I never said I was alone,” Tori said. Her eyes locked on the stranger’s eyes.
The man looked east and west, down both directions the road was heading.
“I don’t see anybody, lady. You’re all alone.”
The man’s arms were spread and his voice escalated as if to say it’s just me and me on this long empty road.
“You forgot Bubba,” Tori said with a calm quiet voice.
The man looked around again, but still could not see anybody.
“Who’s Bubba?” he exclaimed, this time even louder and more obnoxious than before.
Tori wiggled the 1911 she had pointed at the stranger with her left hand. She wasn’t left-handed, but at this range, it would matter very little.
The man looked down and was surprised that a female had the drop on him. His hands were no longer on his rifle, but were spread and locked in the position they were in when he came to the revelation that she had a 1911 pointed at his chest. He was afraid to move at this point and only uttered three words.
“Oh, that’s Bubba.”
“Keep your right hand in the air and slowly use your left hand to detach the quick-release snap on that fancy little three-point sling you’ve got there. If you move suddenly, I’ll blow a hole through your chest, I’ll still take that rifle, and be long gone before your gangster friends get here.”
“Easy, lady. I didn’t mean any harm. I was just toying with you.”
“You see, that’s the problem, I’m not a toy. Quit stalling and drop that rifle.”
“I’ve got a sniper on the roof.”
“Then why hasn’t he sniped me?”
The man finished detaching the sling, but it was still hanging around his neck. Tori slowly peeked behind him at the crowd and could see they were starting to figure out that something was wrong.
“Hurry now. You’re almost there. Use your left hand to hand me the rifle and don’t try anything funny.”
Several hundred yards back, the sniper was resting his .30-06 on the bipod of his rifle. The man had originally placed the crosshairs of his rifle on Tori’s forehead, but was distracted by an object he saw moving in the sky. The sniper turned his scope towards the hovering object and was so enthralled by the technology that he had forgotten what was happening below him on the street. Believing the man that he was providing overwatch for had the situation with the female stranger under control, he decided to take a shot at the strange hovering object.
Tori heard the sound of a loud rifle in the background and responded by shooting the man in the chest with her 1911. She caught the rifle as he was falling and latched the sling to her front right handlebar. She accelerated the Harley, but was being pulled to the right. She looked down where the rifle was dangling and noticed the man’s arm was caught up in the sling and he was being dragged along the highway. She dragged him as long and as far as she could, using her right arm to push forward against the weight of the man dragging her to the right. She decided to pull over and cut the dying man free. She looked to the south and saw the crowd of people running in her direction, no doubt to catch her.
The sound of gunfire soon caught her attention. Tori couldn’t find the knife she had placed in a saddle pouch, so she laid the bike on its side and attempted to untangle the man’s arm from the sling. That proved fruitless and the crowd was getting closer. She found another quick-release snap and pressed the button. She placed the rifle on the ground and grabbed the handlebars of the Harley and lifted with all her might. By the time she had the bike standing again, the crowd was so close they were within range of their weapons. She saw the impact of bullets on the ground beneath her before she heard the cracks of the gunshots.
Tori straddled the bike and reached down to grab the rifle she had taken, but a bullet hit it and kicked debris into her eye. Frantic, she left the rifle and darted off to the east, with her right eye closed as she thought only of losing her eyesight.
December 6, 03:00 Hours, Tom Walker’s Residence
Cade lay alone on the couch with his eyes wide open as he stared up at the ceiling. His head was neatly propped up against the arm of the couch and the pain had subsided. He had fresh gauze wrapped around his head with cotton plugged into the holes of his scalp. The bullet had gone in at an angle, somehow missing his brain and following the inner brim of his skull, finding its own exit. He was in very poor condition and certainly not well enough to travel.
His memories of his father were mostly what his mother had shared with him. She had raised Cade alone because Tom left very early in his life. Cade was about four years old when his father became dependent upon alcohol and started beating his mother. Sometimes, she would fight back, but she would only get hurt worse in the end. Many of the beatings were at night, after Cade had been put down to sleep. But the sounds of the abuse and the cries of his mother would stir him from his sleep and awaken him. If he cried, Tom would enter the room and beat him with his belt.
The information his mother gave him was true; although Cade remembered none of it, he had always harbored a dark desire for retribution. With his mother now deceased, he felt a compulsive urge to do what he had always dreamed of doing to his abusive father.
Cade gently sat up. Moving caused the pain to reenter his head, but that did not deter him. Cade was still filled with anger from his failure to kill Jessica. It never crossed his mind that he was acting irrational. His antisocial personality disorder had never been diagnosed, and it went unchecked in the Army. It was this disorder that voided out any appearance of social normality in his life. He felt very few emotions that a normal person might have, such as sorrow and joy. Instead, he was filled with a numbness and a sense of superiority. The more he thought of being bested by a girl, the more infuriated he became.
Cade sat on that couch in an upright position for about two minutes. There were others sleeping there, all of them on the fl
oor. He quietly stepped over them and made his way to his backpack. He was looking for his knife, hoping it had been packed away. He quietly rustled through the bag for a couple minutes in search of the switchblade. Once he had found it, he made his way into his father’s room.
A little bit of moonlight was streaming through the window, giving Cade the light he needed to look at his father and to say his goodbyes. He used his free hand to slowly open the blade and then he pressed through his father’s nose and into his brain.
Cade hoped the sudden death hadn’t startled anyone and that the blood would settle into the back of his skull. Gravity did its job and the blood did not pool forward out of his father’s face. The only sign of respect Cade showed his father was giving him a quick and easy death and not lying in a pool of his own blood.
Cade snuck back into the front room and killed three more men before he grabbed his pack and his rifle and snuck off into the darkness.
CHAPTER V
December 10, Benton, Illinois, about 160 miles south of Chicago
Nathan stood outside, at the head of his convoy, looking up Highway 37 on the southern edge of Benton, Illinois. Scratching his head, he couldn’t help but ponder the complications it could entail going straight through the town. Interstate 57 would take them north, directly to their destination, Chicago. They had tried so hard to avoid interstate travel.
“Highway 37 runs north and south, along I-57 until Effingham,” Nathan mumbled to himself.
Jessica, who was standing just feet away, heard him. “Are you rambling on again?”
“Yeah, this is a tough decision, Jess. Go through the seat of Franklin County, where only God knows what awaits us, or drive up I-57 and face certain conflict.”
Ash, who had just shut the door of the HMMWV he was rummaging through for a drink of water, came and stood next to Nathan, on the opposite side Jess was on.
Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) Page 39