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

by L. Douglas Hogan

  “Okay.”

  It wasn’t long before the train started moving again.

  Nathan boldly took to his feet, walked in a crouched position, and started pointing at people.

  “You, you, you,” he said as he pointed. Taking with him about twenty men, old Posse members and Marines. They moved out the back way, with radios in tow, and headed north towards Benton city limits.

  CHAPTER VI

  The White House Situation Room, the District

  Czar Payam Vahidi was standing before the giant hologram when the system had finally finished its rebooting protocol. It lit up brightly, with the location of all veterans who were in service after November 2018. The veterans that were serving at that time and all new recruits were required to receive an additional vaccination under the guise of the jihadist wars, which were escalating in the Middle Eastern countries. These vaccinations were actually tiny RFID chips that had advanced technology in them, consisting of data and GPS.

  Mr. Vahidi ran to the phone and called Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin, who was patiently waiting for notification of the new and enhanced FLIES drone system.

  Muhaimin was having coffee with a UN military commander when he received the call.

  The executive commander took one look at his cell phone and looked back at the UN commander. “Excuse me, Colonel, but I have business I must attend to.”

  Muhaimin walked away and pushed the answer option on his cell phone. Holding it up to his ear, he said in Persian, “Yes, Mr. Vahidi, please tell me you have good news.”

  “Sir, the drones have been reactivated and the signal strength has been broadened beyond our expectations.”

  “Excellent. I’m on my way.”

  He placed the phone back on his hip and went to the White House Situation Room.

  Within minutes, Muhaimin had arrived. He walked into the room and took one look at the hologram map of the United States.

  “Mr. Vahidi, why is the map red?”

  “Sir, you wanted to locate the veterans of America’s armed services. The red indicates their locations.”

  Muhaimin was shocked at the multitude of veterans that had been located and he suddenly felt incapable of the task before him.

  “Impossible,” Muhaimin said under his breath.

  “Sir?”

  Not willing to let his subordinates hear the word uttered from his lips, he said, “Nothing, Mr. Vahidi. Can the screen zoom in?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vahidi zoomed the screen in on their location, but it hazed out the more zoomed in it became.

  “It must be an anti-spy program that the United States had installed before your rise, sir.”

  “Zoom in somewhere else,” he commanded.

  Vahidi zoomed in on a random town in the Midwest.

  The closer the satellite zoomed in to the area, the more veterans it located. The satellite had placed a red square around each and every RFID-chipped veteran. No matter where the veteran moved, the red square was on them.

  “How does this work, Mr. Vahidi?”

  “Sir, the technology appears to use a system of triangulation to locate the veterans.”

  “Explain.”

  “The FLIES drones that are active have a signal magnification program downloaded into their chipset. These GPS devices are not only communicating with each other, but are also relaying information back to the satellite and then relaying it to the Utah Data Collection Center, where the live feed is being streamed to us, in the District.”

  “This is excellent news, Mr. Vahidi. Is there any further use for our friends in North China?”

  “No, sir. I believe we have a workable program that can be used for the purpose you requested.”

  Muhaimin walked out of the White House Situation Room and pulled his cell phone out.

  Outside the home of Councilor Pao, Beijing, China

  The stranger sitting in the black luxury 2032 LE BMW received a vibration from his cell phone. He picked it up, held it to his ear, and heard the words “Operation Black Creek is a go.”

  The stranger looked at his phone and scrolled through the settings until he came to an option to restore manufacturer settings. He selected it and then placed the phone in a pouch that was strapped to his body beneath the white linen. The man had explosives attached to his body and they were not visible because of the white linen garment he was wearing. The man grabbed a device that was located inside the center console of the car, between the two seats, and exited the BMW.

  Councilor Pao walked outside of his home to greet the mailman that had just walked up to his mailbox. With a respectful greeting, the mailman handed Councilor Pao his mail and then walked off. When the mailman was walking away, Pao looked up to see a man dressed in fine white linens walking towards him from a luxury BMW. Pao attempted to greet the stranger. By the time he saw the detonator in the stranger’s hand, it was too late. The stranger pressed the button, igniting both himself and the car in a tremendous explosion that instantly killed both men, the mail carrier, and rocked the neighboring homes.

  Bicentennial Park, Valparaiso, Indiana, December 11, 2032

  Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan, Captain Riley, Sergeant First Class Reynolds, and Gunnery Sergeant Franks, along with their soldiers, Marines, and militiamen, had just received word that the commandant of the Marine Corps and admiral of the Navy were just minutes away from their location. Using the latest in high-tech satellite communications and a vast array of encrypted SATCOM frequencies, the two groups had maintained a tight long-distance relationship. By now, Buchanan could see that the CMC, whom he had never met, ran a tight ship. He was eager to hear his story of survival and how he and the admiral escaped the District and were able to get out undetected.

  Buchanan had selected the nicest pavilions for their meeting, and had set up the tightest possible security, with an extended perimeter as a precaution. The formalities of having a freshly pressed uniform and locker inspections were long gone. This new America called for fewer formalities and more practicality. Prior to the Flip, Buchanan had monthly JOB (Junk on the Bunk) inspections. These inspections meant that every Marine would have to make sure that his appearance was the absolute best. Loose strings, or Irish Pendants, as the Marines called them, were not allowed. Every piece of clothing and uniform assigned to the inspection had a specific measurement that had to be exact. Every piece of gear had your name stamped onto it in a precise location. Weapons received extra attention to detail. Buchanan would wear a white glove and pass through the ranks for an inspection arms drill. He would randomly select a Marine’s rifle and snatch it from their grasp, inspect it for cleanliness, break it down, and run the finger of his glove through the normally carbon-caked parts of the bolt and chamber. Nothing went unnoticed. Now, Buchanan found himself applying that same attention to detail to the place of the meeting. It was hard for him to let go of a mindset geared towards perfection. All that training served its purpose. He taught his Marines that details are important; forgetting one could be life threatening.

  After several minutes had passed, Buchanan and the others could hear the faint sounds of a convoy of HMMWVs ripping through the hills. The layout of the land muffled the noise and gave the sound of the vehicles an effect similar to a ventriloquist throwing his voice. Nobody knew where the convoy was coming in from, and secretly everybody hoped it wasn’t a different convoy, perhaps an enemy troop, that was driving in. Just before Buchanan’s nerves had the best of him, the Hummers came into view. Some of them were Army class and some were Marine class Hummers. It was a welcomed sight, regardless.

  Buchanan turned towards all of his men and said, “Fall in! Active duty there and militiamen there.” The men and women ran to their respective positions. The veterans and active-duty Marines, soldiers, and seamen jumped right into formation, while the civilians scrambled to find a way to look as neat and orderly as the experienced ones. When they caught on to what they were doing, they fell into columns and formed platoon-sized gro
ups. The civilians weren’t standing as uniformly as the military veterans, but they were capable of producing the appearance of uniformity.

  Gunnery Sergeant Franks was a battle-hardened Marine. The fatigue of life after the Flip had the same effect on him that it did on his commander, Colonel Buchanan. When Buchanan was calm, it had a reassuring effect on him. Franks looked at Buchanan and could see the nervousness, and that brought on a sense of battle readiness that he wasn’t prepared for. When he saw the HMMWVs for the first time, he took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly; calming his heart rate eased his tension.

  General John James was a bit nervous as well. Life after the Flip had taken a toll on the lives of every American. Narrowly escaping death on multiple occasions had made John weary. A heightened sense of self-awareness coupled with a heightened state of environmental awareness was extremely exhausting. His body wasn’t tired, but his mind was, and that sometimes brought on a little paranoia, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing in the America he now found himself. He reached looked to the rear of his HMMWV and asked for the mic.

  “Romeo Lima Two from Romeo Lima One. Over.”

  When Belt received the transmission from John, he knew that was his cue that they were arriving at their destination.

  “This is Romeo Lima Two. Go.”

  “Romeo Lima Two, we are on site. Hold your convoy back until I can make an assessment. Will notify. Over.”

  “Copy,” Belt said back on the radio.

  Belt turned his attention toward his driver and said, “Pull over here and wait for clearance. They’ve arrived at their LZ.”

  The second half of the convoy pulled over and waited on John to assess the situation.

  John’s convoy was now pulling into the area where they had agreed to meet. He was impressed by the low-key, yet detailed appearance of the pavilion that Bravo One had set up. John still did not know the real name of the brave southern Illinois Marine. Buchanan had kept certain details secret, including his name, the size of his force, and his speechless friend, known only as the oracle, who had intel on the FEMA compound layout in Chicago. John was about to receive the answers to all of the questions that had been plaguing his mind.

  Besides the pavilion that had been brightened up, the first thing he saw were the ranks of men and women standing in formation. He could instantly tell the civilians apart from the others.

  The platoons of veterans and other active-duty military branches were mix-matched in their respective platoons. Marines were in battle fatigues, standing next to seamen, who were standing next to soldiers in their battle fatigues, and so on. John was one for more order, but also had a deep understanding of the different era they now found themselves.

  His convoy came to a stop. A group of military men filed out and secured the area. Buchanan noticed that his force was much smaller than his. Not that he had envisioned a larger group, but seeing the commandant of the Marine Corps with only a couple platoons didn’t seem right.

  Once all the men were in place and John saw that there was no threat, he exited the HMMWV and walked into the pavilion. Buchanan was already standing in the center of it and only had to take a couple steps to meet John.

  John saw Gunnery Sergeant Franks and Sergeant First Class Reynolds standing next to him. When he extended his hand to Buchanan, Buchanan gladly extended his in return.

  “It’s nice to see some more brass again. I’m General John James.”

  “Charles S. Buchanan. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “The pleasure is mine. I’m very excited to see some rockers, too,” John said, referring to the ranks of both Reynolds and Franks.

  John extended his hand to Franks first.

  “Gunny.”

  “Sir, it’s a pleasure.”

  “Sergeant First Class,” John said, acknowledging Reynolds.

  “Sir, thank you for meeting us here.”

  John returned his attention to Buchanan. “Colonel, may I call you Charles?”

  “Sir?”

  “We’re living in a different world now, Colonel. The Corps is not the same, America’s not the same.” John pointed back to the platoons of mix-matched military men. “This is what we have now, Colonel. A band of patriots, some more experienced than others,” he said, pointing back to the civilians. “You’re not a colonel to them. You’re a leader and a man with knowledge, grit, and experience. They look to you for strength. The point I’m trying to make is this, we can’t let down on an ounce of discipline, but we can sacrifice formalities, and do it without compromising strength.”

  “In that case, John, you may call me Charles.”

  “Excellent. How far out did you secure our perimeter?”

  “Maybe a half mile.”

  “That’s good. Let’s take a walk and chat a bit.”

  Charles and John launched out into the park and began a long walk through the twisting trails.

  “Charles, I understand you have come a long way to get to where you are today, both professionally and geographically. We have a long fight ahead of us and we can’t do it without numbers.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  “Please, it’s just you and I out here. Call me John.”

  “John, I’ve been accruing numbers since the Flip. Most Americans are decent at heart and only turn to violence when their lives are at stake.”

  “That’s the problem, Charles. People are going to become whatever is in their heart. I partially agree with you, but I think in times of tribulation, man is ebbed down to the basest of humanity. If their heart is truly good, they probably won’t survive out here.”

  John stopped walking and turned to face Charles. Charles followed John’s lead, stopped, and listened to what John was about to say.

  “Freedom, Charles. Freedom is why we joined the military. It’s why we fight and struggle to bring back balance, to both the people and its government.”

  “I think the people are done with government. Twice now, it has betrayed them and twice it has forced a revolution.”

  “That’s where we find ourselves now, Charles. At the cusp of a second American Revolution. There’s no way around it. So, what is the answer? If the people are through with the government, what are we to do? Anarchy is what we have now. Limited government works, but it always grows beyond its boundaries and it overreaches into the lives of the people.”

  “I was thinking of reinstituting the Constitution. Perhaps restoring it and amending it. In that regard, we can fix the holes that led us to this day. America changed.”

  “No! That’s the thinking that got us to where we are. The people stopped respecting the Constitution and its elected officials disregarded it. But the people continued to enjoy their freedom at the expense of the wealthy. The wealthy became slave to the government and it cost us liberty. That’s not the American way!”

  “You’re talking about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

  “Correct. The Declaration of Independence set the stage for individual liberty.”

  “But individual liberty was swallowed by democracy.”

  “Correct again. We have to get America back on track. What type of republic is the question.”

  “We are to be a constitutional republic.”

  “I see now why you command so many men, Charles. When you strip away the Constitution, what do you see?”

  “Absolute tyranny.”

  “Absolute tyranny is correct. When the people are governed by a Constitution that protects individual liberty, it allows them to be free of tyranny, only because one person’s rights cannot trump another person’s rights. Without a constitutional republic, the people sink into a state of degradation that allows them to herd into larger bodies of people. When that happens, the majority gain control of the rights of the minority. In absolute tyranny, this happens on a smaller level. It happens individually.”

  “One man’s desire will become the rule over another.”

  “Democracy and tyranny are not dist
ant relatives. They’re bedfellows.”

  “Where are you going with this, John?”

  “I have a Marine Corps regiment in South Dakota. We must reach them if we are to have any chance of salvaging America.”

  Charles was shocked at the idea of a fully functioning Marine Corps regiment. The possibilities would be endless and would certainly turn the tide and set the course for a successful second American revolution.

  “That’s the best news you could have given. But I fail to follow your point with the tyranny line of questioning.”

  “Charles, I had to do some brutal things to get here. I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but I did it without commanding a single person to follow me. When I was given men, I made them strong and they learned to stand on their own. I’m not going to command you or your men to go with me to South Dakota. That would be tyrannical of me. I’m not going to call for a majority vote, because that would be tyrannical, too. I’m going to ask for volunteers and hope that I have enough support to safely make the journey.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “Then I continue on, as I have.”

  “Well, since you’re sharing secrets, I have one of my own.”

  John’s curiousness was noticed by Charles in the way he raised his eyebrow.

  “John, we have been working our way toward Chicago, where we have intelligence on a FEMA camp. The camp is located on Goose Island and is heavily fortified with walls, towers, and rivers surrounding it.”

  John felt a little let down.

  “That’s not a secret. Not to me, anyway. Being a Joint Chiefs member, I had access to all kinds of black documents. There’s twelve FEMA headquarters and far more FEMA camps. Before the Flip went down, there was a meeting with President Baker on the transitioning of federal prisons into FEMA detention centers. Virtually every prison and many state prisons were being looked into for modification.”

  “I also have a man that escaped from one of them. The guys call him the oracle because he knows so much about the Chicago FEMA camp.”

  “Then I suggest you use him. But he’s a bag fry. There’s many more needing saving and we need the numbers to make it happen.”