“Boss,” Denny said to grab his attention.
“Yeah?” he responded.
“Don’t you think we’re putting these men in peril by going on with this search?”
“You don’t have to come with me, Denny.”
“You know I won’t leave your side.”
“Then we’re in this together.”
“This guy is bad, boss, real bad. He let us live for a reason.”
“Yeah, to perpetuate a life of torment. Well, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. When he’s dead and I know that he’s not gloating about how he got away with killing Jess, I’ll get back on mission.”
“Nathan,” Denny said with a sharper tone. He rarely called him by his first name, so when he did, he grabbed his attention. “Think of the bigger picture, bro.”
Nathan was looking into Denny’s eyes with a piercing stare.
Denny changed his tone to a softer melodramatic one. “Think of your sister, Katie.”
Nathan quickly shouldered his rifle and grabbed Denny by the front of his coat with both hands. His fists were balled up, each with a handful of coat as he pulled Denny near. The comment hit another nerve, but at the same time brought a realization of truth to Nathan’s mind.
The victims , he thought, are all victims of a larger picture.
With a moment of clarity he realized his friends—Todd, who was killed by a UN soldier; Ash, killed by Cade; Zig, Katie, and Heather, all killed by raiders, and now Jess, killed by a lunatic Iranian—were all part of a much larger painting. The true mission wasn’t hunting down individuals who had taken it upon themselves to victimize others; it was the United Nations trying to usurp authority over America and its citizens. The true mission was with Buchanan.
“Think of Heather,” Denny added.
By then, Nathan’s grip on Denny had loosened, and he let his coat go altogether.
“I’m sorry, Denny. I haven’t been myself.”
“I know, boss. That’s why I choose to stay with you. Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you,” he said with a smirk.
Aaron, one of the three-percenters that was in the group, suddenly took a bullet shot to the head and fell onto the ground. His body immediately began to seize and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
The shot was heard. The time lapse between the impact and the sound was about four seconds.
“Incoming,” they all yelled, and ducked under cover, opposite the direction where the shot was heard.
Troy was glaring over at Aaron from his covered position behind a flatbed truck.
“How far do you think, Roeh?” he yelled back.
“About thirteen hundred meters by my figures,” he said.
Nathan was concealed behind the passenger side of a car, with his rifle in the ready position. He could clearly see Troy from his position. Denny was right next to Troy by the truck.
“There’s no way to tell where the shot came from,” Nathan said. “There’s a dozen possible buildings.”
Troy kept looking back to Aaron, who was still convulsing. A second head shot went through Aaron’s temple, causing the movement to cease. Aaron was now dead.
“We can’t stay here, guys,” Nathan shouted to the others. “Cover fire’s pointless; we’re going to have to make a break for it.”
“We can’t leave Aaron here like that,” Troy shouted back.
“We have no choice, Troy. We’ll be just as dead if we stay here.”
“He’s right, Troy,” Michael said.
Michael Craft, like Aaron, was an original member of the group. He lacked leadership skills, but made up for it with loyalty. Troy could count on him for whatever he wanted or needed to get done.
When Troy heard his loyal friend confirm Nathan’s assumption that they needed to leave the area, he heeded it.
“Okay. What route we taking? We’re going to have to run for it,” Troy said.
No sooner than Troy had stated the obvious, the sounds of several dozen men’s voices came echoing through the city streets. Each of the men taking cover sat motionless to listen to the growing sound. It sounded like a large mass of men were barreling through the streets, screaming their war cries. The sound of it made the hairs on their necks stand on end. Nathan bolstered enough courage to raise his head high enough to peek through the windows.
“What is it?” Denny asked.
“If I had to take a guess, I’d say the Syndicate.”
UN Headquarters
Beijing, the People’s Republic of China
A Dispute Tribunal was called to order by the United Nations General Assembly, for complaints filed against Ambassador Gohari, representative of Iran. Allegations stated that the ambassador had full knowledge of war crimes on Abdul Muhaimin’s record prior to his appointment to the rank of general. Russian Ambassador Makarovich was deeply troubled at reports coming in from America that Muhaimin had assassinated all the Russian commanders that were assigned to the Agenda 21 protocol in America. The news was so troubling that he immediately began a private investigation, jeopardizing his own career in doing so.
“The deaths of Captains Alexander Zacharov and Erik Babatyev are not only unacceptable, but require that equal justice be served,” Makarovich yelled, slamming his fist on the table at the word served.
“This is absurd,” Ambassador Gohari replied. “You have absolutely no proof that I was involved in these killings.”
Makarovich stood. “I have all the proof I need.”
Gohari stood.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, sit down and conduct these affairs as professionals,” President Zonkizizwe said in his African accent. “What proof do you have, Ambassador Makarovich?”
Macharovich slammed a manila folder full of documents down on the table in front of him. “Russian intelligence has uncovered conspiracies from the highest levels of Iran. This man has had knowledge of every action taken by his government, though he may not be directly involved, he has the knowledge, making him culpable.”
President Zonkizizwe reached across the table and grabbed the folder of documents. “You do realize, Ambassador Makarovich, that you are in violation of certain treaties that forbid you from conducting independent research and investigations on representatives and their countries?”
“I understand and accept the outcome, so long as this man is held accountable for the blood of Russian captains—captains murdered in cold blood at Muhaimin’s command.”
President Zonkizizwe took a moment to thumb through the documents. With the folder covering half of his face, Gohari could see the president looking through the documents and then over the folder to make eye contact. This happened several times until he finally closed the file and laid it upon the table.
President Zonkizizwe stood up and walked out of the room. When he returned, he had three UN security guards behind him. “Gentlemen, please detain Mr. Gohari for further questioning.”
The three security guards grabbed Gohari and escorted him out of the room.
“What of the murder of Russia’s captains?” Makarovich asked.
“After your petition, Mr. Makarovich, the General Assembly will be seeing your resignation.”
“Very well, I would ask that the General Assembly recall every Russian soldier that is serving in America.”
“What you are asking is a heavy price.”
“The blood of my countrymen outweigh the request, Mr. President.”
Black Hills Army Depot, South Dakota
General John James walked out of a private office that had aforetime belonged to Colonel Hensworth. He had spent the last several minutes engaged in politics and strategy with Admiral William S. Dixon of NORAD. The other officers were nearby awaiting news of the talk. John had a look that Buchanan would later refer to as a “look of resolve.”
“Well, John, what’s the verdict?” Buchanan asked.
“NORAD and USNORTHCOM have both pledged their support to the mission.”
“And what of the newly draft
ed Constitution?”
“Well, I didn’t mention that. The draft can be ratified and amended later. The Constitution as we knew it went through several of these processes.”
McKanty asked the important question that was on everybody’s mind: “When are we leaving?”
“We agreed on three hours. USNORTHCOM’s intelligence confirmed Cox’s men, together with the artillery and 1st Battalion Weapon’s Company, will satisfy the seize on Rock Island Arsenal.”
Cox liked the sound of that bit of information. He was ready for the confrontation, but knowing that they had actionable intel made him feel more at ease.
“That’s good to hear,” he blurted out.
“Are your men ready?” the general asked Cox.
“Yes, sir. We’re ready and highly motivated.”
“Do you have any questions?”
“Just ROEs … do we have any?”
For years rules of engagement had been at the forefront of political control over combat efforts in the field. They were directives given to the troops that the enemy often used to their advantage. Directives such as “US troops shall not enter the homes of known Islamic fighters, even if they know with certainty that they are in it, unless they are being fired upon. If they are being fired upon, they may enter the fighter’s home, unless the fighter has a family in the home” and “No US troop shall fire upon a known enemy of war unless they know with one hundred percent certainty that he is armed and his intentions are to attack the US troop(s)” had weakened the effort to the point of degradation and loss of American lives. In short, ROEs were the bane of every American soldier.
When John heard the question, he was more than happy to answer, “No! Are there any more questions?” he asked, looking around at his officers.
The small foyer area was quiet.
“Then let’s get our kits packed. We deploy in three hours.”
Sergeant Banks, Tori, and Rory were chatting just outside of one of the bunkers when they heard Buchanan’s voice. “We leave in three hours, people. Let’s get our goodies packed away. Each of you needs to be checking the other for battle readiness. If you’re not up to the task, feel free to step out now. This isn’t an enlisted military anymore. Each of you is a freedom fighter and you’re here by choice—make it happen; let’s go, move.”
Tori was perturbed about the idea of heading straight back to the District, bypassing Goose Island and all the promises she had made with Nathan and Denny to see it through. She decided to confront Buchanan regarding the matter.
“Excuse me, sir. My name’s Tori Cunningham. We have a mutual friend, Nathan Roeh.”
“I was wondering about him. Where’s he at, and how’s he doing?”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. When you changed the mission, you jeopardized all our lives. Nathan’s missing, and I don’t know if he’s alive or dead.”
“Now hold on a second, we all agreed to go in two separate groups.”
“True, and you were supposed to wait for us in Chicago, and we were supposed to take on those FEMA-UN command points—together.”
“Situations change, little lady; the decision I made was for the greater good. Now, I’m sorry that Nathan is missing. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a warrior—”
Tori interrupted him. “I already told you once … my name’s Tori, not little lady.”
Tori was squared off with Buchanan. He could clearly tell her attitude was bigger than her body, and he was okay with that.
“Let’s finish this thing we started, Tori,” he said with a smirk as he threw his backpack into an HMMWV.
Chicago, Illinois
Nathan, Denny, Troy, and the others stood up to take off running in a frantic sprint up the road in the opposite direction of the mob. They found themselves having to cut through an alleyway to break the line of sight. Nathan and Denny were ahead of the pack by several feet. They kept looking back over their shoulders as they ran to yell back at them, “Let’s go. We gotta keep it together.” The gap kept growing.
Nathan saw another empty alleyway that turned left from his position. He called to Denny, “This way,” grabbing Denny’s coat sleeve to pull him into the alley and in the same direction he was headed, but up ahead, there was a second mob running through the alley in their direction. They came to a dead stop and turned to run in the opposite direction and into another intersection of buildings. Troy and his men had been cut off by yet another mob. They had no choice but to take another route separate from that of Nathan and Denny.
Seeing they were now alone and trapped, unable to go down any further alleyways, the two best friends climbed up an old dumpster and grabbed onto an emergency stairwell. Both men climbed onto the stairs and began their ascent.
Both Nathan and Denny had their rifles, but there were too many people giving them chase. Thirty accurate head shots wouldn’t have deterred them. Once they reached the top of the building, they felt that they had a momentary advantage. From their position, they could control who was allowed to climb the ladder and who would die trying. It didn’t keep the mob from attempting to reach them. They grabbed onto the ladder and began their ascent. Nathan looked over the edge of the building and pointed his rifle down the ladder. His target was easily chosen; it was the man at the top of the ladder, closest to him. With his left eye closed, he acquired sight alignment and sight picture on the man. One slow steady squeeze of the trigger and the man’s head split open in the rear and his body went limp, falling backwards into the crowd below. The remaining men on the ladder immediately jumped off. Some were lucky landings, and others were not so lucky.
“What now, boss? This is the hairiest situation we’ve ever been in.”
“I don’t know, man. This is a predicament, no doubt,” Nathan answered, turning around and resting his back against the two-foot-tall brick parapet. His rifle was snug against his body and his senses were attuned to the happenings below. Denny maintained a crouching position with his frame pressed snugly against the wall. His rifle was also pulled snugly against his body.
Nathan rolled the back of his head against the brick wall as it rotated to face Denny. “Maybe this is the end for us, eh? It’s been a good run.”
Denny sighed.
“Not exactly the response I was expecting to hear.”
There was an awkward silence between the two of them, and a strange sense of contentment fell upon Nathan’s face. Denny saw it when he returned from looking over the edge to see if anything new was happening down below.
“I hope that’s a plan you came up with just now,” Denny said, hoping to get some reassurance from Nathan.
“Hey, Den, do you remember when Ash and Todd got into a fistfight over the last bowl of Cheerios?”
Denny could see that Nathan was starting to check out. “Yeah, I remember. Where you going with this?”
“Zig came in all nonchalant, not knowing what was going on, and ate the last bowl.”
“I remember, boss.”
“How about the time Heather and Katie were having a girls’ night out on the river and they both came back drenched in stanky river water because Katie lost her footing and grabbed Heather for support? That was funny. God, that river stinks.”
Denny and Nathan had always been one another’s moral compass when questionable events would turn up, but this was an all-time low for each of them. They had already lost so many friends and family. It was only a matter of time before their lives had run their course.
“It’s been a good run, boss; it’s been a good run.”
“Yeah, it has,” Nathan said with a soft voice.
“What now? You want to empty out these magazines into our friends down below? Maybe take out as many of them as we can?”
“Nah. Let’s wait until dark falls, and maybe we can make one last push.”
Denny was glad to hear that Nathan hadn’t completely forsaken all hope. “Sounds good. We might as well take turns watching these guys.”
“You go ahead and take yo
ur rest, Denny. I’ll take first watch. I’m not checking out yet.”
Denny moved from his crouched position to sit on the roof of the building and leaned against the parapet as Nathan had. Nathan was already in a position that overlooked the mob below. A sound came from the adjacent building, and both men looked in the direction from which it came. The sound was coming from a metallic hatch that was opening. Nathan and Denny stood up and ran towards the opposite wall to take cover against the parapet. They both watched as a lengthy wooden board about twelve inches wide began rising up out of the inside of that building. The board clumsily lifted out until it fell onto the roof. It was a solid twelve-foot-long piece of wood, long enough to span the gap between that building and the building Nathan and Denny were on.
“You go watch those idiots in the alley. I’ll cover you from here,” Nathan said.
Denny went back to his original position and took watch over the mob while Nathan aimed down the sights of his rifle in the direction of the adjacent building’s open hatch. He was expecting men to come flooding out of the opening at any time.
“Ammo check,” Nathan called out.
“Forty rounds, boss.”
“That’s eighty of these thugs we can take out before they figure we’re empty.”
“They’re thinning out over here, boss.”
“They’re probably going to even the groups and come at us on both sides. Just keep watch and let me know when they start climbing. Odds are good they’ll start climbing here at the same time.”
It wasn’t long after Nathan had said that that the men began their ascent on the ladder.
“Incoming!” Denny yelled, then pulled the trigger and blasted the first man in the face.
Nathan was looking down his sights, but nothing yet. A second shot was heard from Denny’s rifle, and a third, then a fourth. Finally the first man popped his head up out of the roof, and Nathan pulled the trigger. He was aiming at the chest because it was a wider fatal target. It scored the shot and the man dropped down, but another man came up after that, and he squeezed off a second round—another score. Denny was on his sixth or seventh shot when a smoke grenade was tossed up onto the roof. It landed a few feet from Nathan. He left his covered position to grab it and then threw it downwind. Meanwhile, three or four men had successfully come up out of the hatch and grabbed the board. Nathan shot at the man with the board, but only managed to hit the wood. The bullet splintered as it penetrated but lacked the stopping power to put the man down.
Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) Page 68