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

by L. Douglas Hogan

  To James’s surprise, Russia had contacted NORAD and pledged their support in the fight against Muhaimin. They didn’t pledge any further services or attempt to make amends for their role in the invasion on America. As far as James was concerned, their support was most likely going to be limited to staying out of the fight.

  Russia’s influence over the French paid off as well. French soldiers were withdrawn at the request of France’s ambassador to the UN, and the council took it to a vote. Unfortunately, the French troops would never make it home. They were outgunned and slaughtered at their posts by Muslim extremists and Iranian soldiers by the order of the executive commander. Muhaimin had managed to kill off most of his non-Muslim army, leaving only a few thousand Iranians and a few thousand loyal nonmilitary radicals that shared his ideals; many of them were veterans from Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria, Yemen, and Sudan.

  In the rear, General John James had coordinated a blitzkrieg-style attack on the capital building and all the area surrounding it. The night prior, low-flying aircraft were seen and heard heading toward the District. The general didn’t know what to expect or how great the opposition would be, so he had the division prepared for the worst-case scenario. All heavily armored vehicles would be up front, including the Strykers and HMMWVs with crew-served weapons, including .50-caliber machine guns, TOW missile systems, MK19 grenade launchers, and anything with a mounted M240 machine gun.

  The division was rolling east on Highway 29, making their final approach on the District; there were no words left to be said. This moment had long been anticipated by everybody in the group, so when the moment came, there were no last minute opportunities to tidy up or to prepare. If they weren’t ready by this moment, then they were going to pay a heavy price.

  The division blasted through the barricade that forbade them from entering the District area. There was a loud explosion and gunfire as two UN soldiers shot at the incoming attack vehicles. The explosion was from a rocket-propelled grenade that was launched at the convoy from a rooftop to the north of their position. It rocked the convoy, missing a direct hit, but exploding just beneath one of the HMMWVs. The explosion blew the door off its hinges, knocked the windows out, and flattened both of the driver’s side tires, causing it to veer off the road and slam into a utility pole. The driver was dead and the passengers and gunner were disoriented. Other gunners in the convoy returned fire and killed the attacker, but there was a maelstrom of bullets from other buildings that stood adjacent to their positions. The blitzkrieg maintained its momentum as it rushed through the deadly funnel.

  All the while, the division was returning fire and causing devastation of its own. High-caliber machine guns blasted out the windows of the historical buildings and changed their appearance from antique colonial designs to rustic cave dwellings. The enemy’s attack slowed, but they maintained their forward momentum.

  Just past the Washington Harbor, the highway was turning into a bridge-way that overlooked the Swedish embassy. Several dozen UN soldiers were running out of the building, but there was no angle to take a shot at them. Their movement drew everybody’s attention away from the three M225B Black Voids that were sitting on the bridge.

  The M225B Black Voids were 2028 model tanks with gun-howitzers and heavy machine-gun turrets that were manufactured at Rock Island Arsenal. They were originally designed to outperform the M1 Abram. Having a smaller, more compact design, with a near equal armament, and surpassing the M1’s speed on the road by ten miles per hour, they were nearly superior. Their armor was not quite as heavy, so the main gun had to be smaller. Ultimately, it was decided the Void would be most practical in urban environments, where less firing distance was required and the smaller frame had greater maneuverability. Despite the smaller main gun, it was more than enough to stop the eight-wheeled Stryker assault vehicles.

  When the division rounded the bend in the road, they met the Voids. The front vehicle immediately opened fire on them and took evasive actions, but their movement was cut short by the four-foot-tall concrete guardrails on either side of the highway bridge. The Voids were spread out enough to block the traffic and allow for firing upon the convoy without causing themselves undue collateral damage.

  One of the Voids shot its main gun at the front Stryker, narrowly missing it by reason of its evasive maneuver, but blasted a hole through the bridge wall. The second Stryker, which was trying to avoid impact with the first, swerved off to the left and was hit by the second Void’s main gun; it swerved off the road and plummeted several yards down, landing upside down on the street below.

  The second Void then pointed its turret at the first Stryker, which was now attempting to barrel through the narrow opening between the other two tanks. It had moved in close enough to the Void to avoid being its target. Meanwhile, the remaining Stryker vehicles took aim on their opposition and destroyed the Voids with their main 105mm guns.

  In the rear of the division, the convoy had come to a dead stop. They heard the sounds of cannon fire and machine-gun blasts and knew the division had entered into a tank fight. That was way more than he and his men were equipped to deal with. Reynolds was with Nathan and Denny when he made the suggestion to take the nearby exit.

  Sergeant First Class Reynolds had been a quiet professional for the last several weeks. But now, he was joined up with Militia Company to exploit the enemy in guerrilla tactics and paramilitary style combat. He was a UN defector from the early invasion and had surrendered to Buchanan back in southern Illinois, but not before saving his life in aerial combat.

  Militia Company took the next available exit, which was M street; that led them straight to Pennsylvania Avenue, an opportunity they just couldn’t resist. The rest of the division managed to push through the wreckage on the roadway, opening an avenue to pass beyond the bridge and make their way to Virginia Avenue, just west of the Potomac River and southwest of the White House lawn.

  Militia Company was rapidly approaching Seventeenth Street. Everybody in the motley-looking convoy of POVs and military vehicles was on high alert. A large government building sat due south from their location and was just east of the White House lawn. To Nathan, it represented a key strategic objective, not only because of its historical significance, but also because it was one of the District’s primary executive facilities.

  When the convoy made its approach, they could see that there was already a conflict in full swing. A few local militia groups had pooled their resources and manpower together enough to attack their UN enemies. They were firing on the building from the cover of two other buildings that sat across the street. When the UN soldiers saw the addition of Militia Company to the combat area, they began turning their fire on them. Ricochet bullets could be heard plinking off the road, as well as metal plinking sounds as bullets impacted their vehicles.

  “We gotta move faster,” Nathan said. “We’re in some kind of crossfire.”

  The driver moved them down the street to take cover behind the building of the occupying militia group.

  Paramilitary men and women began running out of the building with their guns pointed at Nathan’s men. Nathan and the rest of Militia Company exited their vehicles with their weapons pointed back.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nathan shouted. “We’re on the same team.”

  Nathan quickly looked around and saw that everybody was extremely disheveled and malnourished. That was the story across the US, although Nathan and his friends had been very fortunate to have planned in advance for this outcome and had made the right connections to survive the chaos. The same story couldn’t be shared across the board.

  “Who’s in charge?” Nathan asked.

  “Who are you?” a lady called out from the group of men.

  Nathan stepped up to the crowd of gunmen, and the lady that asked the question stepped forward to meet him. She was a thin freckle-faced redhead with bright blue eyes and was wearing an older out-of-circulation Marine Corps cover, a hat, as civilians would call them.

>   “My name’s Nathan. I’m in charge of these men. We’re a part of a larger division-sized group that’s making an advance on the District as we speak.”

  “We’ve been hearing of your arrival on radio stations just outside of the District. They still have the power killed in these parts. We think there’s intel inside that executive office that can help us take back the District and release their stranglehold over us,” the lady said.

  “I missed your name,” Nathan said.

  “I didn’t give you one. If you want to help, that’s our objective. We need that building, Nathan.”

  Nathan noticed the cover on her head and was curious if she was a Marine. He wanted, desperately, to ask her that question, but she wasn’t giving him the cordiality of even her name. So, putting that question to the back of his mind, he responded with, “We can take that building. What intel do you have on its security?”

  “Heavily armed from the inside. Exterior is heavy concrete walls, and it’s flame retardant.”

  Nathan was taking it all in, but seemed distracted by the pretty woman’s bright blue eyes.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” the lady asked when she noticed Nathan was staring at her.

  Nathan didn’t answer. He turned back to the convoy and went up to Reynolds.

  “What do we got?” Reynolds asked.

  “Heavily armed security on the inside. They’re keeping some kind of intelligence secured, but we don’t know what it is just yet. It’s just a hunch, but I think we’re right in taking that executive building.”

  “I recommend we join our new friends in providing suppressive fire on the enemy locations while we blast those doors open with RPGs. With enough firepower, we may have shock value on our side, and that may just give us the opportunity we need to make a successful entry.”

  Nathan turned to the convoy and waved his hand in the air in a circular pattern over his head. Everybody with sufficient training knew he was coordinating a rally on his location. Those who didn’t know followed those who did. A large crowd collapsed on Nathan as he spoke. “Listen up. I want this half of the group to assist in laying suppressive fire on that executive building. The rest of you will join me in throwing some rocket-propelled grenades into the door of that building and into those windows from where we’re being fired upon. Before the dust settles, I want us breaching that building and killing everything that moves. Does everybody understand?”

  The whole crowd shouted in agreement.

  “All right then,” Nathan said. “Let’s show these people how the Blood Corps conducts its affairs.”

  Nathan received another loud motivational shout as they walked away to organize, and Nathan turned back to Reynolds.

  “Blood Corps?” Denny asked.

  “I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

  “Let’s see if it sticks.”

  RPG rounds were launched from open windows across the street from the executive building. Blasts of dust, broken concrete, and debris filled the air in and around the windows and the doors of the target sight. Militia Company was joined by men and women from their newfound alliance as they stormed the entryway of the building. Immediately there was a barrage of bullets sent into the bodies of their stunned adversaries. For days they had been subjected to erratic gunfire from the building across the street, but now they were being pummeled with RPGs and rapidly losing their once tight security hold on the intelligence compound.

  By the time Nathan and Denny had entered the foyer area of the building, large numbers of UN soldiers were lying on the ground; some dead, others were wounded and bleeding.

  “You’re probably still without a knife, right?” Nathan asked him.

  “Haven’t had one since Chicago,” he responded.

  “Me either. We need to finish these guys off. We can’t leave them lying here as long as they have breath.”

  The fiery and mysterious redhead came up from behind Nathan and Denny just in time to overhear their conversation. She knelt over the body of one of the wounded UN soldiers and pressed her knee into his throat, pushing most of her weight onto his esophagus, cutting off air to his lungs. Within moments he had stopped kicking. She stood up and walked over to the next one and did the same.

  Nathan looked at Denny and said, “I was thinking of something a little more humane, but whatever.”

  They joined her in her efforts and completely killed what was left of the wounded UN invaders.

  More gunfire was erupting down the hall. They joined others in their flight towards the sounds of gunfire until they came to another hallway that was being heavily defended. Once again, the lady was near Nathan and Denny. This time they were peeking around the corner with their rifles pointed down the hallway.

  As if on cue, a hand came around from the enemy’s position and attempted to throw a US-manufactured fragmentation grenade at them. The lady took a shot at the anonymous man’s hand and blew a hole through his wrist, causing the grenade to drop and roll back around the corner where the UN soldiers were hiding. The sounds of yells could be heard, and then there was a loud explosion. More dust and debris filled the hallway, and the gunfire was silenced while the militia advanced down the hall.

  They made their way through the entire floor until they came to a room at the back side of the facility. From one of those rooms, there was a window with a view of the White House. From there, the men began to understand exactly what was at stake. The White House roof no longer had a flat design; that had been replaced by an Islamic dome structure. For Nathan and the rest of the southern Illinoisans, the entire last few months had been almost surreal; seeing this really amped them up. He didn’t know much about the geography of the District—they weren’t native to the area, and most of them had never even visited the monuments—but they all knew that was not commonplace.

  Loud explosions from the floor above shook Nathan from his observation post at the window. They had to keep moving.

  Some kind of signal interference was keeping the division from communicating with one another. It was a smaller interruption that seemed to only affect the area around the White House. After spending some time investigating the cause of the disruption, Sergeant Rick Hammel, communications specialist, isolated the location of a frequency jammer. It was coming from the old Washington Monument.

  A series of scaffolds encircled the tower like enormous winders that spiraled up and around the antique erection. The walls of the monument were covered in graffiti and anti-American rhetoric, consisting of Islamic symbols and death threats, from base to tip and left little room for additional scribbles.

  While Buchanan and a few of his forces were exchanging gunfire at the Lincoln Memorial for control over the Arlington Memorial Bridge, Sergeant Hammel ordered his driver to take him to the Washington Monument so he could shut down the jammer.

  Scattered enemy forces were shooting at them as they drove across the memorial site toward the five-hundred-fifty-five-foot structure. They were met with moderate resistance at the WWII Memorial, but they plowed through and got a long enough head start to reach the monument without any close direct fire. Once there, Sergeant Hammel and his driver, Lance Corporal Stevenson, jumped out of the HMMWV and began making their way up the long extensive stairway to the top. On the ground, gunner Corporal Reyes and his assistant gunner were standing by to take out any approaching enemies.

  Enemy gunmen were making their way to their location, shooting as they went.

  Reyes had a fully loaded .50-caliber machine gun waiting for them to get a little closer before he opened up on them. They appeared to be shooting at Hammel and Stevenson as they made their approach to the top of the monument. The incoming gunmen seemed oblivious to the heavy machine-gun presence until Reyes placed his thumbs on the triggers that unleashed a torrent of high-velocity rounds. The links that held the rounds together were falling on the roof of the HMMWV as approximately 750 projectiles per minute were being sent through the muzzle of t
he weapon, each with a speed of about 2,500 feet per second.

  The approaching enemy were dropping like flies, but others were approaching at different angles, allowing for some to regain their composure and continue the advance. Some would turn and run away, others would maintain their momentum, but a few were beginning to gain ground.

  “You’ve got to get us out of here,” Reyes shouted to his assistant gunner.

  “I’m on it,” he replied, running around the vehicle to get in the driver’s seat. All the while, Reyes kept firing on the enemy until the .50 cal jammed up. He knew the barrel was hot and had to be swapped out. Machine guns like the .50 cal could only withstand a set amount of rounds being blasted through the muzzle. When that predetermined amount had been surpassed, the barrel was at risk of overheating and jamming up, as was the case for Reyes. As his driver drove around the lawn of the monument, he put on a pair of heat-shielded gloves so that he could safely trade out the hot barrel for a fresh one.

  Bullets continued to zing at the HMMWV, some making impact, and some missing. Reyes was busy trying to lock in the fresh barrel when the HMMWV suddenly crashed into a tree. Immediately, he felt the pain of the impact as the turret dug into his hip and thrashed his neck and back.

  “You alright?” Reyes asked the driver. There was no answer. Bullets continued to pollute the air as Reyes ducked into the HMMWV and saw that his driver had been shot and was dead. He quickly went back into the turret and fed a new chain of ammunition into the gun. He chambered the first round and began shooting back at the approaching enemy.

  Across the street, in Lafayette Square, Captain Richards and Rory Price were still together and engaged in an immense firefight. They were with a company-sized unit of soldiers, who were engaging forces positioned on the north lawn of the White House. The UN soldiers had barricades established and walls of sandbags to defend against patriot resistors overtaking, and regaining, the White House. Once operational tanks, now destroyed, sat as makeshift cover for a few UN soldiers to use as protection against the incoming gunfire.