The Occupation: A Thriller

by W. J. Lundy

  “This is on you, ya know?” Dawson said.

  Bill jumped, startled, and looked at the agent behind him. She was holding a coffee in a Styrofoam cup. She reached out, and he took it from her, nodding. Holding it close to his nose, he inhaled the steam. “How is this on me?” he said.

  “This all started with you. Yesterday was completely your failure and your inability to see what would happen. Today is also your failure. This is your town; those are your people. How did you not see this?”

  Bill pointed down the road. “See this? How the hell was I supposed to know this would happen?”

  “I already told you; it’s your town,” she said. “You should have known about these dangerous men and warned us. Where did these people get these weapons? Explosives, machine guns, all in your city.”

  Bill’s jaw dropped. He eyed her hard, trying to determine if she was serious. “I didn’t know anything about any of this.”

  “Exactly. That’s why it’s your failure—you didn’t know.” Dawson reached into her pocket and removed her notepad. “I spoke with Manager Nohrs. You held back on me.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve been nothing but cooperative with you,” Bill said.

  She scowled at him and flipped open the notepad. “I called Manager Nohrs to ask for background on the suspects, things you should have already told me about them.”

  “I already gave you that. I gave you their sheets. They had no arrest record. The FBI also had nothing in the database. They were both clean. You spoke with their neighbors; they were fine until yesterday.”

  “They are killers,” Dawson said.

  “Allegedly,” Bill spat back, not knowing what else to say. “But how was I supposed to know that?”

  “They were killers before,” Dawson added. “Manager Nohrs gave me a detailed brief on both of the men’s military records. They had copies of their discharge papers on file at the county clerk’s office.” She looked up from her notes and eyed Bill suspiciously. “You knew the men were trained killers, and you said nothing to me about it.”

  Now he was caught, but he’d had this conversation with people before—when people asked questions or investigated John Warren’s background. In fact, it was John who first came up with the less-than-fearful description of his military service. “They’re veterans. Half the men up here served at one time or another. Sherman is a popular retirement area for vets. That doesn’t make them killers.”

  She shook her head. “Do you know what they did in the military?”

  Bill knew exactly what they did, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He looked away and said, “I don’t know. I was told Warren was like a nurse or something, and I don’t even know what the other kid did. I just know that he got kicked out of the Army before he finished his first enlistment.”

  She flipped to a page in her notepad and held it up. “Captain John Warren was a special forces officer. He has served in every war we have had for the last twenty years. And Staff Sergeant Robert Newsome was a Pathfinder with the Tenth Mountain Division.” She paused then handed the notepad to Bill. “He was medically discharged after a tour in Iran, where he earned a Bronze Sar and Purple Heart.”

  The sheriff took the offered notes and shook his head side to side. “Well, I’ll be damned. You know how these military types are—always quiet about their history. Especially with a non-military guy like myself.”

  “Bullshit,” she said. “I bet John Warren planned all of this. I bet he planned it, and he lured us right here, and I bet you knew about it and helped him.” She held her stare on him, searching for a reaction.

  Bill scowled and clenched his teeth. “I told you to follow the highway west. I didn’t even have this damn valley on the map. I told you to stay away from it. It was your idea to come here, not mine.”

  “So, it was your plan to just let them get away? You never wanted us anywhere near this place.” Dawson snatched the notepad from his hand and took a step back. She pursed her lips, staring at the sheriff. She rubbed her chin then looked down into the truck bed at the dead men. “I don’t know, maybe you’re telling the truth. Something doesn’t fit into all of this. Sheriff, I don’t want to have you arrested, but I’m running out of reasons not to at this point.”

  “You want me to take the fall for this, don’t you?” he said. “How could Warren plan it? He didn’t know we would be at his house that day. We made those visits weeks ahead of schedule. I didn’t even know about the visits until that morning. Warren wasn’t up on alert. He was in the garage, working on his lawnmower when we came to his door.”

  Her head snapped up angrily. She took in a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “You have one more chance. I’ve called in a special team. They are getting ready and will be moving out soon.”

  “More special than these guys?” Bill said, looking in the truck bed.

  “Steel Corp,” she said.

  “Oh great, Steel Corp. The guys that come in, kill, and don’t take names.” He shook his head angrily. “Right here in Sherman. Well, isn’t this just great.”

  She ignored his comments. “We have them trapped now. We have a line locked up down here. They are on high ground, with another group of agents tucked in behind them. I have two teams ready to roll up and take them out.”

  Bill had been waiting for this response. He knew that her arrogance would just get more people killed. “It’s too much territory, they could be anywhere,” he said.

  “No, they are up there, and they want to be found. They want a fight; we know that now.”

  “Because they knew the land. Of course, they want to be found. They aren’t hiding; they are laying traps just like they did earlier today. Instead of hunting them, why don’t you try talking and see what they want?” Bill said, trying to control his temper.

  She clenched her jaw now, seething. “We shall find out soon enough what they want. Tonight, the team is going to attempt to walk into the Gap from the high ground. Warren and Newsome won’t be expecting it, and even if they did, it’s too much ground for them to cover on their own.”

  He shook his head. “It won’t work. You should call them off.”

  “Well, you better hope it works because you’ll be joining them tonight. They need an expert on the local area, and since the DNR and forest guys refuse, that’s going to be you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  John was back at the hatch, kneeling down and drinking from a Kool-Aid flavored bottle of water. His armor was back on and pinching his shoulders, his rifle clipped to his vest loaded full of magazines. Bobby was behind him, suited up the same, eating noodles from a foil pouch. They were waiting on orders from Gregory.

  He looked down at his dirty work boots and thought about his home and his warm bed. Things were quickly changing on the mountain. The pass was now completely populated. Against all odds, every team had checked in and were now in their bunkers all over Emmerson’s Pass.

  Reports had started coming in from the other bunkers. Even though John had never visited all the hidden positions, he imagined them. A large circular perimeter lined with bunkers evenly spaced. The bunkers filled with men, armed men who were now drinking coffee from camp stoves and eating meals from bags. But why did they all come here? It wasn’t for him. No matter what they said, he knew that wasn’t the case.

  These were men who had their lives destroyed by the corporations. Had farms taken away, businesses closed, fired from jobs for their opinions. Men forced to surrender freedom for a paycheck and a bit of food, men forced to bend the knee to keep their families fed. Just as he’d seen in Iraq and Afghanistan, these men took the checks with a smile, but at night they made plans for the day they would resist. This hideaway camp fortress had been planned for some time. It didn’t spontaneously come together because John Warren had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  No, these men had been organized. Unlike many who complain but do nothing, these men made plans. A way to survive and have a future under a fascist
thumb that ruled from the capital in D.C. How they managed to do it without getting caught was another thing. But the fact that they did it, impressed John. These were professionals. They had to be to put together this size force and this camp and not be noticed.

  Most cowboy militia types bragged about their range time or the super ninja training they did in their uncles’ backyard. They wore caps with silly patches calling attention to themselves. But not here. He’d lived across the street from Aaron and his son for some time and knew nothing of the Legion. He’d seen Gregory in the neighborhood and, other than the shabby grey beard, he had never noticed him. And Paul, he lived on the same street as the man and never knew he existed.

  John scratched at the stubble on his chin and wondered about the others here and what motivated them to leave everything to dig into a bunker on a mountain. They could die here, starve. If they were wounded or injured, there was no medevac. Nobody would be coming for them.

  He looked back and watched Gregory and Paul talk. If those two men were any standard for the rest of the people forming up in Emmerson’s Pass, then Homeland had one hell of a fight ahead of them. John had trained resistance fighters all over the world, and this group was leaps and bounds ahead. Motivation was always easy to find in an oppressed population. Means and training was the struggle. These men had all three.

  “You think he heard it?” Bobby asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

  “Who heard what?” John said after finishing the last of the bottle.

  “You think Daddy heard the shot?” Bobby said without looking up from the foil packet.

  John smiled from the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, he heard it.”

  Bobby pulled out the tablet and scanned the images. They had changed from rabbits to wolves, and there was word that a special weapons team brought in from Washington would be attempting to breach the valley on foot and over the ridge. Contractors, not Homeland. These guys were experts in field operations. “Who do you think they are?” Bobby asked.

  He’d seen contractors used against partisan forces around the world to control populations. It was easy when you’ve had decades to raise and develop forces through fear, but whenever there was a radical shift in ideology, it became tough to find reliable people. People willing to kill their neighbors. The corporations discovered that the hard way. They tried building armies from local populations that would constantly turn on them. If you wanted to fight a war, you couldn’t do it using the people you considered your enemy.

  When a ruler couldn’t find the people to enforce their laws, they brought people in from the outside. Assad in Syria used the Russians, Sudan used the Chinese. John had done this security work himself in Iraq and Afghanistan defending local leaders not supported by the populations. He’d heard rumors that there were law enforcement training camps popping up in Georgia and Virginia, places specializing in the enforcement of corporate law. He knew about them because when he retired, he’d been offered a job opportunity to help train them.

  There were others that had been known to patrol the streets of New York and D.C. after the food riots. Blue Hats they were called, UN Peacekeepers sent to quell the violence when police crossed picket lines to join the protesters. But there were others, those far more dangerous. They brought in young men from around the world. Serve eight years as a contractor and earn a green card and subsistence contract. Enforcers, men with no loyalty to the populace brought in to enforce the laws held over them.

  These men were known as Steel Corp. Originally hired to close the gaps in federal law enforcement, they quickly became much more. As local police agencies were defunded, they lost the ability to maintain special teams. When a department could hardly finance a few deputies, things like SWAT, riot control, and hostage rescue were the first to go. But no worries, Homeland promised to take up the slack and provide these badly needed services. And Steel Corp had done just that.

  Steel Corp was known for their ruthlessness, the take-no-prisoner attitude they carried. They were famous for putting down what the ruling class conveniently called insurrection or rebellion. The people called them Storm Troopers and Steelies. These men in black uniforms and ski masks would swoop in, perform raids, and then vanish, never held accountable for the death and destruction they left behind. When one of them did cross the line, the offending officer was punished, but no verification of this ever took place.

  The Steelies held no identity and were always masked. Nobody really knew what happened to the offending officers. Teams were dissolved, reformed, and moved around the country, and the cases against them were quickly suppressed.

  “Yeah, I think I know who they are,” John said.

  Bobby pursed his lips. “The Steelies.”

  John nodded but didn’t say it.

  “Good,” Bobby said. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on those guys since the massacre in Nashville.”

  John pressed up to his heels and ran his hands over his gear, in a second check. “I think we’ll get our chance tonight.”

  Paul was behind them, rummaging through boxes. He seemed to shout something and then returned to the hatch, holding a pair of matte-black hockey helmets. He handed one to each of them.

  John took it and rotated it, examining the setup. “This is good gear, old but good,” he said, looking at the dropdown PVS7 night vision goggles.

  “Don’t get caught with it. Most of it was taken from Homeland,” Paul said.

  John shrugged. “I’m still impressed.” He turned the helmet over and saw a coms box on the back with a pair of wires.

  Paul pointed at a button on the back of the box. “This sets it to closed net. This is your throat mic and ear bud. I’m sure you’re familiar with these. The radios relay off each other and create their own closed network, so you must be close to pick up the signals. You get outside of a few hundred meters of a transmitter, and you’ll lose communications. It’s not ideal, but we can’t afford to have them listen in.” Paul pointed to a switch on the side. “This sets it to high power mode, then it works like a regular handheld radio. Careful with that mode once you flip. They can possibly hear you, but it’s there if you need it.”

  “Possibly?” John asked.

  “They would have to crack the encryption. Nearly impossible but, in theory, it could happen.”

  John nodded then placed the helmet on his head and adjusted it so that the eye pieces fit over his eyes. He powered it on and adjusted the brightness. Then he flipped the eyes back up, attached the throat mic, and put the ear bud in his ear and tapped to activate it. He said, “You there?”

  “I hear ya,” Bobby came back.

  “Good to have you on the net, boys,” someone said over the network.

  John looked back at Bobby, questioning. Bobby grinned and held up a finger. “Lima Four, is that you?”

  “Lima Four is on the box and ready to rock,” came the reply.

  John tapped the earbud, turning it off, and looked at Paul. “I really don’t like being left in the dark on everything up here.”

  Paul dipped his chin and pointed north. “Lima Four is over that way, two is to our south.”

  “Then we are three?” John said.

  Paul shook his head. “No, three is me and Gregory. You and Bobby are Jackal.”

  “Jackal?” John repeated.

  “We’re hunter killers,” Bobby said. “Jackal was supposed to just be me; Daddy would have stayed in here to coordinate the fight with these old coots. But now we’ve got you, so I get a playmate.”

  Paul put a hand on John’s shoulder. “You’ll be going out there, hiding and moving around. Bobby will show you the paths so you don’t get shot by one of us on accident or step on a mine.”

  “Sounds great,” John scoffed. “Anything else?”

  “They’ll be coming soon, and when they do, the bunkers will try and pin them down. Then you’ll be called in to flank and take them out, ambush, snipe—whatever it is you boys do, make them go away.”

  “K
ill them?” John said.

  “The priority is on breaking the attack, but if they end up dead, I’ll shed no tears,” Paul said. The man pointed to the back as Gregory was moving toward them. “Remember, son, these guys don’t take prisoners. If you are captured, it’s only to be tortured for information and killed when they are done with you.”

  Scowling, John looked down and said, “Got it.”

  The bearded man moved in close, looked at the helmets, and nodded his approval then turned to Bobby. “Just heard from outside. They are coming up in two teams of five, in line, like they are on a Sunday hike. They left the base camp about ten minutes apart. Get up to Lima Five. They have eyes on and will show you where to set up,” Gregory said.

  Bobby nodded. “You got it, boss.” The big man stepped to the hatch and lifted it out of the way then hoisted himself through the hole.

  John moved closer and Gregory put a hand on his shoulder. “Hold the pass, son,” he whispered.

  Shaking his head, John pulled away and crawled through the hatch and helped Boddy replace the cover. When it sealed into place, he squatted with his back to the stove. Bobby had his goggles up, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. John did the same, taking advantage of the natural light. He scanned the dark terrain; it was a moonless night with a light rainfall that clicked in the trees and dry leaves.

  The rain was good. It would cover their movements, but it also covered the enemy’s. He shuddered and looked around again. How in the hell did I get here? He’d never liked the militia movement. Even after the insurrection laws were put into place, he ignored them. He always thought they were clowns, and now he was knee deep in their ranks.

  What the hell have I done? He looked at Bobby less than five feet away, taking a knee, intently listening to the sounds of the forest. John felt a burning in his chest. He hadn’t chosen to be here. Homeland made that decision for him when they killed Aaron in cold blood for holding an antique shotgun. Crying about how he got on this path no longer mattered. His life no longer mattered.