Mika tore her arm from Milton’s grasp and then ran the short distance from the porch to where her mother waited.
“Are you ok?”
Mika nodded. She appeared more angry than frightened.
Jackson stood up and then yanked Tess up by the hair to stand with him.
“Ok, we’re going to get into the RV and drive away. We’ll drop your mom off just a few hundreds yards up the road.”
Milton unleashed a high-pitched, panicked shriek.
“You can’t take Momma with you! We didn’t agree to that!”
Jackson glanced at his mom.
“Get inside and start it up.”
Sabina had Mika get in first and then she followed. A moment later and the RV’s engine cranked over and then sputtered back to life.
Jackson yelled back at the two Benton men.
“We won’t hurt her, you have my word. She’ll be dropped off just up the road. If you try anything though, I’ll kill her.”
Both Milton and Rybert glared and scowled at Jackson, but then relented. Each nodded their head as Rybert voiced their agreement.
“Ok, but don’t you dare lie to us or we’ll hunt you down, I promise you that.”
Jackson backed himself into the RV, pulling Tess in after him.
He then had her sit down at the small circular eating area table while keeping the rifle pointed at her as Sabina turned the RV around and began making their way back to the main road.
When they arrived at the road all of them could hear the sound of gunfire to the left toward the bridge where Sabina and her children had first seen the Benton men days earlier. Tess straightened herself and stuck her jaw out.
“That’s my boys keeping us all safe. Shame on you for your lack of gratitude. Shame on all of you.”
Sabina glanced back at Tess and shook her head.
“Sounds like a lot more than just two guns. I don’t think that’s the sound of your sons protecting anyone. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s the sound of your two sons getting killed.”
Tess’s mouth fell open as the color left her hard-edged face, a reaction that caused Sabina instant regret for having said what she did.
“No, not my boys, they know how to…”
Tess grew quiet as yet more gunfire erupted and then just as quickly went silent. The RV door was opened.
“Go ahead, get out here.”
Tess stood up slowly, suddenly grown much older than her already considerable years. She shuffled toward the door, her eyes moist with approaching tears.
Jackson poked Tess in the back with the tip of the rifle, seemingly unimpressed by the sight of a mother facing the harsh reality that two of her sons might no longer be among the living.
“Hurry up.”
By the time Tess completed the short journey down the RV’s steps, tears left wet tracks across her sunken cheeks. Once Tess stood fully outside, Jackson pointed toward the road heading east.
“Let’s go, Mom.”
Sabina closed the door and turned the RV to the right and mashed down on the accelerator. The low fuel light came on.
“We’re almost out of diesel.”
Jackson grimaced.
“I know.”
He looked back at his sister who stood between Bosco and Clyde.
“Are you ok?”
At that moment, Mika saw her brother with different eyes. He had suddenly become something far more than simply the older, often annoying sibling she had grown up with. He was a young man deserving of her respect, a man who had just helped save both his sister and mother.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Sabina glanced into the rearview mirror and then gasped.
“Oh my god.”
Jackson looked at his mom.
“What is it?”
Sabina’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she continued to watch the motorcycles emerge upon the road behind them.
Jackson turned around and then made his way to the rear of the RV. Mika joined him and they both looked out the back window and watched as a dozen men on motorcycles circled Tess Benton. They could see Tess pointing at them, and though they could not hear her doing so, they knew the old woman was screaming at the bikers.
And then a gun was raised, fired, and Tess Benton fell to the ground dead.
“Turn right, turn right, turn right…”
Mika kept whispering the plea, hoping the bikers turned off the road and made their way toward the Benton home.
While Mika Markson hoped the bikers would not follow the RV being driven by her mother, Ripper looked up from the old woman he had just shot dead to watch the vehicle’s departure.
“Are we going after it?”
The question was posed by Fingers, one of the newer members of the gang. Fingers came by his biker name due to his missing the pinkie finger of his left hand, the years-earlier result of a debt that had gone too long unpaid. He was a short but powerfully built man with a face dominated by an overly large, almost simian-like forehead. Most important to Ripper was that Fingers remained desperate to prove himself to the gang, meaning he would do whatever was asked of him without question.
Ripper shook his head.
“Nah, we hit the house first. After that we’ll have plenty of time to catch up to that piece of shit and the ones driving it.”
Ripper didn’t share that they would move on the Benton home first because that was what was required of them via Rydel’s explicit orders. The EPA agent had given the gang more fuel, several more high-powered assault rifles, a dozen hand grenades, a case of whiskey, and a GPS device with the Benton property coordinates already on the display. Rydel gave assurances to Ripper more would be forthcoming should the gang continue to remain a valuable asset to him.
While grateful for the goods, Ripper didn’t want the others to know he was taking orders from a government stooge. He also wasn’t happy about the miles it would take to complete Rydel’s mission.
“That’s at least three hard days ride, man!”
Rydel had given Ripper’s protest an indifferent shrug.
“That’s how this works. Your time is yours and you can pretty much do whatever you like but when I have a job for you, that job becomes your number-one priority. Otherwise, we find someone else and you become…expendable.”
Ripper did as he was told, leading a small contingent of the gang for the three-day ride into Montana while also thinking to himself how nice it was going to be when one day he was able to slice his knife across Rydel’s throat and watch the government pig bleed out at his feet.
Ripper turned to the other bikers and pointed at the entrance to the Benton property.
“We killed three of them already. There shouldn’t be many more left at the house. We show up and we start shooting and don’t stop ‘till every single one of ‘em is dead. If we’re lucky, there might be some women there. All in a day’s work boys, so let’s get to it!”
Ripper’s command was met with enthusiastic shouts of approval as the men left the road and headed toward the Benton house. Ripper remained behind watching the bikes depart and then cocked his head to the right.
What was that?
He was certain he heard a branch snapping somewhere in the woods behind him. His eyes strained to see any sign of movement but found nothing. He waited several more seconds and then shook his head in disgust.
Damn, Ripper, you’re getting paranoid.
Ripper’s Harley gave off its distinctive, throaty growl as he accelerated toward the other bikers. His face broke out into a wide, satisfied smile.
There was killing to be done and that always made Ripper happy.
We finish off this house and then we track down that RV. It’s gonna be a good old time…
--------------------
EPISODE THIRTY-NINE:
The morning was especially clear and cold as General Reg Thompson surveyed the Gettysburg Detention Center’s perimeter from his location atop a ridge nearly a half mile away. The facility was as Co
lonel Jones had described to him days earlier – a multi-acre structure fenced in by barbed wire fence. There appeared to be at least two thousand people being held captive inside what was little more than a human pig pen.
Behind the general stood the colonel and nine other military personnel from Shepherd Field Air Force Base. Colonel Jones indicated those were the men he trusted most to help with the attack they intended to carry out against what General Thompson regarded a modern-day concentration camp.
“I don’t see much more than a couple armed guard towers and a few vehicles outside the main gate.”
The colonel raised a pair of binoculars to his own eyes to confirm the general’s assessment of the detention center’s defenses and then grunted.
“Yeah, shouldn’t be too difficult.”
The colonel turned halfway around to address a young, cleanly shaven, lean-faced man who stood to his right.
“Captain Larson, give our birds the ok. Have ‘em take out the towers and the vehicles and then return to base to await further instruction. We’ll clean up the rest.”
Captain Tony Larson was thirty-four and had joined the Virginia National Guard after graduating college a decade earlier. He had served with Colonel Jones at Shepherd Field for nearly four years. He had been preparing to marry his college sweetheart but the Race Wars put those plans on hold. Larson was just over six feet, with kind, dark brown eyes and brown hair he kept cut short against his scalp.
“Yes sir, Colonel – right away.”
As the captain proceeded to forward the colonel’s command via a hand-held shortwave radio to the two F-16 pilots who were already on stand-bye, General Thompson surveyed the skies above them.
“If one of those EPA choppers makes its way here, I want it shot down – immediately.”
The colonel nodded at Captain Larson who then relayed that order as well.
“What’s their ETA to be, Colonel Jones?”
The colonel glanced at the World War Two era watch on his left wrist that had been a gift to him from his grandfather years ago.
“They’ll be taking off within the next few minutes. I’d estimate they’ll make it here no later than 0900.”
General Thompson nodded his agreement. The liberation of the Gettysburg Detention Center was set to commence in less than seven minutes.
“Ok, as soon as we hear the fighters’ approach, we move. I want three men positioned within two hundred yards of the main gate, and two others at each of the other three sides of the facility. Once the initial targets have been eliminated begin to approach with extreme caution. There may be more armed agents inside. The prisoners will be frightened. Whoever initiates first contact with those prisoners is to let them know we are there to free them.”
The men nodded silently at the general’s instructions and then Colonel Jones continued.
“As we discussed earlier, once we have the detention center secured we drive down the transport trucks. I don’t think we’ll have room to take everyone at once. That means a few of you will be staying behind. It’s a twenty minute drive back to the drop off, at least ten minutes to unload everyone, and then twenty minutes to return here to pick up the rest. We will have air support during the transport phase.”
Again the men nodded.
They were ready.
A moment later saw General Thompson tilting his head slightly at the sound of the two approaching F-16s. He watched as the others looked up into the sky as they tried to locate the fighter jets. He was struck by the willingness of the other men to go to battle for him without question. Perhaps it was partly that they stood in the presence of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, but the general thought it was something far more than that. These were men simply dedicated to the return of the America they all once knew and hoped to see again.
“There.”
Colonel Jones pointed toward the northeast at two dark, glimmering masses hurtling just a few hundred yards above the ground flying at speeds General Thompson estimated to be nearly nine hundred miles an hour. One jet fighter was a quarter mile ahead of the other.
The general stepped forward and motioned for the others to follow.
“Time to go, gentlemen.”
The soldiers each carried a military assault rifle and calmly made their way down the bluff, and then spread out to encircle the detention center just as the F-16’s roared over them. A half-second later saw a massive explosion at the facility’s main gate, the result of the lead F-16 firing one of its six air-to-surface missiles. Another explosion then followed, obliterating one of the two guard towers.
The trailing F-16 unleashed a barrage of 20-millimeter rounds from its six-barrel, Gatling gun system into the smoking remains of the vehicles at the main gate before firing into the second guard tower as it flew past.
By then the first fighter jet had made a hard right turn and again passed over the detention center, sending a missile into the still-standing second guard tower. The entire air attack took less than ten seconds, after which both F-16’s flew off and disappeared into the quickly brightening morning sky.
Colonel Jones gave a long, low whistle as he surveyed the results of the brief air attack.
“I’d say that went about as well as we could have hoped.”
General Thompson nodded.
“Yeah, but it ain’t over just yet.”
The general motioned for the men to begin making their way toward the detention center. He could hear the terrified shouts of the prisoners inside the fenced perimeter.
The colonel brought a handheld walkie-talkie to his mouth.
“Secure the main gate first. Let them know we are here to help. I want them marched out of there in an orderly fashion but keep your eyes peeled for any EPA operatives. Any resistance, we shoot to kill. Once we confirm the area is secure, bring the transport vehicles down and we’ll load up as many as we can for the first trip out of here.”
It took less than five minutes for Colonel Jones’s men to secure the detention facility. One of them marched an EPA officer out to the colonel and general who stood waiting just outside the main gate. The middle-aged man was a couple inches shy of six feet, with longish, blonde hair tied into a thin pony tail that hung down the back of his neck, like some demented hippy happily thriving within the chaos of the Race Wars.
General Thompson noted how the man appeared almost completely devoid of concern over having been taken captive.
“My name is General Thompson, Chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the United States Armed Forces.”
The man snorted his derision.
“No you’re not! That guy died in the attack on Camp David. Everyone knows that. Whoever you are, you just made a big mistake. You’re all dead men. That’s right, I’m looking at a bunch of dead assholes who should have known better than to attack an EPA facility. We’re in charge of everything, now.”
The general took a step toward the man.
“What was your intention with the people you were holding captive here?”
The EPA officer refused to look into the general’s eyes. He turned his head to the left and shook it several times.
“I’m not answering any of your questions so you might as well not ask them.”
The man’s head snapped up as he heard the sound of the approaching transport vehicles.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
General Thompson took another step toward the EPA officer so that no more than a few feet separated the two men.
“I’m not answering any of your questions so you might as well not ask them.”
The EPA operative rolled his eyes, still secure in his belief that as an extension of the new government’s authority, he remained untouchable, despite what the men who now surrounded him thought.
“Whatever…it doesn’t matter where you’re taking them. We’ll find you. We’ll find all of you.”
The general looked up at the hurried approach of Captain Larson from inside the detention center.
�
��Sir, we found something. I think you need to see this for yourself.”
General Thompson and Colonel Jones were led past the main gates and into the facility’s interior. As the two military officers did so they each found themselves nodding at the faces of the just-freed men, women and children who walked past them as they made their way outside.
The general was struck by how vacant the prisoners’ eyes appeared. They looked to be more confused than hopeful, likely thinking the morning’s events to be some version of a cruel trick being played upon them by their EPA captors.
RACE WARS: Season Seven: Episodes 37-41: MOLON LABE Page 3