For Al Zahrani, Marcus Roman and his father had been key players in halting Al Zahrani’s terror plot to spray radioactive liquids over heavily populated locations in Arizona. The Arizona State Guard, led by the Romans, had prevented the terrorist organization’s aircraft from reaching their targets and captured and killed many of Al Zahrani’s men. Only the quick thinking of Al Zahrani’s lieutenant, Mustafa Muhammad Al-Fakeeh, had saved both men and allowed them to escape to fight another day.
Al Zahrani acted first. He smiled as he extended his right hand and said, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face, Mr. Caldwell. We have mutual…friends and enemies!”
“We do indeed, Amir Al Zahrani!” responded Caldwell as he shook the Arab’s hand. “May we both live long enough to reward the first…and kill the second!”
Abdul Aziz Mohammed Al Zahrani tilted his head slightly to acknowledge agreeing with that sentiment. Unsaid between both two men lay a common thought, And when I am done with that, I will kill you, too!
**********
October 16th
Arizona State Guard Headquarters
Verde Valley, AZ
General Titus Roman and his senior officers and NCOs were busy analyzing the latest intel they had received from the CBII and their own intelligence operatives in the PSSA and along (and south of) the U.S./Mexico border. Ken Halsted sat in on the meeting to provide any additional input the ASGuard might want or need.
General Roman glanced about the room. Finally, he spoke, “It’s obvious that Carrington, the scheming witch that she it, has made a deal with the devil…in this case, the caliph of the IGC. She has thrown open the gateways into the states along the West and East Coasts and the IGC is coming in by sea and air. And, to top it off, they are sending more troops and equipment by land up from South America up through Central America and Mexico. Ken’s latest report shows the IGC actively arming and training every drug cartel and peon they can to create an invasion force south of the Border.”
“They’re shipping in captured military equipment from around the globe; stripped from countries they’ve conquered. They can afford to do this because the survivors of those conquered lands have no more will to fight and have submitted to the IGC,” the general continued. “Ken, how long do you expect Suleyman’s forces to take to purge the PSSA’s forces and dissidents?”
Halsted looked his old friend in the eye for a moment before responding. “You mean…how long before they can turn their attention to us?” General Roman nodded. “Three to five months is our prediction…maybe less! They’ll hit the U.S. on multiple fronts. They’re bringing in fighters, bombers, and cargo aircraft from their satellite countries to beef up what little air forces the Piss Ants have. We anticipate air incursions from east, south, and west.”
“What types of munitions should we expect?” asked Marcus.
Titus Roman and Ken Halsted shared a look, then the CBII agent replied, “Conventional munitions definitely, possibly chemical, and potentially low-level nukes from the bombers, if we can’t knock them all out first. That will be the primary responsibility of the Department of Defense forces. If they can get ships close enough to the east and west coastlines and launch their missiles from there, they’ll be able to hit the coastal areas for sure and maybe reach about 200 miles into U.S. territory. The Navy should be able to keep them out of the Gulf of Mexico and, hopefully, can prevent the coastal launches and landing of forces by sea into Mexico.”
A buzz of whispered conversations filled the large room. Titus knew that his personnel held the highest respect for the men and women of the DoD; but they were also realists. Shit happens, he thought, and my troopers know they need to be prepared for worst case scenarios!
The general cleared his throat to get the attention of his personnel then said, “We’re going to wargame this to address every possible contingency we can think of. The governor and the president have assured me that the ASGuard, as well as the agencies in the other states, will receive every possible assistance to prepare for the invasion. So, let’s move on!”
Halsted resumed his briefing. “Conditions in the PSSA cities are continuing to disintegrate. Unemployment is around 75%, the haves are losing what they have to the have nots. Violent crimes have spiked again and the murder rates make those cities look like war zones. Support for the Piss Ant government continues to drop. Reports from our agents in the PSSA tell us that things are about to explode over there. Our expectation is that Carrington will use the IGC troops to put down any dissidents or rebellions in those cities first, then turn their attention to us.”
Once Halsted wrapped up his briefing, the general gave everyone a 15-minute break. Once everyone was back in the briefing room, the members of the Arizona State Guard began to discuss the data they had received and how to react to a variety of contingencies. This session, the first of what would become many in the days ahead, lasted for several hours with only a few short breaks scattered throughout the day. General Roman finally dismissed his personnel at 1900 hours that evening and told them to prepare for another lengthy session two days later. Personnel were filing from the briefing theater when Titus and Ken caught up with Marcus.
“Heading home, son?” the general asked.
“Yes sir! Julian has a fever and Teresa left early to relieve Mom in taking care of him. He’s being a bit difficult,” replied Marcus.
Titus looked with grandparental concern to his son. “Another ear infection?”
Marcus nodded. “That’s what the doctor says. Teresa’s given him his medicines and is trying to get him to go to sleep. I’m heading out in just a few.”
Titus smiled, pleased to see that his son was a doting father. “Well, tell Julian that Grandpop hopes he feels better soon. Your mother and I’ll drop by tomorrow evening. She wants to show me some houses in Sedona tomorrow afternoon.”
“I thought you were partial to that small ranch north of Page Springs?” Marcus asked his father. Titus and Marcus had grown up on the Roman family ranch in southeastern Arizona. Sadly, the location was too close to the border between Arizona and Mexico and, once its location became known, it had become a target for the cartels operating in northern Mexico.
While the Southern Border Defense System, a large wall with a moat along its southern-side and armed guard posts at regular intervals, helped secure the border, it was not impervious. The drug cartels and human traffickers routinely tried to slip past the SBDS. Most failed but on rare occasion, some got creative enough to find a way through.
So the Romans had removed most of their belongings and closed up their beautiful ranch house. The ranch hands stayed on to run the ranch itself and manage the herds of cattle and horses. Busy with running the ASGuard, Titus had rented an apartment for Marion and himself near the Armory in Phoenix. With the move of ASGuard Headquarters to the Verde Valley, Titus and Marion had decided to start a new chapter in their lives in a new home. At the moment, they were living in an even smaller rental place in the Village of Oak Creek, a community just 7 miles from Sedona, while they searched the northern part of the Verde Valley for a new house.
“I am; your mother is most decidedly not! So, we’ll compromise,” said Titus. “We’ll look at some other houses!”
Marcus chuckled with his father. Titus was a tough, skilled leader of men and women, but had a giant soft spot in his heart for making his beloved wife happy.
“Well, drop on by about 18:00 then,” Marcus said, “I’ll have the grill fired up and some steaks and potatoes on!”
“You’re on! Mom and I will bring the wine,” replied Titus. Marcus shook his father’s hand then turned to shake Ken Halsted’s hand as well.
“Ken, you’re invited as well!” said Marcus to his old family friend and former commanding officer.
Halsted shook Marcus’ hand. “I’ll need to take a raincheck, Marcus! I’ve been called back to Denver. I’ve just enough time to get my kit from Billeting and then I’ve got to get to my aircraft. Give Teresa and
Julian my love and tell ‘em I’ll see ‘em next time I’m in town.”
Marcus nodded, understanding that Halsted was kept busy being the liaison between the federal government, the Arizona government, and the Arizona State Guard. “Well, safe travels then!”
The three men went their separate ways. Marcus visited his office for a few minutes then made his way to the parking lot. He hopped into his pickup and fired it up. As he left the parking lot, he saw another beautiful Arizona sunset over Mingus Mountain to the west. No matter where I’ve been, he thought, nothing has ever been prettier than an Arizona sunset! Except my wife, of course!
Thirty minutes later he pulled into the driveway of his new home in Sedona. With the move to the Verde Valley and the passing of Teresa’s grandparents, Marcus and Teresa had decided to move into her grandparents’ beautiful, Southwestern-style house. Teresa had already made a few small changes to the house and its décor to make it their own and yet it still held so many reminders of Isabel and Ernesto Cortez.
Marcus entered the house quietly to avoid waking his son, if he had indeed fallen asleep. He could have saved himself the effort! As he closed the door, the strong arms of his young son wrapped around Marcus’ left leg.
“Hi Daddy!” Julian Antoninus Roman said as he hugged his father’s leg with all the strength he could muster.
“Hi Julian,” said Marcus lifting his son off the floor and into a hug. He kissed the boy on his forehead and thought the boy still seemed to have a little fever despite his medication. “Did you miss me?”
The boy giggled, “Yes sir, I did! Is Grandpop coming? Grandnan is still here!” At that point, Teresa and Marion appeared in the front hallway to greet Marcus.
“Your son is being a pill, Marcus!” Teresa said to her husband before leaning forward to give him a hug and a kiss.
“He wouldn’t let me leave or lay down for a nap,” Marion Roman told her son. “Reminds me of you as a little boy when you didn’t feel well. Well, I need to leave now to pick up your father, he’s promised me a nice Mexican dinner in Cornville tonight! Love you!” She kissed her daughter-in-law, her son, and grandson then let herself out of the house.
Teresa looked at Marcus and said, “You see if you can’t get him to sleep while I go fix us some dinner!” Marcus smiled and nodded then slung his son over one shoulder like a duffel bag.
“Come on, kiddo; time for you to lay down,” he said to Julian.
“Read me a story, Daddy! Read me a story!” Julian begged as his father carried him down the hallway to his room. Marcus laid his son on his bed and stepped over to a bookshelf. He made a show of finding just the right book to read, then returned to Julian’s bedside. He helped the boy get under the covers and get comfortable then sat down on a chair beside the bed.
Marcus read the story slowly, occasionally acting out a part of the story and using different voices for various characters. From time to time, Marcus would yawn. He always did when he read a story out loud! Several minutes into the story, young Julian fell asleep. Marcus continued to read the story softly. When Teresa came into the room fifteen minutes later, she found her son asleep in his bed and her husband asleep in the chair with the storybook dangling from his left hand. A smile played across her lips as she gently woke Marcus and led him from the room.
**********
October 16th
National Security Forces Headquarters
The District
There were no aircraft in the hangar, just thirty-two men. Phillip Caldwell and Mustafa Muhammad Al-Fakeeh were two of these men. They stood at the front of the larger group, looking out at the others.
Caldwell finally broke the silence within the hangar. “Mr. Al-Fakeeh and I have been given an unenviable task…to identify any traitors within the elite National Security Forces. You have been ordered here to assist us with this task.” He looked at the clipboard he carried and called out, “Colonel Alec Dennis, step forward, please!”
A tall, sandy haired man stepped from the group and marched sharply to stand in front of Caldwell and Al-Fakeeh. He saluted Caldwell and reported, “Sir, Colonel Alec Dennis!”
“Ah yes, Colonel Dennis,” Caldwell began, looking at the paper on his clipboard. “It has been reported that you have been heard denigrating American Socialism and your President, as well as collaborating with known agents of the ‘so-called’ United States. Ah ah, don’t try to run away, Dennis…”
The sandy haired officer had pivoted to the right to try to flee when the doors opened along both walls suddenly opened and dozens of darkly garbed personnel entered the hangar bay. Half of them were dressed in NSF combat uniforms; the other half were dressed in the uniforms of the Islamic Global Caliphate Army. Each was armed with a semi-automatic weapon and a sidearm. Each of the IGC personnel also wore a long, curved sword at his waist. These personnel quickly took position around the thirty-two already in the hangar.
By now, Dennis and his twenty-nine colleagues were now well aware that they were in deadly danger. Their eyes darted about, looking at the armed men standing guard around them and seeking any means of escape. There was none! There would be no escape for any of them. They knew that they would be charged with treason, interrogated, and summarily executed. And with that, they surrendered to the inevitable without a fight.
Two of the guards stepped forward and took Colonel Alec Dennis by the arms and escorted him from the hangar to one of the maintenance bays along one wall of the structure. Caldwell looked at the remaining prisoners and said, “Get comfortable, we’ll get to the rest of you in due time!” Caldwell and Al-Fakeeh walked over to the maintenance bay and shut the door behind them.
Dennis was visibly sick, terror obvious in his eyes. Caldwell stepped up to him and smiled. “Now Dennis, what could we possible do to you to cause you such alarm?” Caldwell looked over at Al-Fakeeh then in a blur of motion spun and struck the prisoner with a fist to the solar plexus. Dennis doubled over, vomited, and fell to the floor. Al-Fakeeh nodded to the guards, pointed at Dennis, then to a chain hoist hanging from the ceiling.
Moments later, the former NSF colonel found himself hanging upside down, his feet tied to the hook at the end of the chain hoist and his hands tied behind his back. Caldwell and Al-Fakeeh spent the next thirty minutes taking turns asking the prisoner questions, beating him when they didn’t get what they wanted, and then asking more questions. The man’s screams could be heard through the metal doors leading to the hangar bay and were not lost upon the men being held captive there.
Dennis feared his head might explode from blood pooling there. He needn’t have worried. When Caldwell and Al-Fakeeh felt they had pulled all of the information they could from the man, Al-Fakeeh turned to the NSF and IGC guards and nodded. The NSF guard activated the hoist, raising Dennis higher. The IGC warrior stepped forward, drew his sword, and with one smooth stroke severed Dennis’ head from his body.
Caldwell examined the gory scene with a calloused eye. “Crude…messy…but highly effective. Let’s bring in our next contestant, shall we?” he asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes. The two guards left the room to drag another prisoner in to be interrogated and executed.
Several hours later, Caldwell’s and Al-Fakeeh’s work was done. They had gathered valuable intelligence from the thirty prisoners, removed thirty weak links from the National Security Forces, and put the fear of further purges into other members of the NSF. Word would get out near and far to all NSF units; it always got out!
Caldwell looked about the large maintenance bay at the headless corpses hanging by their feet. He pulled out his comm unit and selected its camera function. Granted, the interrogations and executions had been videoed, but these were for his own purposes. When he was done, he turned to Al-Fakeeh. “How ‘bout we get cleaned up and grab a bite to eat, Mustapha? Get to know each other a little better?”
Al-Fakeeh nodded his assent. I know almost all I need to know about you, infidel. But it cannot hurt to give you a false sense of security arou
nd me, the Arab thought to himself.
Chapter 7
October 25th
New York City
The waste management strike was well into its third month and trash had piled up dramatically across each of the boroughs. The amount of new waste had tapered off because of the truckers’ strike when the transportation of new products and fuel into the city had slowed to a crawl.
What people couldn’t buy in stores, they began to steal…first from their neighbors then later from those further away. Gangs of scavengers roamed the streets looking for food, fuel, weapons, ammunition…anything they could steal. Some of what they stole was for consumption, some was for trading purposes. And much of the violence was strictly for the sake of violence.
The gangs descended on the middle and upper class sectors of the city. Thousands upon thousands of innocent citizens came under attack and were killed; some for as little as a can of peas or corned beef hash. Women and children were raped and killed for the pure pleasure of it. The police, heavily outnumbered and increasingly outgunned, tried desperately to protect their citizens and many of them fell victim to the gangs, as well.
The gangs used the piles of trash littering the streets as fuel for bonfires. Soon, large sections of New York City were ablaze and the firefighters who responded were met with gunfire. The fire commissioner ordered the survivors of these attacks back to their stations. The city burned and, soon, civilization collapsed in the once great City of New York. Chaos ruled!
And New York was not alone. Boston, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Chicago, and dozens of other major PSSA cities were experiencing the same trauma. Within a week, Spokane, Tacoma, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego along the West Coast began to undergo the same disastrous collapse into anarchy. Far too many people in far too little space with limited resources…and absolutely no hope.
The Arizona State Guard Trilogy Page 43