by W. R. Benton
“Are you on active duty, sir?”
“Yes, and I'm in a bit of a hurry to get to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. I've been recalled from a TDY.”
“No, problem, Colonel, I'm a Captain in the National Guard. You're free to go, sir.”
“That's it?”
“Frank, this man is a full Colonel, so let him through!”
“Sure.” Frank replied.
“That's it, and have a safe trip, sir.”
The Colonel almost had a heart attack when he first stopped and even now, as he drove away, his hands were shaking. It took him almost an hour for his body to get back to normal. Damn me, I've not been that scared in years. I just knew I was going to jail, he thought.
He kept his speed legal, not wanting any attention drawn to him and soon pulled into the small town of Rolla. It had changed some, grown out, but not up. There were no super high-rise buildings, no hurry up attitude, and life was slower here. He stopped at the same department store James and the rest had been using. He bought whiskey, beer, canned meats and peanut butter, and the last two for the same reasons James did— protein. While he'd brought some MREs, they wouldn't last long when shared with others.
His short drive to the old homestead showed no one there, but an RV was in the barn. The Colonel knew of the cave and suspected they were there. They'd often played there as kids. He knew James as a smart man, and one with a great deal of patriotic pride. There was no way his cousin or the rest of the Walker family would sit back and let this nation fall, not without a fight.
He drove down a trail that was as rough as an old logging road, full of ruts and mud holes.
He parked his car by a Jeep, another car and a motorcycle.
Stepping from the car, he heard a voice say, “Stop, that's far enough. Who are you?”
Realizing he was still in his camouflage fatigue uniform, he said, “I'm Colonel Robert 'Bob' Walker. I am a first cousin to James Walker, and he owns this land.”
James walked from the woods, gave a big grin, and then said, “Relax guys, I know this ugly ass Colonel, and he's kin.”
The Colonel said, “I'm sure they can see the family resemblance in our handsome faces.”
“What are you doing here, Bob?”
The two cousins shook hands and then hugged.
Bob told his story and then said, “I think I'm a wanted man now and if they catch me, I'm facing death. But, there was no way in hell I could kill all those people who refused what they think of as the Mark of the Beast.”
“Did you get one, an implant?”
“No way in hell. I'm not a deeply religious man, but I have to agree with the die-hard Christians, it's the mark of the Devil in my opinion, not the Beast.”
“The Bible says Beast, not Devil.”
“I know what the Bible says, but I think of it as the Devil. They have two different chips now. Workers and poor folks get a barcode inserted under the skin of their foreheads, while the elite get it put in the left hand. Those with only one hand or other missing limbs are killed. Those past 65 are going to be killed when they develop any medical problems that require hospitalization, and anyone diagnosed with a serious illness, say cancer, if they're not one of the elite, they will be killed too.”
“How long can you stay?”
“As long as I can. I suspect a civil war is coming, and it will make the last one look small. Now, in my car you'll find all kinds of military weapons, explosives, and gear. I also purchased canned meats and peanut butter for protein.” He opened the trunk and heard James whistle.
Soon, the men had the gear in the cave and once the M-4's were handed out, along with a couple of bandoleers of ammo, not an adult in the place lacked a rifle and pistol. They had grenades, mines, and an old M-60 machine-gun, along with six boxes filled with ammo for the weapon.
Blake said, “I love shooting a LAW, and you have four of them.”
“Listen we all need to move, and this morning. The two snipers we killed are surely missed by someone now. While I took the chips and sent them floating down a stream, they know exactly where we are. Now, when we leave here, we're driving out. I know where we're going and I won't be bringing the RV, because it's too big. It may take us more than one trip, so let's get everything loaded; use Bob's car too.”
Once loaded, they moved back to the main gravel road and drove east for about two miles. James turned to the right and stopped in front of a long metal gate. He jumped from his motorcycle, and cut the lock off with bolt cutters. He placed a new lock on the gate and then led the men to where they would camp. Once all the gear was unloaded, they returned to the cave.
It was when they'd finished loading that James' cell phone rang.
“Yep?”
“I see a group of about five moving toward us, but can't tell who they are yet.”
“Once you know, call me back.”
Five minutes later, his phone rang again.
CHAPTER 12
A Learjet 75 rose from the runaway of the Frankfurt, Germany Flughafen and then once sufficient altitude was gained, the aircraft banked hard to the left. On the aircraft was the Boss and three other people, who did not exchange names. The interior lights were dim, the passengers sipping on rare liqueurs, as the men smoked expensive cigars. All were wearing big-ticket clothing; the men in tailored business suits and the lone woman was wearing a business blazer with a skin tight black skirt.
The men were all over fifty and all carried a spare tire, but the woman was still stunning and in her mid thirties. She wore her red hair short, little make up covered her face, but her pouting red lips were glossy. Her nails were painted and matched her ruby red lipstick. She was a small woman, five feet two inches tall, a hundred and fifteen pounds, and every inch of her was ruthless and cunning. She was an intelligent woman, who made her first billion dollars by the age of thirty. While her eyes were green, they carried a coldness in them that spoke of power and wealth, as well as evil.
“So,” asked one of the men, “how many guns have been rounded up in America?”
“None, and I mean not a single weapon.” The Boss said and then continued, “the United Nations troopers sent to assist were either killed or captured by the United States Armed Forces.”
“And,” the woman asked, “What have you done about the slaughter of our troops?”
“First, the UN has, just minutes ago, openly declared war on America, the President has been bought for one billion dollars, and the top Generals were paid one million dollars each to allow the United Nations to get a foothold in the country. As you know, most of the politicians are already on our payroll, those that have any power, anyway. The American Government has been bought like a toy in a store window.”
“And the chips? How many have been implanted?” she asked as she leaned forward, knowing her cleavage excited most men. She knew the buttons on her blouse were straining due to the size of her breasts.
“Uh, well, the chip implants are progressing well, with the Americans pushing it as a good thing, because it will allow lost or kidnapped folks to be found, monitor health of their aging and —”
“That's enough. My question was how many?”
“Last count I had briefed was over five million and the list grows daily.”
“Good, once we have the chips in most of them the resistance to our take over will slow and then die. Above all things the implants must continue.”
“I was also briefed that Christians and some others are leaving the towns and cities and moving to the country, where they cannot be found. Most of them have sworn to fight to avoid the chip. They call it the Mark of the Beast, from the Bible.”
“Exterminate them when you find them, Herr Thierse.”
“Please, ma'am, no names. I must insist you always call me by my position, Boss.”
“You are the boss of our operations, not the overall program, sir. However, I agree, my use of your name is a violation of our security. I will see it does not happen again. But, as I sai
d earlier, kill them where you find them.”
“We are doing that, but it's not easy because American citizens have strange ideas about massacring thousands of people who have not had their day in court. They have a high sense of fair play and all are equal in their nation. All of their rights are guaranteed by their damned Constitution and they live by it, and demand their rights as well.”
“I want no more excuses, none of us do.” a portly man pushing 300 pounds said. “Squash all resistance and start the executions of all who refuse the chip.”
“I will see it is done and quickly put in place.” the Boss said.
“Good, because you are a very useful man to us.” she said, then met his eyes as she slowly ran her tongue over her lower lip.
He felt himself quiver.
“How is your budget holding?”
“I'm doing well, and suspect I have much more money than I'll need.”
“Keep account of who is paid what and make sure you continue to send the financial statements as you have been.”
The Boss nodded and then said, “I have a short video for all of you to watch. It is what is taking place in America as we speak.”
He stood, moved to the wall mounted TV and turned it on.
Long lines were seen at hospitals, grocery stores, and even shopping centers. Empty shelves in stores, the result of fuel going up to twenty dollars a gallon, because no trucker could afford to pay and stay in business. The price of gas and diesel fuel was determined by this very group watching the video.
It then showed executions of some Christians for refusing the chip. Most were shot, but some were hanged, others were burned to death and a few were decapitated. It was a small FEMA camp in New York City that caught their attention, because the victims were all crucified on crosses.
The woman laughed and said, “Now, I call that justice.”
“I have ordered no more crucified, because when these people were found later, a riot developed that destroyed blocks and blocks of businesses. There were over 500 dead from the riot alone.”
The woman laughed again and said, “Start them again. Why do we care if they kill each other? It simply keeps us from having to kill them later.”
“I'll allow them to continue doing it, then.” the Boss said as he met the eyes of the other men.
“No, you'll do more than that, you'll suggest it to other FEMA camps, too. They must learn we will be obeyed and nothing will stand in our way, nothing.” the portly man said, picked up a phone and said, “Return us to Frankfurt, please.”
Once the plane landed and taxied to the stop, the woman moved to the Boss and asked, “Do you have time for a drink?”
“Here or in the airport bar?”
“How about my place? It would allow me to slip into something more comfortable.”
“What of my wife?”
“If she's open minded, invite her too. I think we would all three have a good time.”
“Uh, no, she must never know of this.”
“Good; now come with me, my driver is waiting, and I'll warm you up on the way to my house.”
The President of the United States was facing a dilemma. He had over a billion dollars in a Swiss bank, but was starting to worry if he'd live long enough to spend a dime of it. The military had threatened him with a coup, the FBI and CIA were up in arms, and Congress wanted to impeach him. He was in a world of trouble and was so worried about being killed by so many different people, he'd started drinking heavily. Each time his driver started the car, he cringed with fear.
This evening he sat in his Presidential office thinking and realized any attempt at disarming American citizens would result in a civil war. No matter the reason, guns could not be taken from the country, so the next best thing was to try to make guns illegal in some states. He knew the Liberal states were willing, but the problem was, most liberal states didn't have money. Just look at California, he thought, biggest liberal state in the union, but broke as hell. Just a few years back they were a wealthy state, then the liberals took control and now their deficit is insane. I'd not be here now if the original White House was still standing. He was a liberal too, but he got into politics for the money, not to help anyone.
His personal wealth was over twelve million dollars, not counting the billion in Switzerland. He knew he was stressed and his personal physician had placed him on medications to help him, but he didn't take them, because then he couldn't drink. Drinking made his problems disappear for a few hours.
“Are you coming to bed?” his wife asked as she entered the room, wearing a robe.
“In a bit. I'm worried about taking guns away from these crazy people. Three days ago, when I spoke to a group of veterans and hunters, they turned so violent I was escorted to safety. But, the guns must go.”
“We both know if you try to take guns away from hunters, veterans, farmers, cattlemen, and other conservatives, you'll have one hell of a big war on your hands. Americans will put up with a lot of political bullshit, but not the taking of their guns. If I were you, I'd relocate those who don't want to be around guns to different states. I'm warning you, when the first UN soldier steps on US soil to take guns, the civil war will start. So, invite them here to assist with the relocation. This last time the armed forces took care of the problem for you, but now many more have chips implanted so they'll do as they're told. Then, once the two peoples are separated, send the UN into the areas with the guns and use our forces to back them up.”
“I . . . I don't know if that'll work, because we're already at war with the UN, only they've done nothing aggressive yet.” He poured another drink.
“It's worth a try, so give the task to someone else to deal with and lets you and I take a vacation for a few days.”
“Vacation, have you lost your mind? Hell, half the country wants to kill me.”
The lights flickered a few times, a bright light flashed across the sky, followed by a loud crack of thunder, and then rain began to beat on the window panes. The President stood and walked to the window. His hands were behind his back as he watched a single rain drop run from the top of the glass to the bottom. There came another bright flash across the black sky, followed by the sharp crack of thunder. The lights flickered again.
There came a loud boom, but it didn't sound like thunder. It was then a Secret Service agent ran in and said, “Both of you come with me, and now.” He had his pistol out and the hammer back.
“Why?” the First Lady asked.
“We're under attack by an unknown force. Now, move, please.”
“To where?”
“To your car. Once in the limousine you'll be safe. It's built like a tank.” Suddenly a man dressed in black walked into the room, rifle in hand, and the agent fired. The man screamed as he fell and began to thrash on the floor.
“Move!” the agent yelled.
There came a loud explosion, followed by gunshots, and the building shook violently.
They encountered two more men in black and each was killed by the agent. They continued to move toward the limo. Gunshots were heard now and much more frequently.
Just as they neared the car, there came a shot and the agent fell screaming and kicking. The President squatted, saw the man would live and dragged him into the limo. He placed the agent in the back seat with the First Lady, and he would drive.
“See to his wounds. It looked to me like he took a bullet high in the left shoulder and the bullet went through the flesh. Be sure and bandage both the entrance and exit wounds on him.”
He closed his eyes, turned the ignition, and expected to be blown to hell, but the limo started. The garage door was closed, so he drove through the door, pushing it off the roller tracks and leaving it a chunk of bent and twisted aluminum in the driveway. He then moved toward the entrance gate.
Bullets stuck the limo and bang-zing was heard when they struck and then zinged off into space. At one time an RPG or LAW stuck the front right quarter panel, but it didn't phase the limo. Zipp
ing through the open gate, they saw the guard laying in a large puddle of blood, his head mangled.
“Is there a first aid kit in here?” she asked.
“It's in front of you, in the pouch with the red cross.”
“Where are you going?” she asked next.
“To Air Force One. We'll get in the air and wait until the White House is cleared and safe. Pour me a double bourbon.”
She poured him a drink and passed it to him through the sliding window between the front and rear of the vehicle. He knocked it back and asked for another.
“I think one double is enough, don't you?”
“No, I need another drink because the road up ahead is filled with protesters, so pour the damn drink and I can get it down before I drive over these sonsofbitches. I don't think the cops want to be anywhere around this riot in front of us.”
Looking out the windshield, the First Lady said, “My God, if they stop us they'll kill us for sure.”
“Keep . . . driving . . . sir. Ma'am, in . . . first aid kit . . . is a round tube. It's labeled mor . . . morphine. Give . . . it to . . . me. Sir, in the . . . center . . . console between . . . the seats is a . . . red button.”
“I've located it. Now what?” the President said.
“Push the button . . . when near . . . the . . . protesters. It's a machine-gun . . . that will . . . clear the wa . . . way.”
“Here's the morphine.”
Holding the auto-injector against his thigh, he pushed a red button on top, which sent a needle into his thigh and injected the drug. Minutes later, his pain was gone, but he was getting sleepy-headed.
“Hang on, baby,” the President warned, “We're nearing the protesters. My God, there must be fifty thousand of them.”
The unknown agent said, “Push red button now, sir.”
The President pushed the red button, and a small screen dropped from the dash. On the screen were camera images of the protesters and a cross-hair. Three buttons were shown, fire, stop, and quit. He pushed the fire button.
A machine-gun popped up from the roof of the limo and began firing, sending empty .50 brass in all directions as it completed a circle of the vehicle. With the windows up, all the occupants of the limo heard was a light coughing of the gun as hot lead passed through bodies, struck the pavement, and then ricocheted into other people.