by W. R. Benton
“Sir, near your GPS screen, uh, I still hurt a little, is a toggle switch marked gas. It's tear gas, mixed with pepper spray, so as we move through this crowd, keep the gas flowing. Switch the toggle up.”
The President flipped the toggle and continued driving. When folks got too close, he had the machine-gun send a few rounds into them the computerized system sighted the weapon for him. Most people moved away from him now, because of the tear gas and gun.
He soon broke through the crowd and moved out onto the highway. He discovered that while the limo was like a tank, it had little speed. Even with the pedal to the metal, 60 MPH was the best he could do. He suspected it was due to the limo's weight. He pushed the button on the drop down screen that read 'Quit' and the screen folded back into the dash. Pushing the toggle switch down, he turned off the tear gas.
Picking up the mic from the dash, he said, “This is the President speaking. I want Air Force One ready to leave immediately. The temporary White House is under attack and we will be at the aircraft in approximately five minutes.”
“Uh, copy, Mister President, but where is your driver?”
“I have no idea, and don't really care right now. Have the aircraft engines running when I get there.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Out.” the President said and then tossed the mic to the floor. He then added, “Pour me another double, baby, and give one to our agent. He saved our lives.”
A minute later, she handed a drink to her husband, and then handed one to the agent. The wounded man gulped it down.
“My dress is covered in blood.”
“Once on the aircraft, we'll both shower and change. We have clothes on board.”
As he neared the military airport he spotted helicopters in the air and moving in all directions. He went past the gate, as the guard snapped to attention and saluted him. He drove past another gate to the flight line and right to Air Force One.
Five Secret Service men neared, one packed the injured man over his left shoulder, and the President and First Lady were escorted to the aircraft. As the President started up the stairs, a bullet struck him low and in the left leg, so down he went. No one heard the shot because the engines were running on the aircraft. Two agents grabbed him and pulled him in the aircraft, as two bullets hit the side of the bird, near the door. Helicopters began to dive at the suspected sniper's location.
The First Lady was at the door before she collapsed, a bullet to her left arm. She was pulled into the aircraft. The door was closed, the staircase was pulled away by truck, and the pilot applied power.
The doctor on board Air Force One looked the President over and then moved to the First Lady.
“Neither injury is life threatening and both will recover; now, if everyone will take a seat, once we are at a level altitude, I'll work on both of them.”
“Tower, this is Air Force One, requesting permission for an immediate emergency take off.”
“Uh, Air Force One, this is the tower and your request is approved. Use runway 31 left. Contact me once you are airborne.”
“Copy, my take off on runway 31 left is approved.” Pings and thuds were heard hitting the aircraft. “Tower be advised, I am taking small arms fire.”
“Roger that, Air Force One, and we are alerting the Security Police. Have a good flight.”
Instead of stopping and building up power for the takeoff, the pilot pulled on the runway and applied full throttle. The aircraft began to move.
The sounds of small arms striking the plane grew less as the aircraft gathered speed. The pilot watched his ground speed and at the minimal speed for takeoff, he pulled the nose up. As the aircraft shuddered to gain altitude, the wheels rotated and began to move into the wheel wells. A few seconds later, a thump was heard as the wheels moved into the up and locked position in the wells.
“Uh,” the pilot said and he quickly switched a toggle, “RPG, I think and it just missed us.” He then said, “Tower I'm taking what looks to be either LAW or RPG fire. All have missed due to my air speed and on-board missile defenses.”
“Copy Air Force One, we will notify the FBI, CIA, Secret Service and local authorities.”
There came a loud explosion, just outside the aircraft, and the co-pilot's head slumped forward, his body held in place by his harness. The pilot, glancing at his co-pilot said, “One of you remove Randy and let me get another pilot up here.”
“First Lady and Mister President, Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you on our flight and request a qualified pilot, along with a doctor, join me in the cockpit. The last noise we heard was a missile or rocket. My co-pilot has been injured. We are currently passing through five thousand feet and out of accurate range for most ground weapons. We will level off at 30,000 feet.”
What the pilot didn't tell the passengers was, he was losing fuel, his console panel was lit up like a Christmas tree, and his co-pilot looked dead. He started a gradual turn, because while his take off was over land, as he climbed he was over the pacific ocean. He wanted to stay over land, so in the event he had to put the aircraft down, he should be able to find an airport.
There was the usual knock at the cabin door and the doctor and a pilot entered. The pilot moved to the empty seat, sat, and then asked, “What do we have here?”
As the pilot explained, the doctor was looking the injured man over closely.
“How's he lookin', doc?” the flight engineer asked.
“Blunt trauma to the right side of his skull, with a concussion, and I need to get him back to the surgical room to be sure. His prognosis is excellent, but he'll have one hell of a headache for a few weeks.”
“Doc, can you and the flight engineer get him back there?”
“Sure. Sergeant, if you'll take his legs, I have his shoulders. Sir, as the aircraft commander, please announce the co-pilot will live and is being taken to the infirmary.”
“We're losing hydraulic fluid as well as fuel.” the new co-pilot said.
“Attention passengers, this is your pilot speaking. Our co-pilot will be fine, and the explosion just outside his window caused a concussion. He is now being taken to the infirmary at the rear of the aircraft, where he'll be treated. Pilot, out.”
“Tower, this is Air Force One and I need a tanker on me, and soon. I am losing fuel and hydraulic fluid rapidly.”
“Roger, understand. Are you diverting to another base?”
“What facilities in front of me are large enough for a Boeing 747-200B jet to land and take off? I'll also need maintenance, tower.”
“Uh, wait one.”
“Roger.”
“Shit,” the copilot said, “the right outboard fire light is on.”
CHAPTER 13
James' phone rang again, so he answered, “What do you have?” He was concerned. While all the locals knew of the cavern, few people, except kids and teenagers, ever visited the place. Kids usually came to dig for a fragment of Indian pottery or in hopes of finding an arrowhead. Teenagers came to the cave to kiss and fondle, or even have sex.
“Kids, around 16 years old or so. There are three couples.”
“Get down here before they arrive and we'll leave.”
“Copy, and on my way.”
As they passed the kids a few minutes later, all waved, and James knew they'd find nothing in the cave because it was clean. He had to smile, because he'd often gone to the cave while in high school to 'make out' with Donna. They'd gone further a few times, but it was during a period of his life that was stress free and much happier than now.
At the new location, as they made a home deep in the woods the news was on as they worked.
“The President's new White House, in California, came under attack today by a group of Muslims who destroyed the building, killed fourteen defenders and left twenty agents wounded, twelve of them seriously. The group, estimated at around 10,000 strong, essentially just ran over all the guards. So far, authorities state at least 1,500 of the protesters were killed, an unknown
number of injured escaped, and forty are known injured. All protesters discovered to be injured were taken to a nearby hospital, where they were treated and then charged with a wide variety of charges, to include rioting, murder, and conspiracy to assassinate the President. I take you live to Sarah Gale reporting from the White House.”
“Frank, I have with me Ahmed, who refuses to give me his last name. He claims he knows the reason for the attack and, while not personally involved, he claims he saw it happen. Ahmed, tell our viewers the reason behind this attack, please.”
“We come to America and find we are insulted for being Muslims. We can no longer remain quiet. Your government once paid and helped us live here, but now, we have no money given to us and we do not eat the same food as you Americans. Your food is unclean and nasty to my people. Our women cannot dress like Muslim women and everywhere we turn we find pork or dogs. Our culture has no use for dogs or pigs. Why do Americans not change for us? We need Sharia law, our foods and our customs in this place we now live. Your God is false and so is your Jesus. We will continue to resort to violence in this country until it is all Muslim. America will be Muslim!”
“You knew before you came here, Ahmed, that Americans love dogs and cats, follow the laws of God, and eat pork. You knew you'd have to live under our laws, not your laws, and eat our foods. If you come to America to live, you should leave your customs behind and become Americans. We already have customs, laws and holi—”
“You be a woman and cannot talk to me with insult!”
The camera man screamed, “He has a knife!”
The blade flashed once in the light from the camera and Sarah Gale's throat began to spurt bright cerise blood. She fell to the ground, jerking and twisting, her eyes filled with fear. With each beat of her heart, blood spurted into the air. Her hands clawed at the dirt and her feet kicked wildly.
Ahmed raised his arms and screamed, “Allahu Akbar!”
“My God, he's murdered her!” the camera man said as he continued to film live.
The killer knelt and began cutting her head off as she shuddered and jerked, her central nervous system shutting down.
Once her head was removed, he gave a big toothy smile, as he raised her bloody face toward the camera and said, “This is what we will do to all infidels. America will soon be our country. Become Muslim or die!”
There sounded two shots, one of which caught Ahmed, in the middle of his back and camera caught the bullet punching a hole through the man. Bone, blood and gore followed the bullet out of the hole blown in his chest, splattering blood all over the cameraman, the flattened bullet just missed him. Ahmed fell to the ground right beside Sarah's body and screamed. He'd been hit a second time in the upper left shoulder, the bullet shattering the flat bone in his back and breaking his collar bone.
A cowboy holding a Ruger .45 auto walked to the downed man, sent a big glob of tobacco juice to the wounded man's face and said, “I saw what you did to this woman, rag-head, and your kind will soon learn, you can't treat Americans like your fellow A-rabs. We're not sheep, there are many more of us than you, so we'll win in the end. You were pretty brave killing an unarmed woman, but try me, you filthy bastard!”
The cowboy was joined by another cowboy who held the wounded man in place, as the first cowboy cut his head off. Ahmed screamed and protested, but the cowboy took his time and removed the head slowly. Finally, holding the severed head by the hair, the cowboy tossed it to the ground. Another cowboy stuck a cigarette between the dead man's lips and put his cowboy hat on his head. He then took photos of the dead man with his cell phone.
“You, cameraman, I have something to say to your viewers.” More cowboys were gathering around the cowboy and all were covered in blood.
“You're live.” the camera man said, and then pointed at the cowboys.
“America, listen to me, because this is a warning and I'm not bullshitting you in the least.” He spoke and then pushed his brown Stetson back on his head before he continued. “My fellow cowboys, who are all combat veterans, have had enough of people coming into our country and expecting us to change to accommodate them. Those days are over. We are on the prowl and when we catch someone breaking the law, justice will be instantaneous. I am just awful sorry we weren't able to save this reporter's life. This is my only warning and it applies to anyone, black, white, yeller, brown, or green. If you're hurting people, burning and looting stores, or breaking the law, your ass is ours. But, so far we've only had problems with these people. If you are a Muslim, be aware we will not tolerate any violence from you. We do not hate you or your religion, but stop the hostility, because it will only breed more bloodshed—your bloodshed. For too many years we've chased the devil around the stump, and a time has come to catch 'em.” The cowboy leaned over and sent a long brown string of tobacco juice to the ground.
The cowboy walked off camera and said, “Lee, bring the horses. Once mounted, let's move to the center of town, where I heard on my phone a few minutes ago there are some goat humping protesters.”
The cameraman panned the two dead on the ground as he said, “Frank, it appears that "Vigilante justice" is now alive and thriving in America. Sarah Gale's body isn't even cold yet, and a group of cowboys have already killed and decapitated her killer. There was not a long wait as the man filed appeal after appeal to higher courts, no waiting as they decided the most humane way to kill him, or twenty years passing before he was executed. The man who did the killing had witnessed her coldblooded murder and justice was administered within minutes of her dying. I for one, am glad the sorry sonofabitch that killed her is dead. Frank, this is Steve Mason, back to the studios.”
“Station XWXX apologizes for the graphic content of that segment and it is with great sadness we watched the brutal murder of one of our own. Violence is not unusual tonight and reporter James Thompson reports from a local veteran's group. James?”
“Frank I'm here with a group of veterans who do not want to release the name of their organization, because their efforts are not supported at any level, except for this particular lodge. Most of them are dressed in battle dress uniforms. They are getting geared up for a mission, as the commander said, 'against those who are destroying America.' The commander, 56 year old George, a retired US Army Colonel also said, “We are helping the police now and along with the help of thousands of other veterans, we're taking to the streets to keep our citizens safe.”
“Turn that crap off.” Blake said, shaking his head.
“Just be glad you're not in a big city right now.” James said as he turned the TV off.
Nancy said, “I was so shocked when I saw the reporter killed like that.”
“It all started a few years back when our then President brought hundreds of thousands of them into the country as poor refugees. Until recently, they lived here for free, but with our failing economy, our assistance was cut to them. I don't know any of them personally, so I can't comment on them.” James said.
Frank spoke, “I know them but not personally, because they killed a lot of my buddies in the sand box. I don't like them as a people; perhaps I am a racist or something, but I have a hard time liking folks who I know want to kill me. They want to kill everyone who's not Muslim, call us infidels, but here they are a minority. I suspect within a few days the cowboys and rednecks will kill most of them.”
“I heard they grow up being told to kill all non-believers.” Donna said.
“They are a rough and crude bunch, as far as people go.” Ben said, “When I was over there as an adviser, the military men I was working with were raping boys, young girls and women. Knowing if I stayed in, I'd end up over there again, I got out. They even stoned a few women to death when I was there, so I'm not overly fond of them either.”
“Was that the radical Muslims?” Nancy asked.
“There is no such thing as radical Muslims. Those not doing the bombing and direct killing are supporting them with money, food, labor, or by cheering them on. What that joker
said on the TV a few minutes ago about them taking over America, he believes.”
Donna said, “The President claimed no radicals were admitted into the USA.”
“And, you believed him?”
Winking, Donna said, “Not in the least. I don't have a problem with anyone coming to America to live and become a citizen the legal way. If they come here, let them learn our language, our customs, and our way of life. They need to become Americans and leave their past behind them. If they don't like our food, holidays, pets, or religions, they can damn well leave.”
“When the Muzzies first arrived, and even the illegal aliens, the liberals did a lot of serious ass kissing and made all of the foreigners comfortable, while we had veterans dying in VA hospitals. The liberals were soliciting Democrat votes, by the way. Illegals, mostly from Mexico, were treated better than our combat veterans. I could not believe it, and after all those men and women had done for this country. Can you imagine fighting for America, being discharged due to the loss of a limb or other serious injury, only to be placed on a medical waiting list and then never called? I think our priorities were messed up. Now, with a civil war about to start, I think you'll see the illegals leaving us like cockroaches when the kitchen light is turned on. They like this country, but not enough to fight for it, watch and see, if the cowboys let any of them live. Personally, I don't give a rat's ass about any of them, the refugees or criminal aliens.” Dick said.
“You can talk about the cowboys all you want,” Ben said, “but they'll be fair and honest about the actions they'll take. I was raised a cowboy and most are good men. Most believe in God, even if they are not practicing Christians.”
Joda said, “Actually we're lucky James has us all out here in the woods. While it's just the big cities that are going to hell now, it will spread from the west coast east and in just a few days. Old angers, racism, and crime will see the deaths of many folks. I think we're lucky, damned lucky to be here.”