Purge on the Potomac

by Roberts, David Thomas;

  “What are they packing and what’s their range?” asked Pops.

  “If they are AIM AMRAAM missiles, they are effective up to thirty miles. If it’s Sidewinders, a little less,” said Zach. “What’s their range now?”

  “Looks like thirty-two miles but closing fast. Hang tight; I’m coming in hot, with a little more speed than normal. Buckle in, folks,” ordered the co-pilot.

  “Patch me in with the tower,” said Pops, still sitting in the captain’s seat.

  Embarrassed at being ripped out of his seat, the captain remained quiet but attentive.

  As the wheels touched the runway, Pops picked up the radio mic. “This is Pops Younger, commandant of the Texas Rangers. Who has arranged this fine party for us?” he asked.

  The Citation’s occupants stared out their small windows to see dozens of emergency vehicles and police cars.”

  “Younger, is that you, you old coot?” A deep, scratchy voice sounded over the radio.

  “Damned if it ain’t Sheriff Scotty Robbins. You mean the fine folks of this county ain’t gotten any smarter and re-elected your damned ass again?” Pops chuckled.

  “It’s the devil they know, Pops,” laughed the sheriff. “I got a call from some high-falootin’ FBI dude up in that cesspool they call Washington, asking me if I’d arrange a little welcoming party for ya, so here we are. Says were supposed to arrest you and your traveling party as well. Somethin’ about national security?”

  “That’s damned nice of you, Scotty, to arrange this little shindig. I’ll tell you what; you can tell them you took us straight to jail. I need a lift for a few of us in here straight to the Death Row Unit, if you don’t mind.”

  “Damn, Pops, I ain’t even gonna ask. Must be serious. By the time you taxi over here, I’ll be there to escort you personally. If you ain’t noticed, we’ve got some friendly Apaches in the air who will make sure your ride to the prison has air cover.”

  “It’s damned serious, Scotty. But I gotta tell ya, you’ve never seen a cowboy so happy to see four Apaches take the high ground,” laughed Pops.

  The Citation pulled up right next to the small-town airport terminal.

  “Guys, those Falcons are going to be right on us any minute. Personally, I’d like to get off this thing as soon as possible. Let’s get our Swede and get out of sight ASAP!” ordered Zach as everyone picked up the pace and got off the aircraft quickly.

  The two F-16s were flying barely above tree-top level, but pulled up as they approached the airport to make sure they were clear of the Apaches.

  While all these events were occurring, President Bartlett, Chief of Staff Weingold and several cabinet members were assembled in the Situation Room below the White House. Two members of the Joint Chiefs were also in attendance.

  “Madam President, the private jet landed before the F-16s could reach them,” said the first Joint Chief. “They did not get a visual on the occupants, but apparently they have vacated the aircraft. There are four Texas Air National Guard Apache helicopters on location but airborne, apparently hovering at a very low altitude. We did not call them and we don’t know why they are there. The F-16 pilots are attempting to make contact with them.

  “Why are they there, Milt?” asked the president.

  “Madam President, Pops Younger has many friends in Texas. That unit reports to the Texas governor, and you know for sure he didn’t send them there, so my guess is Younger called them in,” said Weingold, referring to Governor Strasburg, who was as much a part of the Deep State as any of those in the Situation Room.

    

  The F-16s banked steeply and came back low over the terminal, sending a message to Pops and the Walker County sheriff.

  “We need to play the shell game, sir, and do it in intervals, but even that might not be enough. Even if the Falcons see two dozen police units departing the airport in different directions, they could still get lucky. I don’t like it at all. It’s not a safe play, but I’m not sure what the alternative is,” lamented Zach.

  “Are you suggesting those fighters will fire on us and our escorts on the way to the prison?” asked Dyson.

  Zach leaned toward Pops and said quietly, “This Swede knows everything. He knows the elections have been a fraud. He knows the government is complicit in the Dallas shootings, the assassination of a Supreme Court chief justice, the fatal crash of the governor and who the hell knows what else. I’m telling you right now, it’s enough to shake this Republic to its very core. Hell, yes, they would kill every single one of us by any means necessary to protect the damned Deep State! Gentlemen, I know firsthand what this government is capable of.”

  “The Apaches are telling us the F-16 pilots are demanding they land and that no vehicles should leave the airport or they will be fired on,” said Sheriff Robbins. “Pops, what the hell is going on here?”

  “Scotty, I’ve got you and your men into one hell of a rodeo,” said Pops.

  “If that’s the case and you need to get outta here, I can arrange some alternative transportation if you don’t mind a little discomfort,” said Robbins.

  “A little discomfort sure beats a missile raining down on our heads,” replied Pops. “What ya got in mind?”

  “I’m going to call my brother-in-law right after I take this call from the FBI,” said the sheriff. “Yeah, I got them here. I’ll hold them here until your boys from Houston arrive. They ain’t going nowhere,” winked the sheriff.

  The sheriff hung up and made another call as he walked out of the small waiting area to the vending machine room, then came back in. “Your rides will be here in just a few minutes.” he announced.

  Pops and the rest were now very curious about how the sheriff was going to get them out of the small terminal so they wouldn’t be sitting ducks for the F-16s that continued to buzz the airport. While all this was going on, the Apache pilots were very unappreciative of the high-stakes buzzing they were experiencing from the F-16 pilots, much less being told to ground their choppers. The pilots of the Apaches and F-16s were not exactly friendly to each other.

  Chapter 64

  “Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn't pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children's children what it was once like in the United States where men were free.”

  - Ronald Reagan (1911-2004)

  40th President of the United States

  “How long until the Houston FBI agents arrive?” Weingold asked the group in the Situation Room.

  “Fifteen minutes, maximum,” said the FBI director.

  “What are our orders if they take off before the FBI arrives?” the Air Force general asked the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who immediately looked to the president.

  “Madam President, I must have our pilots prepared. What are your orders if they attempt to leave?”

  Bartlett was extremely uncomfortable with the question, and her body language changed immediately.

  “Let me remind everyone in here of the national security implications, much less your own personal careers if this damned cowboy is able to secure Ottosson. We still do not have visual confirmation that Younger has him, but the FBI is convinced they do. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Do your jobs!”

  “Madam President, your orders please?” the general asked again.

  “You neutralize them immediately. The local sheriff has them, correct?”

  “Yes, Madam President, it appears so, but I need to cover all contingencies.”

  “And you would minimize any collateral damage, correct, General?”

  “To the extent possible, yes, Madam President.”

  “We’ll worry about that later, General. Remember, this is a national security issue, so explaining any collateral damage won’t be an issue if we are presented with such a situation,” reminded Weingold.

  Sheriff Robbins walk
ed back into the waiting room.

  “Pops, your chariots await,” he said, taking a half-bow. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

  Pops, Dyson, and Zach helped Ottosson stand.

  “We’re going to get you to a very secure place,” assured Dyson.

  The sheriff led them through a side door that took them to a metal hangar attached to the terminal in which maintenance was done on aircraft parked at the airport permanently. Through a side door came four Polaris four-wheelers. The sheriff welcomed his brother-in-law, who owned the four-wheelers.

  “We took out the bulbs on the tail lights so the machines can’t be seen. I suggest you let me lead you boys outta here as that trail is narrow and you’ve got about four miles to go down the high-wire trail until we get to the two-lane highway leading to town. I don’t know what y’all got going on here tonight, but these are my three boys.” He introduced them. His oldest boy was nineteen and his youngest was fifteen. The boys recognized Pops Younger from the famous scene on the Laredo bridge.

  “Pops, the tall pines will keep you out of sight of the fighters, but my crew down south of town just radioed and told me the FBI convoy from Houston is blazing up I-45 and just reached the south edge of town. If you’re going to go, you need to git right now!” advised Sheriff Robbins.

  “Much obliged to you, Scotty. Much obliged to you, too, sir―and to your sons,” said Pops.

  Pops and Dyson climbed onboard two of the four-wheelers while Zach suggested two of the boys double on one. He let Ottosson get on the last four-wheeler first and climbed on behind him.

  “Keep your hands right there on those bars and let me drive. Put your feet up there on your fender and don’t try to steer or drive. I’ll do that. Just hang on,” Zach told Ottosson. Ottosson had a tough time lifting his legs and getting his mangled feet set.

  “Hit the lights!” instructed the sheriff to turn off the lights in the hangar. He didn’t want the fighters to see the four-wheelers traverse the twenty yards into the trees and onto the trail. There was no chain link fence surrounding this small town airport except on the runway that ran parallel to Interstate 45.

  The fighter jets roared over again.

  “Now!” said the sheriff as the four-wheelers took off into the darkness of the East Texas piney woods. As soon as they hit the trail, they couldn’t be seen.

  “Turn them back on!” yelled the sheriff, referring to the hangar lights as he fixed his cowboy hat and hurriedly went into the terminal.

  “What the hell are you doing, Sheriff”?” asked a deputy as Robbins ran out the door.

  “Time for me to play rabbit!” the sheriff said.

  “Scotty, you heard what they said. Those fighters are likely to come down hard on any vehicle leaving here. Please don’t!” said another deputy.

  “That’s my brother-in-law and his three boys risking their necks because I asked them to. They don’t have a clue why, only that I asked them. The least I can do is divert attention from them being seen,” shouted the sheriff. He jumped into his SUV, flipped the lights on and looked into the sky.

  “Come on, you sons of bitches, where the hell are you?”

  Twenty seconds later, the two fighters roared over the terminal again.

  “Here we go!” the sheriff yelled into his radio. He flipped on his sirens and headed in the opposite direction that the four-wheelers were taking into the woods.

  Robbins announced on his police unit radio that he had the Citation’s occupants with him and he was leaving for an undisclosed location.

    

  “Madam President, there’s a police unit leaving the terminal at a high rate of speed!” announced the general, a grave look on his face.

  Weingold stood up in the Situation Room and took a deep breath, “Madam President, they are making a run for it. We cannot allow them to get Ottosson out of there before the FBI arrives.”

  “How far away is the FBI? Why are they not there yet? Why is the sheriff not following our orders to stay put?” demanded the president.

  “They could have subdued the sheriff or taken a hostage. Who the hell knows? We needed about five more minutes,” said the FBI director.

  “Can’t you divert your men to follow the police unit?” she asked.

  “Yes, we can, Madam President, but you take the chance that Ottosson is somehow tossed out of the unit or they transfer him to another vehicle. Those fighters are too fast to stay on him and follow him like a helicopter could. They won’t have nonstop eyes on him,” responded the general.

  “Madam President, you have to give the order. I know it’s hard, but you must think of how bad the alternative is!” pleaded Weingold.

  “Milt, we don’t know who’s in there,” she replied.

  “Madam President, the sheriff just radioed in that he had them! Do we have your order for the fighters to take out that vehicle, Madam President?” repeated Weingold. The tension in the Situation Room was palpable.

  President Bartlett dropped her head and took another deep breath.

  “Do what you have to do, General,” she said reluctantly.

  “I will give the order, Madam President,” the general confirmed.

    

  Pops and the group on the four-wheelers finally made the four-mile trek through multiple trails in total darkness, simply on knowledge of the trail by the sheriff’s brother-in-law and his sons. Most of them had abrasions from small tree limbs and thorn bushes they couldn’t see that overhung the trail as they sped along in the darkness. When they got to the highway, they waited at the edge of the woods for a pickup truck that was going to pick them up.

  As they rode through the darkness, Zach’s mind wandered to the man he was sitting behind on the four-wheeler. This scumbag was the focal point of the Deep State’s diabolical schemes. He was indirectly responsible for hundreds of deaths.

  “I should put a bullet in his head right now,” Zach thought to himself.

  As they waited for the pickup truck, they all noticed a flash of light and a sound like thunder in the distance, then saw one of the F-16’s afterburners in the western sky.

  “What the hell was that?” asked the brother-in-law.

  “I don’t know for sure, but it can’t be good,” said Zach. “Where’s our ride?”

  “There he is.”

  The driver of the pickup flashed his lights twice as he approached.

  “Thank you, sir, and thank you, boys,” said Pops. He shook their hands and piled into the cab of the four-door truck. He introduced those with him by first name to the driver, who was wearing his gray prison guard uniform from the Huntsville State Prison.

  The pickup truck drove up to the main gate of the massive, sprawling fifty-four-acre Huntsville State Prison complex. The Death Row unit had been moved to Livingston, Texas, but the old prison with its famous huge red brick walls, also known as the Walls Unit, still contained highly secure death row cell blocks. This secure location was the only place Pops felt he could hold Ottosson long enough to get him some medical attention and get his taped testimony without any associated torture. It would make it very tough for Volkov or the CIA to permanently silence him.

  News spread quickly that Texas legend Pops Younger was in the prison, and many guards temporarily left their duty positions to get a glance.

  As soon as the group entered the prison, Ottosson was taken into custody and shackled at feet, waist and hands. Pops was taking no chances. Ottosson had to be taken in a wheelchair to the medical unit to be evaluated and treated.

  “We finally got him here. Hell of a journey, Pops,” commented Dyson.

  “Dick, stay with Ottosson. Do not let him out of your sight. I’ve got to go find out what that explosion was and see how Scotty’s troops are doing at the airport. Surely the FBI has arrived by now,” said Pops, deeply concerned about his friend.

  The scene at the airport had turned into an angry mob of law enforcement, paramedics and airport employees who believed they had witnessed a Un
ited States Air Force F-16 deliberately launch a missile on a Texas sheriff’s truck.

  When the FBI finally pulled up, they were met with anger and disgust. Under orders from the deputy sheriff, nobody was allowed to leave to see if the sheriff was dead or alive. They had to rely on reports from the Apaches. “Tell those two Apaches to immediately vacate the area and return to the airport or they will be fired upon,” said the general into the conference phone on the table in the Situation Room.

  “Sir, the Apaches are not cooperating. One is touching down right now in the vicinity of the target,” came the direct voice of the lead F-16 pilot over the speakerphone.

  “Do you see any movement out of the destroyed vehicle? Any signs of life at all?” asked the general.

  “No, sir, none. The vehicle is totally destroyed.”

  “We don’t want them moving anything. The FBI has diverted units from the airport and is trying to locate the vehicle now. Warn them to lift off in the next two minutes or they will be fired upon!”

  “Uh, sir, can your confirm your order”?” asked the pilot.

  “Give the Apache on the ground two minutes to lift off and vacate the area; otherwise, you will fire on them.”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  Pops’ cell phone rang.

  “This is Deputy Crawford, Mr. Younger. We think the F-16s fired on Sheriff Robbins.”

  “What? Where is he?” Pops asked. His heart sank, thinking the explosion he saw and felt might be related.

  “He took off toward Interstate 45 west to divert attention from you folks leaving the airport. We’ve got a really bad situation here.”

  “I’m on my way!” Pops hung up.

  “Pops, it is extremely dangerous for you to go back to the airport. They would like nothing more than to have an opportunity to kill or arrest you,” pleaded Zach.

  “Look, Dick is in there with Ottosson. I need you two to protect him at all costs. Do not let anyone get to him ’cuz as sure as the sun comes up tomorrow, they will try,” said Pops. He looked at the prison guard who delivered them and said, “I need your truck.”