by Warren Ray
Perozzi took another drag and blew a smoke ring. “Think of Sherman’s march to the sea.”
“Total destruction,” said Reed, picking his Scotch up and taking a swig.
“Exactly. The citizenry will be begging for protection and will leave the area in droves.”
“When and where?”
“They’re to arrive in Duluth tonight.”
“Tonight? When did you decide to do this?”
“As soon as I heard about the rebellion.”
“Don’t have much faith in Colonel Nunn, do you?”
“I’m not taking a chance with Nunn or Boxer. I want assurances that nothing goes wrong.”
“Is Boxer aware of this?”
“He is. It’s the main reason he’s in the Midwest, I need him to be my eyes and ears.”
“What about Colonel Nunn?”
“That’s why I have him coming to Washington. I want to make sure he’s on board when I inform him of our next step in this operation. As far as I’m concerned, Operation Wildflower is finished. We now move on to the next phase, Operation Sweep.”
“Should I close the remaining centers?”
“No. We still need them to lure in our little band of rebels. Worst-case scenario, it will keep them busy while our Islamist friends get up and running.”
“And Colonel Nunn?”
Perozzi straightened up. “I want Nunn to have limited contact with our new friends, perhaps an occasional show of force for appearances. I’m having Boxer keep him on a short leash. I don’t want Nunn to be too successful if you know what I mean.”
Reed laughed. “Yes, I do. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, especially with that Major Green working for him. The boy is not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
“No, he’s not. It wasn’t too smart to let those rebels go when he had them right in the palm of his hand. He actually had them pulled over for questioning. What a dumb-ass.”
Reed shook his head. “Can’t argue with you on that one. But he’s loyal enough and wants to be promoted, so he’ll do what he’s told in the end.”
“I think he’s a little too concerned with getting promoted,” said Perozzi signaling the waitress for another round of drinks. He admired her backside when she turned to walk away. He wondered if she was wearing a thong or nothing at all underneath the short black skirt.
“So, we’ve got five hundred offloading in Minnesota, how many more men can we get?” asked Reed.
“As many as we need, but I need to strike a deal with them,” said Perozzi taking the last sip of his Glen Velvet.
“Where will this bunch go first?”
“They’re heading down through Minnesota, then they’ll make their way into Wisconsin,” said Perozzi smiling and nodding to the waitress as she returned with the drinks. He decided she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, a much more satisfying notion. She just started working there, so he’d leave her a big tip, perhaps she would show her appreciation on his next visit.
“Is Boxer still to report to me?”
Perozzi shivered. “Yes, I don’t need to talk to him. I swear he’d talk the ear off a manikin.”
“He is a bit long-winded, isn’t he?” chuckled Reed picking up his Scotch. “He’s a smart one though.”
“Yes, he is and he knows it, which is his damn problem. You’d think a guy with a Ph.D. in Psychology would realize a little humility goes a long way.”
Reed sighed. “Some people want everyone to know they’re the smartest person in the room.”
Perozzi grumbled, “Insecure people if you ask me. Does he ever get laid?”
“I’ve seen him with some ladies.”
Perozzi gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t mean hookers.”
“Oh, well, then I don’t know.”
“No matter. Just give me the abbreviated version of his reports.”
“Not a problem.”
“These next few months will be crucial to the overall plan. We can’t afford any more screw-ups,” said Perozzi.
Chapter 42
Mille Lacs County Minnesota
As the afternoon wore on, the air got chillier by the minute. Several days had passed since the rescue, and the Shadow Patriots were using the downtime to rest and get organized. They set up a new camp back in Minnesota, outside of Little Falls, deep in the woods.
With no means of taking care of his wounded, Winters had them transported to various places for medical treatment. Most of the severely wounded had already died. The Shadow Patriots had sixteen killed and another ten injured.
Hospitals were quite limited, with many having closed over the past few years. As the economy collapsed, the closures accelerated. Once the war began, the government had drafted many doctors and sent them to California. Any hospitals left were in the larger cities. They were understaffed, and more than likely being monitored.
The Shadow Patriots had grown to just over a hundred. Some had trickled in as they made their way back to Minnesota. The members had also recruited others while out scavenging for supplies. Feeding these men had become a nightmare, which reminded Winters of one of Napoleon's more famous observations, “An army moves on its stomach.”
The last couple of days hadn’t been easy for Winters. The guilt he felt for his men being killed still haunted his dreams, which made sleep difficult. Why hadn’t he been among the dead? Death would be preferable to this nightmare. Now every time he talked to any of the men, he wondered if he was talking to the next man to die. He shook his head, disgusted at how morbid his thinking had become.
He did take satisfaction in how they had reclaimed their men. The seven of them had come together to work as a team and overpower an entire squad of soldiers.
He walked over to where Burns, a former soldier, was showing the men how to disassemble, clean, and fire, the M16 and M4 carbines. Like most people, they’d only seen them in the movies. He wanted all the men to be proficient with every weapon they possessed even though not everyone had one. This was his second biggest concern, how to acquire more weapons.
Elliott came up to Winters. “Captain, ya got a minute?”
Winters nodded.
They moved away from the weapons instruction and walked over to a pickup.
“Captain, Murphy came back with some guy who’s from up north of here,” said Elliott. “I don’t know if he’s just scared or a bit on the crazy side.”
“What’s his story?”
“He said he saw a large group of Middle-Easterners walking west along the highway.”
Winters raised an eyebrow. “Like American Muslims or something?”
“Nope. He said these guys were carrying rifles and backpacks.”
“What? Where is this guy?”
“He’s with Murphy getting something to eat.”
They walked the fifty yards to a campfire where fresh game was being roasted.
“Captain,” greeted Murphy.
“Murphy, I understand your new friend has an interesting story.”
“It’s not a story,” interrupted the man.
“I’d like to hear it, I’m Cole Winters,” he said putting out his hand.
The man finished shoving a hunk of venison into his mouth and wiped his hand on his red and black checkered flannel shirt before he took Winters’ hand. He introduced himself as Eddie Perlee. He shook hands longer than necessary, then he finally let go and picked up another piece of meat.
“So, they tell me you saw some Muslims walking along a highway,” said Winters.
“I guess they were Muslim, they definitely were not from around here.”
“How many did you see?”
“Can’t say for sure, I was driving along pretty fast and they were sitting off to the side of the road under some trees. There were fifty, seventy-five, maybe a hundred or so. I went by them real fast. Wasn’t expecting to see something like that. What did strike me as really odd was, they were all carrying weapons.”
Winters gave Elliott a concerned lo
ok.
“What kind of weapons?”
“Rifles, long guns, that sort of thing,” he said talking and chewing at the same time.
Winters tone changed. “Which highway were they on?”
“Out on 210. I can’t say for sure when, but they’ll be passing through Brainerd,” he said, filling his mouth with more venison.
“You sure they’re not from around here?” asked Winters in a skeptical tone.
“I’m sure. These guys weren’t dressed for no Minnesota weather and they had this hard look about 'em,” reflected Eddie.
Winters turned to Elliott. “We need to check this out. Are Scar and Meeks back yet?”
“Not yet. It’s getting kinda late, though. So, I’m sure they’ll be back shortly.”
“Okay, as soon as they are, let’s get together and figure out what we’re going to do here.” Winters turned back to Eddie. “I really appreciate you coming down with Murphy and telling us about this. Feel free to stay with us as long as you like.”
Eddie stopped eating. “Stay with you? Hell if everything Murphy's been telling me is true, I’ll fight with you.”
“Thanks, we can always use another hand.” Winters walked off leaving the three of them to their meal.
Winters’ mind couldn’t get a handle on why a large group of Middle-Easterners would be running around in Minnesota. Could there be an enclave he didn’t know about; like there was in Dearborn, Michigan? Maybe they were out in search of supplies or something of that nature. He wondered if the Government had anything to do with this but quickly discounted the thought as something way too far-fetched. Surely, no one could be crazy enough to arm a bunch of people who absolutely hated America.
What would they do if, on top of everything else, they had to deal with a bunch of Al Qaeda-ISIS types? The thought tied his stomach up in knots.
An hour later, Elliott found Winters sitting on the ground, staring into one of the campfires.
“Scar and Meeks are back.”
“Oh good, where are they?”
“Getting something to eat.”
“Have you talked to them?”
“No.”
Winters had sat in the same position too long and his body had become stiff. He had to shift a couple of times before he was able to push himself up. He labored to straighten his aching back and gimped a few strides before stretching his legs loosened up.
Upon reaching the food table, he sat down with Scar and Meeks and proceeded to tell them about Eddie Perlee.
Meeks put down his fork. “Sounds pretty strange, what the hell could they be up to?”
Scar took a drink of water. “Oh, they’re up to no good, that’s for sure.”
“Out looting, maybe,” Meeks suggested.
“Could be, but why don’t they have any transportation?”
Meeks shrugged and shoveled more food into his mouth.”
“We need to go check it out first thing in the morning,” said Winters.
“It’s weird we’re finding out about this,” said Scar.
“Why’s that?” asked Winters.
“Meeks and I ventured out to St. Cloud, which was like a ghost town, really eerie with so few people around. What we did notice was an unusual amount of National Police.”
“What’s an unusual amount?” asked Winters.
“Lots, several hundred or so.”
“I suppose they’re looking for us.”
Meeks got serious. “So, we’ve got Al Qaeda to our north and National Police to our south. That’s not a real good thing, Captain.”
Winters shook his head. “No, it’s not. Gentlemen, something tells me tomorrow is going to be a very bad day for someone.”
Meeks eyed both of them. “Yeah, but for who?”
Chapter 43
Lucas County Iowa
Since being ambushed by the Shadow Patriots, Major Green’s attitude was not good. He’d been stewing ever since he got back. They had managed to break their bonds and find a working telephone nearby. Then it had taken most of the night for help to arrive and get the Humvees running.
He obsessed with the thought that he might be involved in the murder of innocent Americans, which did not sit well with him and had given him a restless night. So, the next day, he and Lieutenant Crick took a ride up to the train station, to verify what he had been told.
Only Crick accompanied him to the station. Green thought that if he was able to confirm this information, he didn’t want his men to know yet, and trusted Crick not to say anything.
Ever since Crick was little, Green could always count on him to keep quiet if either of them got into some kind of trouble. Like the time Crick had spied Green sneaking out of the house late one night, and living next door, tried to join his older friend. Crick had gotten caught but never told his dad why he wanted to leave the house, even after a severe whipping.
They arrived in the early afternoon during the start of a sprinkling rain. The charred remains of the burned station had weeds growing all around and in the cracks of the parking lot.
Green pointed. “Pull into the field over there.”
“Check out all the birds.”
“Drive toward them.”
As they pulled up, some of the birds flew off. When they got closer, they saw the large burial pit. As soon as they stepped out of the vehicle, the smell of the rotting corpses assaulted their senses.
Crick winced and covered his nose with his gloved hand. “Oh my God, it’s awful.”
“We need to see it for ourselves, Lieutenant, so suck it up.”
When they reached the edge of the pit, they both stood in silence, trying to absorb what they were looking at. There were hundreds of bodies strewn everywhere, and the birds were happily feasting on the remains.
“I’ve seen enough,” Green said quietly.
They walked back to the Humvee.
Crick slid in and asked. “What are you going to do?”
Green considered the question for a moment. “I don’t know, but I'm going to get some answers from Nunn.”
“Think he’ll tell you?”
“Oh, he’ll tell me something, whether it’s the truth or not, is another question.”
“What about the men sir, are you going to tell them?”
“No, not right now. No reason to get them riled up,” said Green, not pleased with his own answer. He knew this didn’t satisfy Crick either, but until he confronted Nunn, he didn’t know what else to say.
Colonel Nunn had gone to Washington for meetings, which Green thought was out of the ordinary. However, since Commandant Boxer was still here, he felt confident that both Boxer and Nunn knew all about these murders.
It made no sense to him. Why would they be killing the volunteers? Even more sickening was the top levels of the Government had apparently given its blessing. Or, perhaps it came from a rogue group not officially sanctioned by the Government. Was Colonel Nunn genuinely involved with this? If so, Green thought, then the U.S. military had also been complicit. The thought sent shivers down his spine.
Green had witnessed how the military had transformed in the past few years. The changes had been happening slowly for the last couple of decades. Men and women, with different attitudes and values, had infiltrated their ranks. They didn’t have the same dedication to duty, and sense of honor that had once been the hallmark of a U.S. serviceman. For a lot of them, it was just a job and a paycheck in a lousy economy. He also noticed men with an attitude of entitlement and sensed the “We’re in charge and can do whatever we want” mentality. It had started in the officer corps and filtered down through the ranks. All of this was leaving a bad taste in the mouths of the men and women who had signed up to actually serve their country.
During that time, Green had been flexible with those changes. However, the killing of innocent American citizens crossed a sacred line for him. The fact that they had hired such losers to do their bidding seemed proof enough, they were keeping this from the general population
.
Chapter 44
Brainerd Minnesota
Winters didn’t get much sleep as he lay awake thinking about their situation. Having met Major Green and discovering his ignorance of the Patriot Centers, he wondered if maybe the Army wasn’t that involved after all. Regardless, the head of the National Police now being in charge of capturing them confirmed the notion someone in the Government was giving the orders. Someone very high up.
Even more puzzling, if terrorists were in the area, how did they get here and what did they want? This was, of course, a rhetorical question. They want to kill infidels. American infidels.
The day had started early for the Shadow Patriots. The men ate, broke camp and packed everything into their vehicles. Winters and Nate established a rendezvous location where he, Elliott, Scar and Meeks would meet the body of their force after trying to find the armed Middle-Easterners.
Elliott pulled out of the camp driving a Ford Crown Victoria.
“This is the first time we’ve all driven in a car,” said Meeks from the backseat.
Scar turned to him. “Well, if you don’t behave it might be the last time.”
Meeks cracked a slight grin. “Behave. Define behave.”
Scar smacked him playfully. “Not being a pest for one.”
“I’m not being a pest.”
“The day is young,” said Scar. “See that sign, Baxter, ten miles, think you can handle it, little buddy?”
“I can do ten miles in the back seat of any car.”
When they approached Baxter, a small town just west of Brainerd, they observed several cars heading toward them.
Elliott tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Who in the heck is coming at us?”
“Whoever they are, they’re sure in a hurry,” said Winters.
“Should we pull over or something?”
“Slow it down.”
Elliott slowed to a stop.
“Flag them down,” said Winters.
Scar stuck his arm out the side window and waved as Elliott flashed the headlights. The lead car, along with all the others, came to a stop. Inside were two older ladies and a young mother with two children in the back.