The Shadow Patriots Box Set

by Warren Ray

  “Who is it?” snapped Meeks.

  Scar put the glasses down. “It’s the friggin National Police and they’re coming straight for us.”

  They all looked at one another in disbelief.

  “And here they come,” grunted Scar.

  Four black SUV’s, with police lights flashing and sirens screaming, raced up on their tail end. Moments later a voice came booming through a PA system ordering them to pull over.

  Winters shook his head at the confirmation that the cops were also involved. Major Green had not lied to them. He balled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the door. He turned in his seat and motioned to the back. “They're all yours.”

  “We’re on it,” said Scar smacking Meeks on the chest as he squeezed between the seats to get to the back of the big Ford Excursion.

  Meeks handed him their weapons then joined him.

  “Let's do a little show and tell.” Scar turned his head. “Elliott, get this glass down.”

  Elliott fumbled with the buttons and at last found the one that controlled the back window. Wind blew through the SUV, as the glass came down.

  Scar and Meeks leaned out the open window with M-16’s. As soon as they did, the lead police car immediately slammed on the brakes. They heard the sound of crumpling steel as the cops all rammed into the back of one another. Meeks and Scar broke out in laughter, as they watched a live showing of the Keystone Cops. This gave them some much-needed relief after losing some of their men.

  “What a bunch of dumb-asses,” said Meeks trying to catch his breath.

  Elliott kept the Excursion close behind the rest of the Shadow Patriots, as they drove away from the devastation that had befallen the small town of Brainerd.

  Winters leaned back in his seat, slumped his shoulders, and stared out the window. His mind raced, thinking about what the old man had told him—not to trust anyone involved with the government. The old man had been right. They would not be able to count on anyone for help. They were all alone.

  Before now, he had found it difficult to see everyone as the enemy. He had been sure there were some that didn’t agree with the Patriot Centers, and that there was a line never to be crossed. He felt that line surely prohibited terrorists killing innocent women and children. His faith in mankind sank to a new low.

  His mood then turned to anger as he thought about the men they lost today. They fought bravely and never questioned their task. Their sacrifice saved many innocent lives. He hoped his men wouldn’t let their anger over losing their friends cause them to lose their focus because the National Police would now know their approximate location.

  Chapter 47

  Rock Island Illinois

  Commandant Boxer sat in an office he had commandeered and was fit to be tied when Lieutenant Stiver called in to report what happened when he ran into the rebels.

  He screamed into the phone. “What do you mean you let them go? You’re in a high-speed pursuit of the rebels and you let them go? Explain to me why you would do such a thing.”

  “They surprised us,” defended Stiver.

  “Surprised you how?”

  “We were trying to get them to pull over and all of a sudden they stuck automatic rifles out of the back window of their SUV.”

  “Why didn’t you return fire?” Boxer asked, still yelling.

  Stiver hesitated. “Well, they didn’t actually fire their weapons.”

  Boxer sounded bewildered. “What?”

  “They didn’t fire at us, not that it mattered because I reacted pretty quickly. I think they were just trying to scare us is all.”

  “Well, it worked now, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Boxer raised his voice. “You guess so? You slammed on the brakes causing a four-car collision, I would say they scared the crap out of you.”

  There was silence on the line.

  “I don’t know what else to say to you,” said Boxer shaking his head.

  “We were kind of lucky though. I mean if they had wanted to, they could have taken us out, but they didn’t, so that was good.”

  Boxer ignored this. “What about our friends? Did these rebels engage them?” asked Boxer.

  “Yes, and they took out a bunch of them.”

  Boxer quickly replied. “How many is a bunch?”

  “Around seventy-five to a hundred. Some of their men got killed as well.”

  Boxer sat silently thinking on the other end of the line. These rebels knew about their friends from the Middle East. Not only do they know about them, but they killed a significant number as well. Reed was not going to be pleased.

  “Sir, what do you want us to do?”

  “Which way did you say they were headed?”

  “North.”

  “I want you to get everyone up there, right now. Get those roads closed. We’ll surround them and cut off any chance of escape. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Boxer threw the receiver down onto the phone's cradle, making it fly off his desk and crash to the floor. He tapped his fingers, wondering how to explain the information he had just received to his superiors. There was no point in trying to keep the news from them, as they’d find out soon enough. It’d be better for him to report accurately now than to get a call later and have to explain himself.

  He rose out of his chair, picked the phone up off the floor, and set it back on the desk. He lifted the receiver and dialed his boss, Lawrence Reed.

  Reed’s secretary answered. “Director Reed’s office.”

  “This is Commandant Boxer, is the Director in?”

  “One moment,” she said.

  He used the wait time to compose himself.

  “Commandant, how’s it going out there in the Midwest?”

  “You mean besides missing a good bourbon and a steak dinner,” he tried to sound upbeat.

  “You just left here, didn’t you have some steaks shipped out there?”

  “I did, but it’s not the same out here in no man’s land. I’d much rather be sitting at the Four Seasons enjoying a fine martini served by an even finer waitress.”

  “I’ll give you that. You deserve combat pay for just for being stuck out there. So, what can I do for you?” Reed asked, not wanting to chat with Boxer all night about his woes. He, in fact, had a dinner appointment and did not want to be late.

  “Our little band of rebels is still active.”

  “Go on.”

  “We made contact with them up in Minnesota. My men unexpectedly encountered them, but they escaped.”

  “Where exactly did they run into them?” snapped Reed.

  Boxer knew this would anger him. “Up in Brainerd.”

  Reed didn’t respond right away.

  “So, they’ve seen our friends from the Middle East?”

  “Yes. They engaged them as well,” said Boxer in a lowered voice.

  Reed shouted. “They engaged them? What the hell, did they kill any of them?”

  “Don’t have an accurate count, but we’re probably talking close to a hundred. Some of the rebels were killed as well.”

  Reed drew a long breath. “What are you going to do, Boxer?”

  “Well, that’s the good news. They headed north, which means they’ve boxed themselves into a corner. Lake Superior is to the east. They can’t drive into Canada without passing our border guards. I’ve got my men up there sealing off all the roads. They won’t be able to get far. We’ll soon be rid of them once and for all,” he finished, feeling more confident than when he first got on the phone.

  “You damn well better. We can’t afford for them to know your men are in the same dammed area as our friends, and not doing anything about it.”

  Boxer didn’t answer.

  Reeds voice turned scratchy. “And we sure as hell can’t have these sons-of-bitches shooting at them again.”

  “I understand.”

  “You need Colonel Nunn’s men to get involved?”

  “No
, I’ve got enough in the area, with more coming in.”

  Chapter 48

  Cass County Minnesota

  Winters woke up to a cold, dew-covered morning. The moisture from the surrounding lakes in the Chippewa National Forest had created a fog so thick it made it difficult to see anything ahead. However, the fog enabled him to send out teams of scouts to recon the roads in relative safety.

  The Shadow Patriots had arrived in their new camp last night in a bittersweet mood. On the one hand, they were glad to have killed a lot of the enemy, but on the other, they had lost ten of their friends.

  The makeup of this force is comprised of several different clusters of men, each one coming from a common area. The people in each individual group had known each other for most of their lives. So, when there was a loss it was difficult for the group as a whole, but especially within the small groups. Yesterday’s deaths had been spread out over several groups. Consequently, it affected the whole force.

  All that morning, Winters could see that last night’s low morale hadn’t improved much. Not only the casualties but also the idea of terrorists killing innocent women and children in their own country shocked one’s senses. To top it all off, coming face to face with an enemy you only heard about in the news or had seen on TV had been a surreal experience. It remained their topic of conversation all night.

  After yesterday's fiasco, Winters had noticed a little paranoia seeping into his thoughts. He looked around to observe his men, wondering if anyone was conspiring against him. As their ranks had grown, more than two-thirds had never had a say in who should lead them. Even though he had loathed the position, and hadn’t thought he was up to the job initially, he now felt responsible for the group and wanted to see it through.

  Hearing the bullets whiz by his head had made him wonder when he’d be the one they mourned. He let out a sigh thinking it’d be a lot easier dying than watching his men die or having to watch his country fall further into despair. He took a deep breath thinking about just how far America had fallen, with no end in sight. It was like living in a horrible nightmare, still hoping to wake up and find it nothing but a bad dream.

  Elliott approached Winters, who was sitting on the tailgate of a truck. “Captain, Scar and the boys are back.”

  Winters turned away from him and dried his eyes. “How are the roads?"

  Elliott sat down next to him. “Not good, looks like they’ve got ‘em all blocked.”

  Scar, Meeks, and Nate, holding coffee and power bars in their hands, walked over to complete the tactical leadership.

  Winters nodded as they approached. “I take it we’re surrounded.”

  Scar set his coffee on the truck bed. “They must have been moving in all last night.”

  “We shouldn’t have stopped last night,” said Winters.

  “Wouldn’t have mattered much,” said Nate. “Most of the trucks are low on fuel. We wouldn’t have gotten much further anyway.”

  “Now what?” asked Meeks.

  “Don’t seem like we have a lot of options,” said Elliott.

  Meeks choked on his coffee. “We have options?”

  With a harsh voice, Nate said. “Oh, we got choices all right. We either give up like a bunch of pussies or kill as many of those sons-of-bitches as we can. Quite frankly, I think it’s pretty obvious what we should do.”

  “I’m with Nate on this one,” said Meeks. “I’m not giving up.”

  Elliott got off the tailgate. “It won’t take them long before they get us all, Nate.”

  “Yeah, well I’d rather go down fighting.”

  Meeks patted Nate on the shoulder and looked at Scar.

  Scar shrugged half agreeing.

  Nate turned to Winters. “Well, Captain, I think it’s settled. Question is where do we want to fight them, north or south?”

  Winters stared into the distance looking for an answer. He agreed with Nate to kill as many as they could, but then he knew Elliott was right. The cops had them surrounded, and would eventually kill them. There had to be a better way out of this. He remembered how they had come together, calling themselves the Shadow Patriots because they kept to the shadows while chasing the enemy, coming and going as they pleased, making the bad guys question their existence.

  What was so different about this situation? Nothing. Nothing at all. Winters kept searching for a solution. Then his face got flush as an idea struck him, instantly lifting the weight off his shoulders.

  “Guys, I’ve got an idea.”

  Everyone turned to him.

  “Remember when we first formed together as a group. We kept our existence a secret for as long as we could. You know, cleaning up our messes and making it seem like we were never there.”

  They all looked at each other and nodded.

  “It’s our namesake and it worked like a charm,” continued Winters.

  Meeks gave Scar a resounding pat on the back.

  Winters turned to Nate. “Nate, I know you want to take them head on and I’m with ya, but we’re at such a disadvantage.”

  Nate shrugged.

  “More than likely, we’ve got most of the National Police force surrounding us. Right now, we’re just not ready to go head-to-head against something like that. So far, we’ve been the ones picking the time and place.”

  Nate spoke first. “What are we going to do then?”

  Winters took a second before he answered. “Guys…we’re going to walk out of here. This fog will give us enough cover to get away.”

  They all stared at Winters in disbelief.

  “What about the trucks and all our stuff?” asked Elliott.

  “Take what we can carry and dump everything else in the lakes, should buy us some time.”

  “It’ll be tough for some of the guys,” said Elliot.

  “Some of the guys,” snickered Meeks. “More like most of us, we’re no spring chickens.”

  Winters held up his hands. “I don’t see any other choice. At some point, they’ll start closing in on us.”

  Scar threw the rest of his coffee on the ground. “Well, let’s get to it.”

  The men broke off and started to prepare.

  An hour later, the Shadow Patriots were good to go. Every man had taken what they thought they’d be able to manage and left the rest inside the vehicles, which they sunk in a nearby lake the local Minnesota guys knew about.

  “Captain?”

  “Yes, Burns?”

  “I was talking with Bill Taylor and he knows a place we can go.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, he says he’s got an old friend up north of here who has a farm on the outskirts of Big Falls.”

  “How far is that from here?”

  Burns pulled out a map and gave him an approximation of their location in the Chippewa National Forest. “It’s at least forty miles.”

  “The wooded countryside won’t make this any easier,” said Winters, nodding his head liking the idea.

  Chapter 49

  St Paul Minnesota

  Commandant Boxer sat in the plush surroundings of his temporary home located in the suburbs of St. Paul. The house used to belong to a wealthy lawyer, and like the majority of the population, he had moved to the warmer climate of the South. By the indication of the man’s wealth, Boxer assumed he hadn’t ended up in the camps, like the common people. He was probably with his family sipping margaritas in Florida or somewhere in the Caribbean. The well to do in America were able to set their families up somewhere nice during the transition of the government, mostly facilitated by bribery of government officials.

  He thought about how lucky he had been to live in D.C. at the time, and to have a government job. His input to the propaganda program was a stroke of genius and had facilitated his rise to power. The new bosses certainly were gracious to those who enabled them to control the masses.

  The position of Commandant had its benefits, but only if you were in Washington. Here in the Midwest, there was no nightlife or decent food. As s
oon as he caught the rebels, he’d head back home. He would use his aptitude for lying to convince Perozzi, that Colonel Nunn could keep an eye on their Islamic friends.

  The loud ring of the phone snapped him out of his daydream.

  He paused before picking up the receiver. “This is Boxer.”

  “Sir, it’s Lieutenant Stivers.”

  “Where are we, Stivers?”

  “Sir, we’ve not been able to find them as of yet. All the roads have been blocked since last night, but so far, nothing.”

  Boxer not satisfied. “What about the woods?”

  “We’re searching them now. I’ve got a couple of our search and rescue dogs helping out as well.”

  “Good thinking Stiver. I’m sending you a helicopter, should be coming in this afternoon.”

  “That’ll be a big help.”

  “Keep me posted Stivers.”

  Boxer hung up the phone and reclined back in his chair. He felt confident he’d have them today.

  * * * * *

  James D. Stiver Jr. was young to be a lieutenant in the National Police, but his father; James Sr. was a thirty-year veteran of the Sheriff’s Department in Virginia. The last fifteen of those as the elected Sheriff of Loudoun County, and as such, he had many connections. These allowed the younger Stiver, known as Junior, to work his way up rapidly, despite his poor performance.

  When the Government nationalized all the city and state police departments in the country, Junior, with the help of his father, was able to secure a position in the newly formed National Police. They sent him to St. Paul as the station commander. Not the greatest location, but a prime position, one that he couldn’t resist.

  He was out of shape which made his figure look odd in the black assault uniform. It also didn't help his appearance any to never wear a hat on his shiny bald head.

  He turned to Sergeant Durbin. “You got Jake and Elwood out searching yet?” He was referring to the department’s German Shepherds.

  “Got ‘em both out in the Chippewa. Hell, if they’re in there, those dogs will find ‘em,” said Durbin.