The Shadow Patriots Box Set

by Warren Ray

  They spread out and hurried through the woods. The blackness of the night and the wooded terrain made maneuvering extremely difficult. Low branches hit the men in the face while others were tripping over brush lying on the ground.

  Stiver smelled smoke, which he thought at first, to be cordite, but quickly realized there was a fire was burning in front of them. Through the trees, the orange fire glowed brighter as it advanced relentlessly.

  The gunfire grew rapid and wild as the piles of ammo cooked off in the fire. Bullets flew in every direction including straight at them.

  Stiver heard a bullet whiz by and threw himself to the ground. In all his time as a cop, he’d never been shot at before. The experience was so terrifying that he began to panic.

  More bullets flew overhead and Stiver tried to will himself into the ground.

  “Junior,” screamed a man. “I’ve been hit.”

  Stiver didn’t move to help him.

  The gunfire continued as the brush fire increased in size. The smoke became dense, making breathing difficult. The bright flames threw light and shadows against the trees.

  Stiver heard his men yelling at each other. One of them came up to him. “Junior, Gibson’s been hit pretty bad. This wind is blowing that fire right as us. We need to turn back.”

  A nervous Stiver ordered everyone to fall back.

  The heat from the fire intensified as it quickly burned the dry brush and consumed everything in its path. The smoke now engulfed them. The out of shape Stiver, ran out of breath trying to make his way through the woods. He stumbled face first into a tree. Someone grabbed him and pushed him forward. Moments later, they tumbled into the open field where they had left their gear.

  Stiver dropped to his knees, coughing and gagging for air. Sweat ran from every pore and steamed from the top of his bald head. He reached for a canteen and splashed water on his face and head.

  His breathing finally began to slow, and he picked up his radio. “Has anybody found them yet?”

  No one answered right away. He tried again.

  The radio finally came alive. “Durbin here, we’ve moved in, the fire is moving your way, Junior.”

  Stiver sounded frustrated. “No shit. We barely got out of there.”

  He took a deep breath. “Hoyer, come in. Hoyer.”

  No response.

  Stiver shook his head wishing he had sent for Jake and Elwood. He rolled over to his right, bent his legs and struggled to get up off the ground.

  Two cops brought Gibson out and carried him away from the fire before setting him down to dress his wound.

  Stiver hobbled over to him, knelt down, and noted the bullet had entered the right side of his upper chest. They applied pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Stiver needed to get him out of there before he died. With the fire, still raging, they gathered up their gear, took hold of Gibson and headed south.

  He tried once again to get Hoyer on the radio but to no avail.

  After the fire had burned out, Stiver came back to the smoldering field and found Durbin.

  “Anyone heard from Hoyer?” asked Stiver.

  “No,” said Durbin. “Maybe his radio is busted.”

  “What about the old geezers?”

  “We haven’t seen any of 'em,” said Durbin.

  “Well, spread out. The bastards can’t be too far away.”

  Over the next several hours and leading into the morning, the National Police poked through the darkness, carefully walking the fields and the surrounding woods looking for the rebels. When the sun rose, they finally found Hoyer and his men, dead. One of the cops checked their rifles and found not one of them had been fired.

  Stiver swallowed hard as he realized the rebels had played them for fools.

  Chapter 59

  Canada

  Soaking wet, the last of the Shadow Patriots made their way across the Rainy River, which separated Canada and the United States. They dragged their weary bodies onto dry land exhausted from running all night to reach the border.

  After the fake gun battle and the setting of the fire, Winters and the others had bolted to join the rest of their force. As they were fleeing, Elliott and Nate were the first to reach the end of the field. While they were waiting for the other five to catch up, they heard cops coming out of the trees. Then Elliott and Nate had killed them, at last ensuring a safe escape.

  In Canada, after Winters helped the last man out of the river, they celebrated, yelling into the chilly morning air and shaking each other’s hands. However, their exuberance didn’t last long. Their wet clothes made them realize just how cold and hungry they were, plus they were not sure what to do next.

  Winters placed his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Brilliant plan Nate, nice job.”

  Nate smiled, appreciative of the recognition.

  “We need to get a fire going,” suggested Elliott.

  “I’m with you on that,” said Winters. “Some food would be nice too.”

  A few minutes later, as they started walking east, they heard the roar of engines in the distance. With the rising sun shining in their eyes, they couldn’t tell who it was. With nowhere to run or hide, they simply stopped and waited.

  Winters pulled his hat down to block the sun and caught a glimpse of large dark vehicles approaching. When they got closer, they spread out across the road and surrounded the Shadow Patriots.

  A bullhorn cracked, “Drop your weapons. Get on the ground and keep your arms spread out.”

  Everyone did as they were told, as a cadre of men emptied out of the trucks, their guns aimed at the Shadow Patriots. They moved in and removed all the weapons.

  “Who’s in charge here?” asked the man with a distinct British accent.

  Winters raised his hand. “That would be me, my name is Cole Winters and we are asking for political asylum.”

  The man approached him. “You that group, the Yanks, have been chasing around all night?”

  Winters looked discombobulated. “How do you know that?”

  “We’ve been monitoring their communications. They say you’re a bunch of murdering bastards.”

  “Yes, they would say that now wouldn’t they.”

  The man knelt down and gave Winters a stern glare. “Well, are you?”

  “I guess it depends on your perspective.”

  “From my perspective, seeing how I’m quite aware of what’s been happening at those Patriot Centers, then I’d say, they definitely had it coming.”

  Winters furrowed his brow.

  The man rose up and stuck out his hand. “I’m Captain Spooner of the British Tenth Regiment. Welcome to Canada.”

  Winters got up and shook his hand. “Like I said, I’m Cole Winters, and these are my men.”

  “Glad to meet you, Mr. Winters.”

  Winters motioned his men to get up off the ground and proceeded to give a brief description of their journey to the British Captain. He didn’t seem surprised making Winters wonder how much they already knew.

  Captain Spooner took them to his base of operations and offered hot food, hot showers, and good camaraderie. The Canadians and Brits were most gracious hosts and eager to help. They were chomping at the bit to get into the fight.

  Later in the afternoon, they all hopped into trucks and headed to Winnipeg to meet Captain Spooner’s commanding officer Colonel Brocket. His headquarters were situated at the James Armstrong Richardson International Airport. In light of the war in the US, the base had been expanded and was now a multi-functional training facility, housing both British and Canadian air and ground forces.

  Captain Spooner and Winters walked into his commander’s office.

  “Colonel, this is the American, Captain Winters.”

  Winters took off his hat and extended his hand. “Colonel Brocket, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,”

  Brocket was a little younger than Winters. He wore battle fatigues on his lean, tall, muscular build, and his crew cut was silver on the sides giving him a look any
wannabe general in Hollywood would give his right arm for. His piercing blue eyes only enhanced his rugged appearance, and his handshake matched his confident motion.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he responded with a sharp English accent. “Anyone who can give America’s National Police the trouble you’ve been giving them is an honor to meet.”

  “Well, thank you, sir, and thank you for taking us in.”

  “This is my counterpart here, General Standish of the Royal Canadian Air Force. This is his base.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Captain Winters,” said Standish, a tall man who had broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He had prominent facial features, including his nose and wide-set eyes, which were dark brown, and seem to match his deep baritone voice. When he spoke, his rich voice grabbed your attention so much that you hung on to every word.

  Brocket motioned to the table. “Have a seat, Captain. You must still be exhausted from your harrowing journey. May I offer you a cup of tea?”

  Winters sat down. “Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

  Brocket looked at Spooner, who walked out of the office to request the tea. The three of them sat down at a conference table that took up a good portion of the room. The blue chairs Winters recognized to be the same as the ones in his old office, where he had sat in a cubicle all day keeping the books. Despite all he’d done, Winters felt intimidated by these men. They were accomplished military men.

  “Are you former military?” Brocket asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Your title of Captain then...?”

  “The men just started calling me that,” Winters responded, embarrassed by an unearned title. As he began to tell them all that had happened, he was interrupted when tea was brought in by a female corporal. She walked in, placing a sterling silver tea set on the table, and proceeded to pour each man a cup of tea. After serving, she turned and exited the room.

  Winters waited for the other two men to reach for their tea before picking up his cup. He sipped on the hot liquid, enjoying the warm sensation in his throat. He then continued. Both Brocket and Standish looked at each other approvingly throughout the story.

  When Winters finished, Brocket placed his right hand to his heart. “Yours is an astonishing journey, Captain.”

  Standish leaned forward. “The title of Captain is certainly deserving and you wear it well, sir.”

  Winters didn’t know exactly what to say, so he politely thanked him.

  “What are your plans?” Standish asked, setting his teacup down on the saucer. “What are you looking to do now?”

  “Not sure,” said Winters hoping they’d offer to let him stay right where he was.

  “I would imagine you’d want to get back since you’ve got Al Qaeda on the loose.”

  Winters stopped moving the teacup to his mouth. “Al Qaeda? Are you sure?”

  “An offshoot of sorts. We have spies in Washington, and I’m quite confident Commandant Boxer won’t be doing anything about that situation.”

  “Who’s Commandant Boxer?”

  Brocket took another sip of tea. “He’s the head of the National Police, more of a figurehead in my opinion.”

  “So, he is here in the Midwest,” stated Winters remembering Green telling him this.

  “That would be correct, and be assured, he has no interest in catching those bloody bastards.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because we know who sponsors them.”

  “Sponsors them?”

  “Yes. They didn’t get here on their own, someone had to smuggle them in and supply them.”

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Your government,” answered Standish.

  Winters straightened up. “You must be mistaken, they wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “No? Why would they be secretly killing off American citizens such as yourself, Captain?”

  “I don’t know, I just thought maybe Colonel Nunn went rogue or something.”

  Brocket snickered. “Ah, Colonel Nunn. Ole “second to none” himself. He’s quite a character.”

  “You know him?”

  “Oh yes, I’m familiar with the colonel and his dealings.”

  “Dealings?”

  “Black market arms, he sold stolen military weapons and equipment to some very wicked people. He got himself caught and court marshaled, but then your government fell and the war began. Some of his old friends are now in high places in the new government and they saved him from jail.”

  “I don’t understand why they would be doing these things.”

  Standish glanced at Brocket. “We haven’t pieced together the grand plan, but at the moment it doesn’t matter. Right now, you’ve got Al Qaeda running around killing your fellow countrymen.”

  “What can we do?” Winters asked looking down at the table.

  Standish stared at Winters. “What do you mean what can you do?”

  Winters didn’t respond.

  “Who else will protect the innocent? There is no one else but you.”

  Winters sounded dejected. “But there’s so many of them.”

  “Yes, you’re outnumbered, but what of it? Captain, you’ve been given the chance of a lifetime.”

  Winters looked at Standish sitting across from him wondering just what he had meant.

  Standish continued. “A man never truly knows what he is made of until he’s been put in the direst of circumstances. Will he run or will he fight? Everyone wants to believe that he will stand and fight, but so few do. Very few will dig into their soul and rise up. Even fewer will voluntarily go back into the fire. You’ve been given a rare opportunity to find out who you really are.”

  Winters stiffened in his chair trying to absorb all of what Standish had just laid on him. He didn’t want to know who he really was. He’d seen enough to change him. He started this journey being reluctant. Sure, his Mr. Hyde had surfaced back at the train station enabling him to kill, but that had been out of sheer revenge and it was a side of him he didn’t like. The attack on the first Patriot Center was in self-interest, he had merely wanted to remove his name from any records. He had not intended to stick around. He’d continued mostly out of guilt, even then, he was reluctant, and always unsure of himself. Now, he wasn’t sure if he could go back and fight.

  “Do you believe in fate, Captain?” asked Standish, seeing the hesitation in Winters’ eyes.

  “Maybe…I guess so.”

  “You should. Think about what initially happened to you. You jumped out of a moving truck, which saved your life. You’ve dodged bullets, eluded the Army, the police and here you are with us. That is fate.”

  “We’ve just been lucky.”

  Standish stood up and in his low baritone voice, spoke to Winters in a slow, serious tone. “You’re alive and here for a reason, Captain. Don’t…take…that…lightly.”

  Winters leaned forward in his chair resting his arms on the table, with his eyes fixated upon the tea set. It reminded him of a time he and his wife had visited a small bed and breakfast to celebrate their ten-year anniversary. They got up in the morning and were served with a similar tea set. It had been a lovely morning so long ago. His wife had planned the whole trip, just as she had arranged everything else in their lives. Now, here he sat with the fate of his men in his hands. After learning about the involvement of the government, he realized he had no choice, but to return to the fray.

  Chapter 60

  Rock Island Illinois

  Major Green got up early and grabbed some raw eggs, milk, and sugar, and threw it all into a blender. After drinking the mixture, he headed to the gym. He needed to get on the treadmill and lose himself in thought. Green had not slept well since coming back from the train station with Lieutenant Crick. The sight of those bodies had haunted his dreams, especially since the responsibility for the killings was also his to bear.

  Colonel Nunn had returned from Washington, so he would confront him today and get some answers
. He let out a scoff thinking of what lies the old man might come up with.

  Green walked into the gym and, as expected, found the place empty. He had gotten there early because he preferred to work out alone. He didn’t like anyone bothering him, requesting this or that. Putting on his earbuds, he dialed in some classic rock, got on the treadmill and began to jog.

  After the run, Green worked his upper body with free weights. His chest muscles were tight and his arms were like lead weights. Perfect. It was just what he had needed. He grabbed his bag and walked out of the gym just as some of the men were filing in. As he stepped outside, raindrops began to fall. By the time he’d reached his quarters, it had started to pour.

  After showering, Green, holding an umbrella ran over to the main office for his 0900 meeting with Colonel Nunn. He arrived early and greeted Sergeant Owens, Nunn’s assistant. Green set his umbrella in the corner and sat down. A few minutes later, the phone rang and Sergeant Owens told him Nunn would see him now.

  Colonel Nunn sat at his desk reading a report. He didn’t bother to look up when he told Green to come in and take a seat.

  Green sat directly in front of him. “How was your trip to Washington, sir?”

  Nunn kept reading. “Very productive, had a lot of meetings.”

  Green interpreted that to mean he drank most of the week and spent the majority of his time with hookers. “Glad to hear it, sir.”

  “I’m just finishing your report, Major, and the finer details of your detainment by the so-called Shadow Patriots seem a little sparse. Care to enlighten me?”

  “Yes, sir. There’s not much more to say other than they surprised us, and took us, hostage.”

  “You stormed their camp, killed sixteen of them then took the rest prisoner and yet you somehow end up as their prisoner?” asked Nunn.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m amazed they didn’t kill you.”

  “As was I.”

  “You met their leader? What kind of a man is he?”

  “Polite and unassuming. Just an average guy, definitely not a military man.”

  “But yet he takes you, hostage.”

  Green got defensive. “Yes, well, some of his men were former military. One’s a Marine for sure, quite confident and a bit arrogant.”