Liberty's Hammer

by Reed Hill

  “Let’s go show the Governor,” Doyle got up despite the fact that he was enjoying sitting next to her, relishing the moment of closeness. He looked down and offered her his hand, helping her off the couch, and she grimaced as she stood. “I’m sure he’ll want to see this.”

  They wound their way back to the dining room from the hearth room where Chase appeared to be enjoying a quiet moment alone, with only Ranger Tompkins lingering across the room near wall of windows and back patio door. There was still a large splotch of blood on the wall near where Chase sat, but Mrs. Brodie and several of the men had done what they could to get it and, the kitchen, cleaned up.

  As they approached, Chase looked up from his papers, “It’s good you’re here, Jeff.” Chase took the readers off their perch on the tip of his nose and glanced up at Callie and then Doyle, “We have one other call to make I believe.”

  Doyle sat in the chair near Chase facing toward the stained wall, allowing Callie a seat that didn’t face the mess, “All right, let’s do that. Before we do though, I wanted to give you an update on the swearing in video.”

  “Oh, what’s to report?”

  “A couple of things,” Doyle put the laptop on the long table and spun it to face Chase, “The video has gotten over one hundred thousand hits in just the hour that it’s been posted.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to need to tell me how I should translate that, Jeff,” the Governor chuckled. “I’m not as up on the new media as you two are, I’m guessing.”

  Doyle allowed a polite chuckle, “Word is getting out there, for one thing.” He pointed to the commentary list, “And the comments can be very revealing as well. You know how we give you an analysis of your speech the day or two after you make it?”

  Chase nodded.

  “Well, we subject the speech to analysis to understand the sentiment of the public’s reaction. We run the comments through a kind of filter and pick up the pros and cons of the speech, and how we may want to revise something. It gives us a feel for how the public is reacting and what they are reacting to.”

  “What’s the feeling here, Jeff?” Chase furrowed his brow. “How’s it playing?”

  “It’s over sixty percent positive I would say, sir, based on the comments.” Doyle indicated toward the screen, “We can’t analyze them as we would one of your speeches, but we can learn quite a lot from the comments as well as the ‘likes’ and ‘dislikes’ from our social site. A Google search brings up over forty-thousand links to social commentary if you put in the words ‘Texas Republic’, right now and it’s growing exponentially.”

  “Jeff,” Chase allowed one corner of his mouth to turn up, “I’ll have to trust that you think this is good and to tell me if it goes bad.”

  “Oh, it’s not bad, sir. But it does raise a subject we’re going to need to talk about.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Security, sir,” Jeff sat up in the chair and took the laptop that Chase had slid back over to him. “With the download, the visual of the ranch here, Lopez’s texts, and now another outbound call, I’m concerned. With each instance, the likelihood that we’ll be discovered increases.”

  “I’m with you Mr. Doyle,” Chase leaned forward and rubbed his chin. “Which is why we need to make one more call.”

  Doyle went for the briefcase and grabbed up his tablet, bringing up the big contacts file and taking the pre-paid wireless from the center of the table, “Who are we calling?”

  Chase smiled just smiled and leaned back in his chair.

  *****

  White House – Situation Room

  Washington D.C., July 6th, 7:40 p.m.

  “The president is going to need to see this,” the young staffer panted heavily bending over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He stood up with his chest heaving for air, staring wildly at this wireless, “The president has to look at this.”

  Secretary Jabarra glowered at the young page, “Well, what is it for crissakes?”

  “It’s on my wireless,” he panted, moving inside looking around. “Are any of these screens for the computer? Like, can I pull up something from the Internet on them?”

  Jabarra waved to one of the analysts in the back controlling the images, “They can do it.” He walked over, grabbing the wireless from the page’s hand.

  The page went over to the analyst’s terminal and waited, “Yeah…yeah. There just put in ‘Texas Republic’ and ‘ceremony’ – that will bring it up.” He was still breathing very heavily and sweat rolled down and fell on the desk of the analyst, who gave him a sharp look. “Yeah, put it on screen.”

  “Crissakes, get it on the big screen,” Jabarra barked like a junkyard dog. “Enlarge it.”

  It was very still as the My-tube video site brought up the video file. It was a one minute and forty three second clip. As it started, they could see in shaky hand-cam images that it was a shot of the Governor of Texas, standing outside on some farm, facing a tall, professorial looking old man in robes.

  “Oh dear God,” DHS Chief Shalitino muttered.

  “He’s got balls. You have to admire that.” DNI Director Peter DiNardo leaned against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him, before turning to Joint Chiefs Henry Stanton, who remained stoic at the back of the room next to General Marvin Williams his Vice Chair.

  They watched as the camera settled on a view toward the Governor, and there were a few people in the background, including an attractive young woman in a sling, as well as several men on the lawn, standing at attention, holding rifles by their sides. The judge proceeded to administer the oath of office quickly and efficiently.

  When the judge uttered the words ‘Republic of Texas’ President Denton slowly stood up and moved to stand in front of the screen. Her neck had turned a bright red and the temper even shown in the pink of her cheeks, as she stood with her hands balled into fists. “This cannot stand. Texas stands in defiance to the Constitution and everything that this country holds dear regarding loyalty, duty and honor,” she pounded her fist into her palm, emphasizing each virtue. “We’ve given them a chance for this to end peacefully, and they have refused.” She turned and sat back down, making the leather chair groan.

  “Madam President,” Secretary Jabarra’s tone was conciliatory, gentle. “Perhaps there is some way to negotiate, even if just to buy time.”

  “You saw the video,” the President spat out, “the man is a terrorist, surrounded by these loons who call themselves patriots.” She pointed at the last still image on the screen, where a couple of men in fatigues stood by with their guns in the background. “Do you think they can be negotiated with, Will?”

  “I don’t know, Madam President,” Jabarra sat down near the bank of phones in the back. “Have we honestly tried?”

  “Of course we’ve tried,” DHS Director Shalitino shot back. “They’re not reasonable.”

  “No Will, I want military options,” the President leaned back in her chair, with a hand over jawline under stress that could’ve cracked a walnut. “We’re putting this down before more of these purists get any more bright ideas.”

  She spun in her chair and eyed the military men in the back and fixed her gaze on Jabarra.

  “I’m hitting them – I’m going to hit them hard.”

  *****

  Three Eagles Ranch

  Outside of Hunt, Texas - July 6th, 2017 – 7:45 p.m.

  “Good Lord,” Callie’s arm fell from around Jeff shoulder as she saw what looked like tiny jellyfish off in the distance. She strained her eyes trying to see what the little floating dots off in the horizon were. That is until a man in green fatigues fell to the lawn and rolled, pulling the billowing silky sheets of nylon toward him. “What on earth is that?”

  At that moment, the front door flew open and Mac Harris, Kirk Thompson and Mark Simmons flew through the kitchen and met Doyle and Callie at the edge of the dining room. They were transfixed at the sight of dozens of paratroopers falling slowly fro
m the sky out in the south hills. Simmons broke from his study of the parachuting soldiers long enough to look at Doyle, “Um…I was going to say that you’re going to want to come see what’s outside.”

  By then Chase had wandered in from the hearth room holding an unlit cigar, “What’s all the fuss in here?”

  “Cripes,” Kirk Thompson took a step closer, looking through the glass door to the patio. “Who the hell are these guys?”

  “The cavalry,” Doyle grinned a little taking a sip of ice tea and enjoying the view from the wall of glass off the dining room.

  A loud knock on the front door caused everyone to pivot and head in that direction. Kirk had left the door standing open, and Doyle could see three men standing in the doorway. The one in front had Captain’s bars on the emblem stitching at his chest. He was a fairly young Latino man, average height and solidly built. He removed his helmet and smoothed his hair.

  When the group came to the door, the tan officer snapped to attention, “I’m Captain Enrico Reyes of the Oklahoma Guard. I’m here with Bravo Company, and Lieutenant Griggs here leads Charlie Company,” he indicated the short, young officer to his left, “and Lieutenant Jones leads Alpha Company. We’re here under orders from Governor Akins.”

  “What are your orders, Captain Reyes?” Doyle smiled as he inspected the men and casually slipped an arm around Callie who had sidled up next to him.

  Chase said nothing and turned to walk away, flipping the cigar up into his mouth.

  “Sir, our orders are to protect the President of Texas.”

  *****

  White House – Situation Room

  Washington D.C., July 6th, 8:47 p.m.

  “Ma’am, the birds are in position,” the Secretary of Defense William Jabarra covered the handset with his free and look to the president. “What is your order?”

  All eyes were focused on President Denton as she leaned back in the wide leather chair and put her hand to her face, her index and forefinger covering her pursed lips. A flash from the White House historian’s camera went off, and the President blinked hard and clenched her eyebrows down while the hand protecting her mouth closed to a fist. “Do it,” she pivoted her head to the SecDef who held the maroon phone at the back of the room.

  “Strike.”

  The once silent room broke into a low hum with murmurs, some of support and others of muffled lament. Jabarra out his chin down to his chest for a moment and then stuck his chin out, “The President’s order is ‘strike’. Do you understand? The order is to strike.” Secretary Jabarra listened for a moment, and hung up the phone and turned to Denton, “The order has been given, Madam President.”

  The room fell silent as the SecDef found his place in the chair next to the President. He started to say something to Denton but stopped short, giving his attention to the large screens on the wall. There was nothing but stillness for what seemed like several minutes.

  “I won’t be a part of this order, Madam President.” Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Stanton was standing at attention by the bank of phones behind Denton and Jabarra. “I believe it’s unlawful and morally wrong.” His tone was stoic, resolute. “You have my resignation, effective immediately.”

  “That’s disappointing, Henry,” the President said in a low tenor like that of mortician trying to comfort a widow, as she maintained her focus on the bank of video boards.

  “Be that as it may, I will tender a hard copy in the morning.” Stanton said firmly, staring at the President, hands balled at his sides.

  “You have mine as well, ma’am.” The JCS boss’s executive officer Brigadier General Cole stood with an iron spine at the back of the room near General Stanton.

  Stanton began to turn to leave but blinked slowly and pivoted toward the President. “I urge you to realize that peace at home doesn’t mean turning against those who oppose you using the threat of force. That is a method we have only reserved for foreign opposition for many, many years. I would have thought we would have learned his lesson as a country. Domestic tranquility has never and will never be achieved at gunpoint Madam President.”

  “It worked for Lincoln,” Denton didn’t bother to turn and look at the General. “I suppose it will work for me as well.”

  “Lincoln had a just cause and the good of the nation at heart,” General Stanton let his disdain leak from his normally stoic demeanor. “You have no cause, and your methods reek of egotism. History will show you as despot.”

  “Your opinion is noted. Get out.”

  The two military officers snapped to greater tension for a moment, and then spun on their heels and walked out of the room. Secretary of Defense Jabarra rose and returned to the bank of phones, and quickly dialed on the maroon phone he had held just a moment before. “Get me Admiral Marston,” Jabarra barked into the handset like an angry bulldog. “What?” He leaned back against the wall. “Then get me General Hastings, now.” The SecDef rubbed his forehead and slumped lower on the wall, propping himself up with an Italian leather shoe. “What about General Snow?” A flash from the photographer drew a scowl. “Christ, find somebody with three stars on his shoulder in operations and have them call me here ASAP – there should be ten or twelve of them around the op center.”

  “What the hell is going on over there, Will?” President Denton took a quick sip from her coffee mug and glared with an upraised eyebrow. “Don’t you have control over the Pentagon?”

  “The Joint Chiefs and the XOs have left the op center,” Jabarra studied the floor by the foot that held him up right. “They’ve all resigned, Madam President.”

  *****

  Fifteen miles South of Fort Stockton, Texas - July 6th, 2017 – 8:48 p.m.

  “This is Talon-One, I have the order to deliver the package,” the pilot of the RAH-66D Comanche put the nose down on the dark gray helicopter and maneuvered slightly up elevation and a bit closer before settling to hover. Only a couple of dozen of the highly sophisticated attack helos ever made it off the assembly line at the Boeing-Sikorsky plant outside St. Louis, but a pair of those dozen had been prepped in the early morning hours at Fort Hood for just this type of mission. While sharing hanger space with the 1st Cav, technically they were commanded by the Secretary of Defense special operations command. They launched from Hood under special tasking orders.

  “I have a good target lock,” his WSO droned from his front seat position. The Weapon System Operator flipped a couple of switches on the panel in front him, one of which was glowing deep orange in the shade of their anti-glare canopy. He clicked his mic once, “All weapons are hot. I say again, all weapons are hot.”

  “I have the target locked and weapons are hot.” The pilot clicked in to the on-board mic. He paused and slid down the dark visor of his scuffed gray helmet, and the WSO did the same. “Firing.” The pilot saw the smoke trail of the TALON leaving from the belly mount and immediately nosed over the helicopter and twisted the throttle to 95% as he pitched nose down on the collective. The pilot pressed the sleek helo forward, on a heading one hundred-eighty degrees from the target zone, “The Package is away.”

  *****

  South of Fort Stockton, Texas - July 6th, 2017 – 8:49 p.m.

  Staff Sergeant Ken Mathews stood by the Humvee and stopped re-loading the 5.56 ammo clips for his M-16A2 when he saw the bright glow of the rocket as it cut a bright orange streak in the darkening indigo of the twilight sky. He could tell from the angle of flying missile that it was heading to his south, toward the staging area for the main body of the 1st battalion and 2nd battalion and their hardware. After a long day, those like him that didn’t require medical checks were back doing weapons checks and preparing for a counter-strike. He was transfixed by the glowing rocket as it flew through the desert air at more than three times the speed of sound.

  Discerning what its true nature was, Mathews dropped the steel magazine and threw the rifle into the open door of the Humvee, “Take cover!” He looked to his and right and left signaling to whoever was nearby, “
Get down! Get down!”

  When he saw the flying, fiery projectile racing low toward the ground, Mathews dived for the open door of the Humvee. In the blink of an eye, a blinding flash made his vision go a gleaming white and he felt the massive rumble of what felt like an immense earthquake. Within a second, Mathews was slammed to the side of the vehicle and then suddenly felt weightless, sensing he was floating in the air. Mathews was pulled to the other side of the cab, and he felt a wave of pain and choked as if he was drowning. He tried to move to cover his face, but his arms wouldn’t move as he felt himself pinned against the side of the passenger door and he lost any sense of orientation.

  The world of Sergeant Ken Mathews went dark.

  *****

  Three Eagles Ranch

  Outside of Hunt, Texas - July 6th, 2017 – 8:49 p.m.

  Jeff Doyle stood on the lanai with the wiry black man, Harris, who held an AR-15 in his hands, while a short, swarthy man in a blue mesh hat paced at the corner of the house, looking to the horizon. Governor Chase lounged in the rusty iron chair and took a tug on his thick cigar, blowing smoke into the warm southern breeze and allowed a sigh to escape his lips. The Governor seemed content to enjoy a few rare moments where there was no new information at hand, no decision to be made, or no new threat to dog them. In fact, it was his first foray outdoors at the ranch since he came on the property yesterday. Things had been quiet for nearly twenty-four hours, and Doyle decided he didn’t want to disturb it.

  They had been discouraged by the news of the failed assault on El Paso and McAllen, but the news wasn’t as bad from the center. There wasn’t much left to do now, but try to assess where they were and re-group with General Dinger and General Stein at 2100 hours – in about ten minutes – to discuss battle strategy for tomorrow. They were sure to discuss the viability of a counter-strike and Doyle wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.