“Tell us what you know,” John said.
“Well, I don’t mean to insult your knowledge, but I know this area better than you. There are rough people that are trying to survive out there, and they will do whatever it takes to do so.”
The District didn’t pay much attention to smaller communities. In their naivety, they figured they would just get hungry and march into the nearest FEMA camp for food and shelter. That might be how the liberal cities operated, but these backwoods communities had a different mentality grafted into their being. Almost like a spirit of resistance. They would never surrender their God-given liberties for the government’s definition of peace and security.
John had found a use for Zamora. If they were going to be taking chances in rural America, they would need a pretty face. John felt she would soften their abrasive appearance.
“We’ll deal with that when we get there,” John said. “There’s no use trying to lay out a strategy before we even have the intel on them.”
“We’re not going to be able to avoid major highways, though. This is Virginia, it’s full of woods and back roads, but most of the time, the only way out is straight down a major highway or, better yet, an interstate,” Michael said.
“The interstates will be full of checkpoints and UN soldiers looking for travel passes. Highways will be full of brigands and street thugs. None of this is a good sitrep.”
“Sitrep?”
“Situation report,” John said.
As John answered, he realized he had given too much away about his identity. He didn’t want to be sold downriver. His paranoia had served him well in the District, but now John was realizing that even he would have to improvise, adapt, and overcome his new situation. All of America was doing it. The possibility that America would never recover from this tyrannical usurpation was becoming all too real for General John James. It hit him like a freight train.
“Pull over,” he shouted.
“What? Why?” Michael probed.
“Pull over now,” the general commanded.
Michael pulled the bus over and put it in park. The general stood up and grabbed Michael by the back of the shirt and pointed his pistol at his head.
“Get off the bus now,” he commanded.
Michael stood up and John muscled him out of the bus and onto the country back road. He manhandled Michael off the road and into a ditch at the end of the bus. Everybody on the bus stood up and Belt with them, except he pointed his rifle at them and said, “Have a seat, folks.”
Everybody sat back down and all remained quiet as if to listen to what was happening outside of the bus. The voices were heard, albeit muffled.
“My name is General John James, commandant of the United States Marine Corps, former member of the United States Chiefs of Staff, former advisor to the Secretary of Defense, the NSA, and the DHS. My brothers in arms were killed for being patriots, and I am purposed with a patriotic duty to resist tyranny in all its forms. The America I knew is gone and a new one is being forged. I refuse to be intimidated and bullied and I would expect you to do the same, mister!”
John handed Michael his pistol and stared into his eyes. The general was making a point and laying the foundation of trust, right there on that country back road in western Virginia.
Michael had the gun pointed at John and said, “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s forge a new America!”
Michael handed the pistol back to John and John extended his hand to assist Michael up and out of the ditch. Both men stepped back onto the bus, but this time, Michael’s shoulders were back and his chest was out. Michael had buried the hatchet and come to an understanding with General John James, commandant of the Marine Corps.
They soon found a place to pull over and get some well-deserved sleep. The general assigned some firewatch duties and everybody took a turn.
CHAPTER XXII
Region Five Czar Jennings and Director Muhaimin, as he was being called in his dual role of both UN commander and Region Five director, landed in their chopper in Springfield, Illinois. Every city block in a two-mile radius had been cleared. Parking lots near the capital building were being used for helicopter landing zones.
Both the director and the czar were met by an entourage of FEMA and political representatives. At this point, there were no political objections. Nobody rushed up to men and women in positions of political power and questioned their motives or their objectives. To do so would mean certain disappearance.
The entire two-mile-radius perimeter was surrounded by transport busses, for volunteers, and FEMA shipping containers, for the less cooperative civilians.
For months, these things were set up and every civilian was being promised government-provided meals. In order to eat and drink clean water, the populace would be required to cooperate and relocate to the nearest FEMA camp. Every major city had a similar setup, but there was only one camp per region. Nobody questioned how the population of eight states would fit into a single camp. Nobody questioned the size of the camp. Hunger had overtaken most people living in cities and a few in rural America. They wanted food for themselves and their families, and that meant playing along with whatever the government told them.
Muhaimin had mixed feelings about Illinois. For Muhaimin, its most notable portion of history was the fact that it beat out New York and California as the first police state. It was Illinois’ antigun laws and the previous regulations that set the stage for the rest of America to become more dependent upon a government for its security and personal safety.
General Muhaimin and Czar Jennings walked together into the Illinois capitol building. It was the general’s first visit and he had plenty to learn.
The czar gave him the grand tour that concluded in a large conference room, where they sat down and began discussing the problems that were plaguing the progress in Region Five and, specifically, Illinois.
“Mr. Jennings, I do appreciate the tour of this historical landmark, and your speeches about Abraham Lincoln were spot on, but I’m more interested in military logistics and police might. Maybe you can elaborate on the most crucial elements necessary to secure an environment of sustainability.”
“When the Flip came—” Czar Jennings started to speak, but Muhaimin was already annoyed with his assumptions that everybody understood his jargon.
“The Flip?” Muhaimin interrupted.
“Yes, the Flip. It’s what we have come to call the moment the President of the United States flipped the tables on individual liberties.”
“I see. Please continue.”
General Muhaimin had disguised himself in his most proper diplomatic etiquette. He was playing Jennings for the sport. Jennings answered directly to the President of the United States under normal conditions, but the conditions weren’t normal. The US was under martial law and certain executive orders had been invoked, placing martial law under the control of FEMA. Essentially, FEMA controlled all things military and law enforcement.
Jennings knew Muhaimin was the commander of the UN fighting forces that were already within the borders of the former United States. He felt it was a conflict of interest, but the UN cared little about ethics and national protocol that may interfere with larger plans.
“We now have limited US military infrastructure because most US military members returned to their families when the last executive order was given. The electrical grid went down, and with it, the ability to run an effective campaign to maintain employment of military members.”
Jennings stopped speaking for a moment and looked directly at Muhaimin.
“General, if I may call you general rather than director, I know your interests are purely military might. I am sorry to tell you that Region Five doesn’t have a whole lot of that. This is why we struggle. What UN help we have is tied up in relocation. We simply don’t have the strength to mount an effective front against the resistance.”
“Well now, that’s why I’m here, Mr. Jennings.”
Jennings immedia
tely noticed a change in Muhaimin’s tone and the cadence of his speech. It was almost like a different person had entered the room.
“General?” Jennings said with curiosity.
“I am the general of a very large force, Mr. Jennings, if I may call you mister. I have been a fighting man for a long time. I have many accomplishments under my belt and was given this assignment based on my ability to make things happen.”
General Muhaimin leaned over the table toward Jennings. “If anything, or anyone, gets in my way or tries to interfere with my ability to bring about mission accomplishment, it would be most unfortunate.”
Muhaimin sat back in his chair and wiped his uniform, as if to remove any wrinkles he might have sustained standing up. Appearance was important to the general. It was a part of his narcissistic personality disorder.
“Where were we, Mr. Jennings? I think you were about to share with me where the arsenal for Region Five is located.”
Jennings was still taken aback by the strange and ungentlemanly outburst of the general. It took a moment for him to collect himself.
Jennings cleared his throat and said, “Rock Island Arsenal.”
Jennings stood up and walked over to a wall that had a pull-down map. He used a pointer stick and located the Mississippi River on the western side of Illinois and traced it northward to an island between Iowa and Illinois.
“This is Rock Island Arsenal. It’s the largest weapons manufacturing arsenal in the United States,” Jennings said.
“Is it now?” Muhaimin said with a hint of excitement in his voice.
For the first time since the general had been assigned the task of bringing the US into the new world order, he was feeling a sense of anticipation.
The general felt he had the manpower, but having an arsenal of his own brought high ambitions to his doorstep.
“Mr. Jennings, it’s late and I must turn in for the night. I bid you a good evening.”
The general’s strange personality concerned Jennings, whose own ambitions for pleasing his superiors were gone. All the lines were blurred and nothing seemed to be concrete in his mind. Only feelings of abstractness were plaguing Jennings’ mind.
Jennings bid a good evening to General Muhaimin and went home for the night. He walked through the front door of his home and turned on a dim light in the foyer of his front room. He opened a closet door and took his coat off, being careful to hang it on a hanger that was strong enough to support its weight. He brushed the wrinkles off his coat, placed it in the closet, securing the door, and turned off the foyer light.
Jennings thoughts were of snuggling in his bed next to his wife. It was very late and his two daughters were already asleep. He walked up to his six-year-old daughter’s room and gently nudged the door open. He peeked in to check on her and then snuck in to nestle the blankets under her chin and to kiss her on the forehead. He would have done the same for his teenage daughter, except she would have grouched at him for waking her up. Instead, he just checked on her and secured the door.
Jennings walked in the dark towards his bedroom, feeling along the walls for the door. He entered his bedroom and quietly took off his clothes. He snuck into bed and his wife gently rolled over to him.
“Hey, baby, how was work?” she asked.
Jennings opened his mouth to answer his beautiful wife’s question, but before a word could be uttered, his home exploded, killing everybody inside. Mr. and Mrs. Jennings were not survived by anybody.
The light from the explosion could be seen for miles.
CHAPTER XXIII
Gorham, Illinois, October 30
The Force Recon Marines had arrived in time to save Zig’s life. He would be out of commission for a while, but the new arrivals had both frightened the SIHG and relieved them.
Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan had arrived the previous night and was escorted to Denny’s trailer, where they had Zig bedded down to recover.
Every Marine was given a place to stay for that evening, but a new day had come, and with it, a desire for answers. Buchanan was eager to probe Nathan on the community, and Nathan was eager to find out from Buchanan what life was like beyond Randolph County.
Nathan had awoken early in the morning and waited in bed for first light. He wanted to get into Buchanan’s head as soon as possible. It wasn’t just the fact that they had new faces in the SIHG camp, but now Nathan was keenly aware that he could possibly outgun the Southside raiders.
Nathan’s plan was to sell his assault on Murphy as a necessary jab at regaining freedom in the States. To do it, he would need some leverage and a good sales pitch. Right now, he felt he had the sales pitch. Nathan planned to tell Buchanan about the US soldiers Murphy had hanging from street signs and poles, possibly even holding US military men as prisoners. If Nathan could somehow bring a little leverage to the table, he might just get his way.
It was early morning, and the first signs of light were probing through the windows of his community. Nathan, filled with anticipation, jumped out of bed. He wanted to make a positive impression upon Buchanan, so he reached into his duffle bag and pulled out his old Marine Corps cammies. They had creases in them because they hadn’t been worn in a while. He was frustrated that he couldn’t have prepped a little better with a bit more beforehand knowledge of the Marines’ arrival, but there was nothing to do about it now.
Nathan shoved the BDUs back into his duffle bag. I would rather wear civilian clothes than be caught dead in Marine Corps cammies full of wrinkles, looking like a boot, he thought to himself. A “boot” was a Marine Corps derogatory slang term for a new Marine. Basically, he was saying that he would look like an ignorant poser that doesn’t know anything. That definitely wasn’t the impression that Nathan wanted to give Buchanan.
Instead, Nathan buffed his boots and put his best foot forward. He grabbed his rifle, his pistol, his Ka-Bar, looked in the mirror one last time, and then said, “C’mon, Nathan, you can do this.” With that, Nathan stepped out of his home and saw the Marines were already outside and standing in a tight group.
Nathan casually walked up to them and said, “Good morning, Marines.”
“Good morning,” some of them said. Their response wasn’t in unison like you would see in a Hollywood movie or some motivational commercial that they used to run before the Flip; no, these were salty Marines that had the right to talk to civilians in any way they wanted, so long as it was professional.
Nathan had arrived just in time to see Buchanan stepping around to the front of the Marines. They were not standing in formation, but it was a tight group nonetheless.
Nathan knew they were not going to jump into formation and throw up a salute. That was against Marine Corps field etiquette. There was no better way to show a watchful enemy who the commander was than to salute him.
Nathan kept his distance because he knew Buchanan wanted to chat with his men. Instead, Nathan stepped away from the group, but stayed in proximity of Buchanan’s presence so he would be aware that Nathan was interested in speaking to him.
When Buchanan was finished talking to his Marines, he looked over at Nathan and motioned with his fingers to come closer. Nathan walked up to Buchanan, and Buchanan said, “Nathan, isn’t it?”
Nathan, knowing he didn’t get a chance to get to know Buchanan the night before, thought it would be wise to share a little about himself.
“Yes, sir. My name is Nathan. I’m glad you’re here, sir. I was in the Marines, too.”
“Really?” Buchanan said, with his curiosity piqued. Buchanan was excited at the possibility of landing another warrior on his team. It opened up new possibilities in his mind. New possibilities of building a larger Marine Corps force. The fact that Nathan had been out of the Marines was of little importance. Buchanan knew Nathan had the training and the fortitude; he just needed some refresher training on the weapon systems.
“What unit were you with?” Buchanan inquired.
“Weapons Company, First Battalion, First Marines.�
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Buchanan was sold. He felt he had just recruited another Marine into the ranks.
Buchanan looked at Nathan and said, “I’m glad we found you. We sure could use your experience.” Buchanan was careful not to reveal too much information about his unit or where they were staying until he had assurances and commitments from Nathan.
Already, Nathan could tell that Buchanan had similar plans for him as he had for Buchanan. He just didn’t know exactly where the road ended. He wasn’t active duty anymore and didn’t even know if there was an active US military presence anywhere in the world, at this point. That’s the question that begged an answer.
“Lieutenant Colonel, would you mind joining me someplace where we can talk in private?” Nathan asked.
“Sure. Is there a particular place you had in mind?”
Nathan’s mind immediately went back to his residence, where he would feel most comfortable.
“Would you mind joining me in my home?”
“Sure, as long as I can keep a couple Marines handy, for security purposes, of course.”
“That’s not a problem. Right this way, sir.”
Nathan began walking towards his house. Just as he and Buchanan were approaching the front door, he looked over towards the southwest and caught a glimpse of Jessica.
“Sir, would you mind if I had a close friend of mine join us?”
Buchanan had a sinking feeling that something wasn’t right. He was nervous about entering a house with the leader of the community and a second armed stranger.
“Nathan, you would understand if my sense of caution overrode my etiquette, as a gentleman.”
“Of course. If you like, you can send your security inside to clear the house before we enter. After that, we leave our firearms outside, shake each other down, and then enter the residence,” Nathan suggested.
Buchanan looked at his Marines, at Jess, and finally back at Nathan. “Of course.”
Nathan motioned Jessica to join him. Both Buchanan and Nathan disarmed themselves outside of the house while Jess was jogging up to them.
TYRANT: The Rise Page 15