False Flag

by Bobby Akart

  “We are not the enemy. The law-abiding gun owners in this country and the freedom-loving patriots like those in this room are the solution to the problems facing us in these difficult times. The enemies are the terrorist group who caused our power grid to collapse and an overreaching government who intends to profit from our nation’s demise.

  “James Madison, one of our Founding Fathers, once wrote that the United States Constitution preserves the advantage of being armed. This is a fundamental right all Americans possess over the people of nearly every other nation, where governments are afraid to trust their people with arms. This right holds true two hundred fifty years later.

  “This President believes that the circumstances we face oblige the government to form an army of those loyal to the government, the so-called Citizen Corps. That army can never be allowed to violate the liberties of the American people. Such infringement will never happen for so long as there is a large body of like-minded patriots who stand ready to defend their rights and those of their fellow Americans.

  “We are not alone. The Mechanics are all over the country. Steven saw them in Pennsylvania and New York. We talk to them from California to Florida, and from Maine to Washington State.

  “Know this, during the American Revolution, the active forces in the field against the king’s tyranny never amounted to more than about three percent of the colonists. This small group gave their lives to protect their God-given natural rights to liberty and property. Never underestimate the abilities of a small group of committed citizens to change the course of a nation. In that respect, history can, and will, repeat itself.”

  Sarge looked into the eyes of these brave men and women, true American patriots. Many were clearly moved by his oration.

  “I will leave you with these words from Thomas Jefferson:

  “The strongest reason for the people to retain the right to keep and bear arms is, as a last resort, to protect themselves against tyranny in government. Jefferson asked, what country can preserve its liberties, if its political leaders are not warned from time to time that the people preserve the spirit of resistance? Let them take up arms against us. The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  “Choose freedom!”

  Chapter 20

  Friday, September 16, 2016

  7:00 p.m.

  Massachusetts Guard Armory

  275 Union Street

  Braintree, Massachusetts

  Following the Civil War, the U.S. government was becoming increasingly concerned over the possibility of widespread civil unrest and class warfare. In 1877, the War Department authorized the construction of fortified armories to be used by local militia, the predecessor to today’s State Guard units. The early armories were often ornate, redoubt-like structures. One of the first in the nation, built in Rhode Island, resembled a castle. At the turn of the twentieth century, the predominant architectural philosophy was that a building should proclaim its purpose. Churches should be welcoming, jails needed to appear oppressive, and armories should be suggestive of a fortress.

  Armories were intended to be gathering places for the local militia to train as well as to store their arms and munitions. Today, armories—or their more recent politically correct designation, readiness centers—were used by the National Guard and military reserve units for the same purpose as contemplated in the 1800s.

  The facility at Braintree was one of the largest armories maintained by the Massachusetts Army National Guard and held the same purpose as their original nineteenth-century counterparts, the storage of arms. It was a prime target for Governor O’Brien as a means to arm his Citizen Corps.

  But Braintree was also a stronghold for the Mechanics. Settled in 1625, the town of Braintree was the birthplace of John Adams, John Quincy Adams, and John Hancock. Its residents were patriots and loyal to the Mechanics.

  Steven and his team waited on the caravan led by Pearson and Captain Gibson to arrive. Based upon their early morning meeting with Gibson, a plan was set in place. The Braintree Police Department across the street would appear abandoned. In fact, their chief of police, Walter Russell, and two of his officers would assist Steven. Most of the homes in the area of Union Street and Williams Court were evacuated, as families were told to stay with friends temporarily. Steven and Chief Russell didn’t want anyone hurt by stray bullets.

  The intelligence received by Steven was invaluable in planning this operation. But the lack of radio communication with Captain Gibson in the four hours prior to the caravan’s arrival provided an unexpected, yet complicating, surprise.

  “Brain One, this is Brain Trust, do you copy?” said Steven into the BaoFeng’s microphone clipped to his olive drab, plate-carrier vest created by 5.11 Tactical. Brad had assigned similar kits to everyone participating in tonight’s mission. They contained ceramic armor plates and were relatively lightweight.

  Steven missed Slash and the other members of the Aegis team. Tonight, no other member of his team was active duty or ex-military, as this operation could not involve Brad’s men and the mission could go awry. Only one other person had post-collapse combat experience. Katie insisted on being part of the action, to no one’s surprise.

  The operation was fairly straightforward. There were four teams of two strategically placed around the facility. Steven and Katie took up a position that gave them unobstructed views of both the entry gate and the rear of the facility through which the arms would be removed.

  At the rear of the armory, another team was hidden underneath a tarp in a parked M35 Deuce and a Half cargo truck. The M35 was delivered by Brad’s men earlier in the day and would also be used to transport their prisoners to Fort Devens.

  Chief Russell had two teams on the ready. One team would block the entrance with a City of Braintree garbage truck after Captain Gibson and the other vehicles left for their next pickup. They would then cover the front entrance. Chief Russell’s second team would cover the south side of the building on Williams Court and assist with the surprise raid on O’Brien’s men.

  “Roger, Brain Trust,” Chief Russell replied. His men wore comparable olive drab tactical gear rather than their customary black law enforcement issue. Captain Gibson knew that O’Brien would insist upon ballistic protection, and that his only source of this type of gear was the Boston Police Department. To avoid friendly fire and prevent confusion, Steven followed Gibson’s suggestion and issued the military-style gear. “We have them in sight. They are about a mile up Pilgrim’s Highway. ETA, two minutes. Over.”

  “Roger, Brain One,” replied Steven. “Showtime, people. We’ll go on my signal. Nice and smooth.” Steven flexed his fingers and took a deep breath. He hadn’t performed his role as Nomad since he led the team into Frankfurt back in May, a career he thought he’d left behind.

  “Target approaching.” Chief Russell’s voice was heard over the radio units. Steven rolled his head on his shoulders and released some tension. He raised his SCAR 17 and flipped the caps off his FLIR night scope. He carefully followed the lead vehicle, a military HUMVEE, as it came into view. The right turn signal was on as it approached the gated entry.

  “Fuck me,” Steven muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Katie. She raised her M4 to sight the incoming vehicles as well. “Is that a Cadillac?”

  “Yeah, that’s what’s wrong,” replied Steven. “Gibson and I worked out a prearranged signal if something was not according to plan. He would use his blinker when he entered the compound if there was a potential change. The Caddy probably contains our illustrious governor.”

  The vehicles entered the oversized parking area one by one and took a wide swing in order to point outward. Captain Gibson’s HUMVEE drove within a few yards of Steven and Katie’s position, who quickly ducked under the thick underbrush to avoid detection. Following O’Brien’s Cadillac were two twenty-four-foot-long MBTA Red Line maintenance vehicles, which resembled U
-Haul moving trucks. Each contained three men. The remainder of the caravan was comprised of similar vehicles labeled green line and red line maintenance.

  As the vehicles came to a stop, Captain Gibson and Pearson exited first. O’Brien stayed in his vehicle until Gibson approached and opened the door for him, not out of courtesy, but more likely to indicate it was safe to come out. Pearson motioned for the two maintenance trucks to back up to the rear of the building.

  Steven swung his rifle around the perimeter of the armory. He was relieved to see that the occupants of the remainder of the caravan stayed with their vehicles, which were parked along Union Street, but still running. They won’t be here long.

  “Stick to the program,” said Steven into his mic. “This dog and pony show will pull out soon enough.” He took a deep breath and settled into the brush as Katie did the same.

  “Do you think O’Brien will be with them all night?” asked Katie. She took a drink of her water bottle and adjusted her vest. “This thing is heavy.”

  “It’ll keep you alive,” said Steven. He rolled over so that he could face Katie, who he could barely see in the dark. All of the members of the team wore camouflaged face paint. “Listen, no hero shit tonight. I want to take these guys without firing weapons. This whole operation will create a buzz around the city as it is. We don’t need the optics of an armed assault.”

  “I’m not trigger-happy, Steven. Do you think I enjoyed killing those guys on the way back to Boston?”

  “Yes,” he replied dryly.

  “Okay, well, maybe a little,” said Katie. “Listen, it all happened so fast and it was remarkably easy. I guess my adrenaline took over, and my mind knew what needed to be done. But I haven’t second-guessed myself once. They had it comin’.”

  “I don’t disagree, but we don’t know anything about these men. For all we know, they’re just trying to feed their families and will do whatever the governor asks to survive.”

  “Well, that’s bullshit.” She raised her voice, prompting Steven to place his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. “People made choices before and after the collapse. They’re cleaning out this armory to kill people like you and me. There are no rules of engagement anymore. There are no more rules. You said it yourself.”

  “Yeah, but there is a moral compass.”

  “Maybe for you and me, but not for them. Nobody is going to say hands up or I’ll shoot. We’re not gonna get the benefit of halt, you’re under arrest. Now, it’s all about shoot first, and ask questions later. Kill or be killed.”

  Steven didn’t respond and sat in silence for a moment, contemplating what Katie said. He was a trained killer. Within days of the collapse, he was almost killed for no reason, other than to take their car and what meager supplies it contained. They’d witnessed men chasing a defenseless girl with the intent to rape her and ultimately kill her. He’d killed four men who were firing upon the residents of 100 Beacon. All in the first few days! Maybe Katie’s right?

  He allowed his mind to drift momentarily while the nameless faces of the people he’d killed crossed through his memories. How many had there been? A hundred. A thousand. There will be more.

  The sound of raised voices brought him back to reality. Steven rolled back into position and looked through his scope. O’Brien led Pearson and Captain Gibson back towards their vehicles, proudly carrying an M16.

  “This one goes with me,” O’Brien shouted as he swung the weapon wildly from side to side. Katie inched forward in her hide and trained her M4 on O’Brien.

  “Let me shoot the fucker and get it over with,” said Katie.

  “Forget it. Trust me, a preemptive strike on this guy is tempting, but now is not the time. Captain Gibson is looking around. He can feel our presence.”

  “They’re getting in,” said Katie. O’Brien dropped himself into the front seat of his Cadillac. Captain Gibson brought the big 6.2-liter diesel engine to life and eased the truck out of the parking lot. Without using his turn signal, he turned right onto Union. They left for their next destination, where more of the Mechanics would be waiting.

  *****

  “Brain One, this is Brain Trust. Radio check, over,” Steven whispered into the microphone attached to his kit.

  “I read you lima charlie,” replied Chief Russell. “The street is quiet.”

  “Brain Trust, this is Brain Two. In position.” They were located on the south side of the building. As soon as the convoy pulled out, they cut their way through the chain-link fence.

  “This is Brain Three. Ready, on your signal.” Brain Three consisted of two former security guards who worked for CitiBank. They were positioned in the back of the M35.

  Steven looked at Katie and nodded. She was ready.

  “Moving,” he said to the team. He and Katie left the cover of the underbrush and made their way across the parking lot towards the rear corner of the building. Chief Russell and his partner approached the front door to secure any possible exits. To Steven’s right, Brain Three was barely visible underneath the tarp, but their guns were clearly leveled on the back entrance. The cloudy night helped reduce visibility.

  As they reached the corner of the armory, Steven signaled for Brain Three to cross the parking area while Steven covered their movement. They immediately took up positions in front of the MBTA truck.

  The plan was for Steven and Katie to enter the building first. Unfortunately, they had limited information on the interior layout. Chief Russell was familiar with the front of the building, which was accessible to the public, but not the storage rooms and the vault in the back. They would have to go in blind. The element of surprise was critical.

  “Brain Trust, moving,” whispered Steven as he and Katie walked in a low crouch along the back side of the building toward the double steel doors, which had been propped open by two folding chairs. They ducked under two windows covered with iron bars to avoid detection.

  “Move,” replied Brain Two, who could barely be seen on the far side of the building. Steven had had a few hours earlier in the day to train the other three teams. Thus far, there were no hiccups.

  “Brain Trust in position,” said Steven. Moving was the response on the radio as Brain Two joined them on the other side of the entry. At this point, hand signals would be used. The two teams would move into the building, with Steven and Katie entering first and taking the left side of the building. Brain Two would clear the right side, and Brain Three would push through the middle to keep the hallway clear of O’Brien’s men.

  Steven moved inside and rapidly paced up a thirty-foot hallway and assessed the building’s layout, determining that the vault was ahead and the walls on the right were partition walls made of drywall. He could hear muffled voices coming from a large open area ahead, but he wanted to clear the rooms that appeared at the end of the corridor.

  Steven entered the room on the left first, immediately scanning for targets in a ninety-degree arc from left to right. It was uninhabited. Although he was oblivious to anything that was not a human being until he was satisfied that the room was empty, he did notice the room was full of clothing and nonlethal military gear.

  “Clear left,” he whispered into the mic.

  Brain Two followed suit, clearing the room on the right side of the hallway. The six members of Steven’s team moved forward in unison until a loud thump struck the concrete.

  “Damn,” exclaimed the voice. “This shit’s heavy!” The dim glow of a battery-operated lantern illuminated three men attempting to move ammunition crates onto a dolly.

  Steven moved toward the entry with Katie in tow. Two men moved along the right side of the hallway with them. Where is the fourth guy? If this was an Aegis operation, these three would already be a heap of dead bodies. But his team consisted of rookies and amateurs. He could not afford a firefight. He held his fist up to signal the others to wait. He turned and whispered to Katie.

  “I can only see three of them. The fourth guy needs to be located bef
ore we make our move. Cover me.”

  Steven quietly moved into the room, hugging the wall next to the crates of ammunition. He swung his weapon side to side, looking for the fourth man.

  Bingo! “I’ve got the fourth hostile. Keep eyes on the other three.”

  “Roger,” said Katie.

  The fourth man was examining an M203 under-barrel grenade launcher, which was designed to be attached to either an M16 or M4. Steven shouldered his SCAR 17 and switched to his silenced sidearm. He had to get up close and personal to avoid alarming the other three men. Catlike, Steven snuck up behind the distracted man and placed the barrel to the back of his head.

  “You don’t need to die tonight, pal,” Steven hissed. “Very slowly, and quietly, set that down. Remove your weapon and remain face forward. Are we clear?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said the man as he began to breathe rapidly. He complied with Steven’s request and kept his hands spread apart.

  “Hands on top of your head and slowly turn toward your buddies,” said Steven. “Nobody has to die tonight, got it?”

  “Okay.”

  “Brain Trust has one secured,” said Steven. “On my signal, let’s wrap this up.”

  Steven guided the man towards the center of the vault. Once he had a clear field of vision of the other three men, he said, “Go!” The sounds of shuffling feet caught the men’s attention, but their reaction time was too slow. Katie yelled first.

  “On the ground, assholes! Now!”

  “Down,” shouted another member of Steven’s team.

  Steven yelled, “Hit the ground now!”

  The confused men swung towards Steven’s voice and then fell to their knees. They were stunned by being caught. Steven pushed his captive to the floor.

  “Hostiles secured,” he announced into the radio. “Frisk these fucks, then zip-tie their hands and feet. We still have work to do.” He looked around the armory’s vault. He was glad O’Brien didn’t get his hands on the contents.