by Bobby Akart
“What does that mean?” asked Morgan.
“The U.N. peacekeeping function is not a full-time job,” replied Brad. “They pull personnel from all over the world to conduct law enforcement matters and to draw on military experts. These functions make up only about ten percent of the one hundred thousand or so total troops. The other ninety thousand come from countries like India, Pakistan, China, and various African nations.”
“I’m surprised we’re not a bigger part of their operations,” said Donald.
“Believe it or not, there are less than a hundred American contributors to the U.N. forces,” said Brad.
“We constitute three-quarters of NATO troops, but rest assured, we pay for the United Nations contingent,” added Morgan. “In this case, an operation of this size was undertaken at the behest of the President and paid for with American money.”
“That’s the other point I need to make,” continued Brad. “The size is well beyond the normal UN contingent. The troop contributions have quadrupled. The peacekeeping force is now four hundred thousand strong, thanks to large increases in the Chinese, Indian, and Pakistani contingents.”
“Are you saying that the UN troop numbers have grown to four hundred thousand?” asked Donald.
“Based upon our best intel, yes,” replied Brad.
“How many troops do we have on active duty in the U.S.?” asked Morgan.
“Although there are over a million military personnel stationed at home, only a fraction are combat troops,” replied Brad. “Of those, I am guessing that less than twenty percent are on duty now. The number absent without leave are unfathomable.”
“Are we outgunned?” asked Donald.
“If the intel numbers are accurate, yes, we are,” Brad replied.
Gunny Falcone and CWO Shore drove into the clearing where Brad was talking with Donald and Morgan. He paused, allowing the four-wheeler to come to a halt. He waved them over.
“Sitrep, gentlemen,” said Brad.
“Sir, the lake traffic has increased substantially,” said Gunny Falcone. “The western inlet of the reservoir has been quiet, but there has been a lot of activity on the shore from fishermen.”
“They’re not catching anything, sir,” interjected CWO Shore. “They are spread out down the shore incrementally and are observing us. I’ve placed our own observers inside the tree line, and in some cases, our personnel are in makeshift tree stands.”
“What about on the main body of the reservoir?” asked Brad.
“There has been a major escalation in boat traffic,” replied Gunny Falcone. “Three or four days ago, we might see half a dozen fishing boats scattered around the lake. Now, there are a dozen in view during the daylight hours.”
“The other interesting thing, sir, is this,” added CWO Shore. “No one has approached our shoreline or the front gate since the encounter with Pearson and that guy named Archibald. It’s as if they are waiting for something.”
“Thank you, gentlemen, that is all,” said Brad as he dismissed his men. He turned to Donald and Morgan, who spoke first.
“It appears that matters are reaching a boiling point, both locally and on a national level. Are you gentlemen comfortable with your plan to protect Prescott Peninsula?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Brad. “It will come with bloodshed, primarily for the locals. As a military man, I need to make sure I understand the rules of engagement. We have been warning intruders and turning them away as they get close.”
“But based on the increased activities and the information received from Steven and Katie, it is apparent that the residents of Belchertown intend to attack us,” said Donald. “How do we avoid bloodshed?”
“Is diplomacy out of the question?” asked Morgan.
Brad shook his head and sighed. “I’m afraid that any interlude toward a peaceful solution will only raise more questions and possibly invite inquiry from this new governor or higher up.”
“At this point, they view us as a private security force,” added Donald. “Perhaps Pearson convinced them otherwise. Either way, we can’t allow them on Prescott Peninsula. If they don’t heed our warning, most of them will die.”
Morgan suddenly became quiet and began to massage his left arm. Brad looked at Donald, who became concerned. “Mr. Morgan, are you feeling okay?”
“It’s this damned diet, Mr. Quinn,” said Morgan. “The constant meals of beans and rice are not what my digestive tract is used to.” He continued to massage his arm, but his face reddened, and his eyes appeared to be bloodshot.
“Sir, why don’t we have J.J. take a look at you?” said Brad.
Morgan held his hands up to cut off further debate. “I’m fine. You two are as bad as my daughter. Just make sure my friends are well protected. I’m going to lie down for a while.” Morgan slowly walked away as Susan approached the group.
“Is he okay?” asked Susan. “He looked a little shaky.”
“I guess so,” said Donald. “Listen, the girls are having a good time. May I take Brad for a moment?”
“Sure, I’ll be here.” Donald turned to Brad.
“There are a couple of things that you need to see,” said Donald as he led Brad into 1PP. An hour later, Brad was introduced to the force multiplier and enough precious metals to buy an army, or start a new country.
Chapter 37
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
9:00 a.m.
100 Beacon
Boston, Massachusetts
Julia rubbed Sarge’s shoulders as the two stood on the rooftop of 100 Beacon for their morning watch. Steven and Sarge got in late from a reconnaissance mission with the Mechanics to the local food bank. They confirmed that O’Brien was hoarding the supplies received from FEMA. He was not distributing them to the remaining citizens.
For the last several nights, the sounds of gunfire filled the relative quiet. Car traffic was virtually nonexistent now, as most residents had either fled the city or didn’t have any gasoline. Reports were being received that moving vehicles were being attacked as they approached blocked intersections. Even if you were one of the fortunate few with gasoline, you were in danger of losing your vehicle to marauders.
“Tell me about the rest of the country,” started Sarge. “How are other cities dealing with this?”
Julia took a sip of coffee and kissed Sarge. “Thank you for the coffee, honey.”
“Let’s enjoy it while we can,” he said. “I think we need to cut down on our generator usage. It’s so quiet, it might draw attention.”
“You mean more attention than the dead bodies that are piling up around the building?” She laughed.
“Yeah, that’s true. So, what’ve you heard?”
“The reports are varied,” Julia replied. “In the big cities, chaos is the word used most often to describe the aftermath. In the locations where the Citizen Corps governors’ offices are located, some semblance of order is being restored. In the midsize cities, it’s a bloodbath in some cases. The law enforcement personnel of the smaller towns are abandoning their jobs to protect their families. The military personnel, or what’s left of them, are being redeployed to gain control of the major cities. In some cases, they are clamping down hard.”
“Like where?” asked Sarge.
“Chicago, New York, and Philadelphia, for example. The military has been accused of firing indiscriminately on unarmed citizens. FEMA’s supplies are running low and being redirected at the discretion of the newly appointed regional governors. Some residents have attempted to stage protests, and it’s become ugly.”
“Donald and Susan used to think the Jade Helm exercises were intended to prepare the military for civil unrest,” said Sarge. “Those opinions would have been laughed at a month ago. Now look.” Something caught Julia’s attention to their north.
“The groundwork for dealing with a catastrophic event like this one has been in place for years,” he continued. “These executive orders, both before and after the cyber attack, allowed
the government to exercise absolute control over every aspect of a citizen’s life.”
Julia looked through the binoculars at an altercation between two men on the river side of Storrow Drive below them. It appeared they were fighting over a liquor bottle. She offered the binoculars to Sarge, who simply shook his head.
She continued. “In other parts of the country, the ranks of the Citizen Corps have swelled to huge numbers. With the promise of food, shelter in the form of confiscated homes, and power to bully their fellow Americans, the formerly worthless members of the population are now able to flex their muscles.”
“These executive orders made no effort to justify the destruction of our freedoms, and no effort to explain how their idea of totalitarian control would stop the rioting, looting, and murders,” said Sarge. “Soon, they will begin to experience corruption and bureaucratic infighting. This occurred in similar situations in fascist Italy, Nazi Germany, and the old Soviet Union.”
“Guess what happened in all of those instances?”
“You bet,” replied Sarge. “The oppressive governments collapsed. Their efforts at totalitarian control provoked more political turmoil, and eventually the people rose up against the governments, or they were destroyed by a greater enemy, like us.”
Another man joined the fray below them. Sarge raised his weapon to get a closer look through his scope. There was now a three-man battle for the last bottle of vodka in Boston.
“Citizens are being detained in the rural areas for refusing to comply with the Citizen Corps rules ordering them to relinquish their weapons and stored food,” said Julia. “The dreaded FEMA Camps are coming to fruition.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Well, it gets worse, Sarge. Apparently the rumored Enemy’s List, which was supposedly maintained at the direction of the President, is very real.”
“Are you talking about Main Core?” asked Sarge.
“Yes. The database is huge, having been compiled with intelligence information from the NSA, FBI, CIA and other governmental agencies, including ATF.”
“I read the list includes Americans who have been considered unfriendly and thus enemies of the state.”
“That’s right. It’s being utilized now by the Citizen Corps. I’m receiving reports the gun confiscations are being directed at people with concealed-carry permits and who have registered their weapons. This is making it very easy for the President to locate the firearms of law-abiding citizens.”
“Naturally.” Sarge shrugged. “It’s too difficult to disarm criminals.”
“It also includes people based upon their social media posts, voting records, and even those who hold ham radio licenses.”
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Sarge.
“No,” she replied. “I am sure to be in the Main Core database for a number of reasons, including being a HAMR.”
“How would that be dangerous?”
“From my experience, most ham radio operators are libertarian or conservatives politically. That puts you in the crosshairs of this president. I monitor the radio waves every day, and almost all of the transmissions come from people like us. Anyone who obtained their ham call letters is a potential target.”
“Should we have anticipated something like this?” asked Sarge. “We knew the government tracked everything.”
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” she replied. “But if we had it to do over again, we would never buy our weapons through a licensed FFL, using only online sources like Armslist. I rarely used my ham radio before the cyber attack. I should have purchased the equipment, stored it in a Faraday cage, and left it alone. As for social media, I can think of dozens of so-called patriotic pages and groups that I frequented that placed me on the Main Core lists.”
“It’s hard to stay off the government’s radar,” said Sarge.
“I know, but we didn’t have to make it easy for them.”
The two stood in silence for a moment as they contemplated the all-reaching, all-knowing big-brother government that controlled their lives prior to the grid going down. Now, Julia wondered when they would show up at their door.
“Fortunately, they haven’t visited us, yet,” she added.
“Brad’s deception on the new governor worked well while it lasted. We’ve been fortunate to hold him off. Brad knows that he’s been made and that he might be in danger of losing his oak leaves.”
“How will he take it?” asked Julia.
“He’ll be fine,” replied Sarge. “We just need to provide him a new group of patriots to command.”
Chapter 38
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
8:49 p.m.
630 Washington Street
Boston, Massachusetts
The Mechanics entered the second floor of 630 Washington as Sarge sat quietly on top of an old wooden desk, dangling his feet and gently kicking the sides with his heels. He thought of the famous quote by George Santayana—those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Sarge was feeling philosophical, which was good in view of the circumstances. His beloved country was falling apart—prey to an overreaching government and victim to a cyber attack that reeked of conspiracy.
Sarge was a student of history and knew that the next days and months would be written about for centuries. When you were in the moment, part of something unfolding, you didn’t recognize the impact that your decisions and actions might have on the course of history. When the Sons of Liberty, led by Samuel Adams, began to meet under the Liberty Tree or down the street at the Green Dragon Tavern, they were nothing more than wharf rats, tavern mongers, and seedy characters looking to cause trouble. Their ire was directed at the British government and their cause became no taxation without representation.
Groups like the Boston Caucus Club or the Loyal Nine later became well-organized patriot political organizations. Shrouded in secrecy, the Loyal Nine evolved into larger groups, including the Sons of Liberty. Leaders emerged—men who later became known as statesmen and Founding Fathers. They were the men who were acknowledged throughout history for their efforts.
But the unsung heroes of those early days from 1765 through the Declaration of Independence were the Mechanics. They were the insurgent arm of the Loyal Nine. When it was time to incite Boston’s patriots into action, it was the Mechanics, not the statesmen, who gleefully did the dirty work that led to the American Revolution.
Sarge believed it was raw emotion, not knowledge, that was the impetus for change. The men and women who filled this room shoulder to shoulder had to want change. It was up to Sarge to create the passion necessary to bring knowledge to a boil.
Suddenly, the room became quiet as Steven asked the group to quiet down. Sarge, still sitting on the desk, looked into the eyes of the men and women who would be called upon to risk their lives, and the safety of their families, to fight to preserve the freedoms just as their forefathers did two hundred and fifty years ago.
Sarge took a deep breath and spoke. “Freedom comes at a price. Men and women just like you came together in places like this or taverns down the street to express their desire to break away from tyranny. They enthusiastically shouted that it was their solemn responsibility to pay any price to secure the freedom of a fledgling nation.” Sarge stood to address the tightly packed group of a hundred or so patriots.
“That time has come again, my friends. History shows that the path to liberty invariably involves conflict. Whether it was the American Revolution, which involved taking up arms, or political movements, which required the banding together of like-minded Americans to fight for our Constitutional rights, the course of American history was set by people like you.
“These conflicts demand a very steep price from those who fight them. Oftentimes, when expressing your political opinions, you were demeaned or ostracized by those who disagree with you. When you chose to make your voices heard by banding together as Tea Party Patriots, you were quickly denounced and then ultimately abandoned by the very p
oliticians you helped elect.
“Today, we find ourselves in the same shoes as the Sons of Liberty, in a far greater conflict than the mere exchange of political dialogue. There is a battle for the heart and soul of America looming. Just like our forefathers, we face a tyrannical government that has empowered those who wish to profit from this catastrophic event, both financially and through the stifling of dissent.
“Throughout history, governments have demonstrated their willingness to trample on individual liberties without regard to the long-term consequences. We’ve seen this happen during our lifetimes, and now tyranny has reached new heights in this country.” Sarge paced the floor as he spoke. He stopped from time to time to speak directly to one of the Mechanics.
“Prior to the attack, we lived in a nation where the government became more and more intrusive in our lives. They thought average American citizens were incapable of making decisions for themselves. They told us what we could and could not put in our bodies. They were able to declare us unfit parents, at their sole discretion, for the horrific crime of homeschooling. They told us when and where we were allowed to exercise our second amendment rights.
“They instilled fear in us with reports of angry men in caves or a threatening menace in the deserts of the Middle East. They frightened you with things that go bump in the night. Then our benevolent government offered solutions that took away your freedoms, in the name of keeping you safe. Ironically, their solutions never involved taking care of ourselves.” Sarge unconsciously held the top of his holstered .45 as he spoke.
“My friends, those issues are trivial to the current despotism of this President. Many of you have experienced this firsthand. Americans’ arms are being confiscated. Your food storage is being declared excessive. Some of you have been forced out of your homes for the benefit of the government’s chosen few. Moreover, all of you have been denied access to life-saving food and medical supplies because of your prior political affiliation or your refusal to bow down to a newly appointed government official.