Lone Star Rising

by Kurt Winans

  LONE STAR RISING

  Copyright © 2017 Kurt Winans

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work off fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Open Window

  an imprint of BHC Press

  Library of Congress Control Number:

  2017945140

  Print edition ISBN:

  978-1-946848-38-3

  Visit the author at:

  www.bhcpress.com

  I personally find this segment of any work to be of greater significance than the page or two which it requires, so I tend to view the task of giving proper acknowledgments as a serious matter. Even though many who pick up a novel never bother to read those appreciations which an author has put forth, the fact that you are doing so before plunging into this story puts you one step ahead of the game and deserving of my thanks.

  If you have read the first book of this series, Fractured Nation, then you will understand that I have the upmost respect for anyone who has been, or is currently, a member of the United States military. Those brave men and women collectively do their part to help ensure that we all enjoy certain basic freedoms which are not necessarily found in other portions of the globe, and in so doing, add credence to my belief that the grass is seldom greener on the other side.

  As with their efforts to provide me with security, I must thank a few individuals for their helpful participation throughout my attempt to complete this book. First on that list would be my wife Cathy, as she once again put aside some of her time to read through rough drafts and offer either praise or helpful suggestions. I understand that many, no matter what their walk of life may be, have little desire to hear the latter of the two, but it can be an important developmental tool for anyone. She deserves my greatest thanks for once again helping me to improve upon my craft as an author, while also being the most important reason for me to wake up and press on.

  Next would be my good friend Jon. During the more than quarter century which we have known each other, he has always been someone whom I could count on for honesty and dependability along with a fair share of good laughs. To that end he graciously offered to help with the editing process of this work, and I thank him for his time and concern.

  Then there is Paul, another friend who was willing to help my cause when I asked for his expertise. Upon approaching him with an idea which I felt should be added to the content, he instantly said that he could make it happen without a problem. Then he subsequently delivered more than I hoped for by presenting me with several versions of my intended vision. We discussed the options made available, and I’m pleased to announce that you will find the selected artwork within the body of chapter three.

  Lastly there is the general public. Although the vast majority of those whom I came in contact with were never consciously aware of it, they provided me with nearly endless inspiration. Via multiple trips to airports, university student unions, grocery stores, and a myriad of other venues, members of the American society provided me with ideas for various character traits and chapter sequencing as they went about the paces of their daily routines. It would be impossible for me to acknowledge each of them on an individual basis, but in the event that you may have inadvertently been one of those whom I took note of, consider this to be my thanks.

  Now sit back and relax, as the curtain rises.

  Kurt

  President Jordan Harwell had briefly taken part in the obligatory New Year’s Eve celebration at the White House with family members and a few close friends, but he needed to paste a false smile on his face while doing so. The attempt to showcase his more relaxed and festive side for those around him was a nice gesture, even if it lacked sincerity. Most within the room understood that the heavy weight on the Presidents heart and mind exceeded what any of his predecessors may have experienced during the first thirty minutes of a new calendar year. A somber mood was justifiably in order for the man, but was in no way a reflection upon the actions of those currently in his presence. Instead the focus of his troublesome state was centered on an event that would take place very shortly, and there was nothing that he, or anyone else, could do to stop it.

  After being gently reminded by a staff member when the time reached twelve thirty, President Harwell excused himself from the State Dining Room and made his way toward the oval office. Faithful as always, his longtime personal secretary Mrs. Dawson was waiting for him in the outer office. In spite of the late hour, she had insisted on being present to assist in any way possible when the hour of inconceivable change would occur, and neither the President nor his Chief of Staff Christopher Westin could change her mind.

  At that same instant, the countdown of minutes as opposed to hours, days, months or years of waiting for 2027 neared its completion within the Tillman mansion and the surrounding grounds. That grand party to usher in the new Republic of Texas was in full swing, but before Samuel Tillman could relax and revel in the current moment, he had first addressed the pressing business of the night. During a conversation a few hours earlier with two of his guests, numbers three and seven, Samuel had been assured that the necessary personnel were in route from the various staging areas to what would become their duty stations. In anticipation of what an easily predictable President Harwell and his Washington D.C. brain trust would attempt during the transitional moment of midnight central standard time, Texas would be prepared with a counter move.

  Having moved into the oval office with Mrs. Dawson mere strides behind, President Harwell was soon joined by Christopher Westin and the Director of Homeland Security. When the latter of the two arrived at twelve fifty, the President asked, “Is everything ready to go Director?”

  “Yes Mr. President. I should receive a call of verification within five minutes after midnight in Texas.”

  Via the global media, the internet, or by the time honored traditional form of face to face human communication, the separation of Texas was not even close to being secretive information. Therefore a simple plan was developed in Washington D.C., and if Texas really wanted to go through with their declaration of independence from the United States, then they would begin by dealing with a potentially huge challenge in the very first moments of their existence as a new Republic. By decree from President Harwell, as delivered through the Director currently in the oval office with him, all personnel from the United States Customs and Border Patrol were to abandon their posts along the various crossing points of the Rio Grande River that defined the border between Mexico and the United States. It was believed that with no authoritative presence along the border to halt it, a flood of illegal immigrants would enter Texas during the upcoming hours and days before the new government could respond to the action. Any problems that might develop as a result of that supposed onslaught were of no concern to the United States.

  On paper the plan seemed like a good idea, and those in Washington felt that they could catch Texas napping while in a celebratory mood. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. With the necessary funding to thwart such a plan having been assured weeks before from Samuel and number three, the commanding general of the Texas National Guard had his subordinate officers move superior numbers of troops to within fifty yards of all the established border crossings. In a choreographed maneuver from Brownsville and McAllen at the southern tip, to Laredo, Eagle Pass, and Del Rio further to the northwest, the
troops arrived at said positions less than five minutes before midnight. Much further to the west, beyond the region of Big Bend National Park, the same was true at the more remote crossing in Presidio. The only portion of the state where the troops wouldn’t achieve that last minute element of surprise would be in the extreme western tip near El Paso, as the synchronized arrival would be early. With that small chunk of Texas being within the Mountain Time zone, the first of what was hoped would be many treaties between the Republic of Texas and the United States had been agreed upon. The terms of that quickly drawn up treaty stated that no portion of Texas would separate from the United States until the year of 2027 began, so the transition wouldn’t take place for another hour. Nevertheless, the troops in that region would be ready to assume their new posts when the time came. There were no illusions within the ranks of stopping those who would use desolate locations for illegal entry throughout the coming hours and days, but then again, it wasn’t a major concern. In that regard, the border patrol agents in the process of abandoning their posts hadn’t always been effective either. No, the point of this maneuver was larger in scope. Texas wanted to show the United States that it was prepared to defend her borders, southern or otherwise.

  As the clock struck midnight and the male and female border agents moved away from their posts, superior numbers took their place. Then when the time reached five minutes after one in the oval office, the Director of Homeland Security received the first of many calls. What he heard was not good news, and he braced himself before delivering it to President Harwell. After turning toward his boss, he said, “Sir, I’m afraid the results are not as we would have hoped.”

  “What do you mean Director?”

  “They must have seen our plan coming, because Texas National Guard troops were ready to step into position as our agents abandoned their posts.”

  “What? Did they do that at all of the crossings?”

  “I have no confirmation of that yet sir, but it would seem logical that if Texas was prepared for our plan at one crossing, then they were prepared at all the others as well.”

  At the Tillman mansion north of Crockett Texas, the commanding general of the Texas National Guard was in the quietest place he could find. With use of the latest burn phone given to him by number twenty-three, he dialed the number for the officer in charge of the Brownsville crossing. After hearing the good news from him and conferring with several officers at each of the other locations, he rejoined the party to locate Samuel. Then he said, “You were right number two. Harwell had the Customs and Border Patrol agents abandon their posts. It’s a good thing that we were ready for that.”

  Looking at his old friend with a wry smile, he replied, “Well, up to this point Harwell has been predictable with his actions, but things may not be as easy in the future. Now is everything secure?”

  “Yes it is. None of my officers reported having any trouble with the outgoing agents, and we have successfully assumed control of all border crossings with the exception of those near El Paso. If the events of a short time ago are any indication, we will have those secured as well in less than an hour.”

  “That’s good news. As usual, you have done exceptionally well number seven. I don’t know how the organization would have been able to accomplish some of our objectives throughout the past year without your efforts.”

  “That’s kind of you to say number two.”

  “Not at all number seven, you deserve thanks. Now please let me refill your glass so that you can rejoin the celebration.”

  Twenty minutes earlier, but seven time zones to the east from Washington D.C. and those present within the oval office, the first sunrise of 2027 had already occurred. Having completed his customary breakfast and the morning briefing with those officers of his senior staff, Rear Admiral Anthony Rutherford stood at zero seven forty-five hours and stated, “Alright gentlemen, thank you for the excellent work while preparing your respective departments for the upcoming mission. Now everyone report to their duty stations, and let’s begin the New Year with extra sharp focus. Our country is counting on us, along with other factions of our military forces, to deliver the most powerful of messages.”

  As the various department heads stood and snapped to attention, one of them stated loudly, “This is for Annapolis admiral. We won’t let you down.”

  “Thank you commander. I feel the same way, and I want everyone here to rest assured that I have complete confidence in each of you. Now all of you with the exception of Captain Wilkes are dismissed.”

  Throughout the previous several days, a force of twenty United States naval vessels including both surface ships and perimeter patrolling submarines had made their way from previous duty stations within the Atlantic Ocean toward the eastern Mediterranean Sea. Now located in a highly unstable region roughly fifty nautical miles southeast of the Cyprus port city of Limassol, each vessel remained on high alert status. Although the long standing allied forces of the United Kingdom could provide emergency assistance from two military bases on Cyprus, it was doubtful that if hostile action from a nearby Middle Eastern faction was taken that such aid would make much of a difference. In spite of good intentions by the British, and those of mostly non-effective NATO forces, the reality of the moment was that the protection of the fourth fleet while in such hostile waters would fall squarely upon the shoulders of the fourth fleet. Adding a level of difficulty to their tenuous safety was a complete inability to remain undetected, as regardless of the armada’s attempts to be stealthy in their repositioning, there were two hugely significant factors working against them. First was the overall size of the task force, as the ships were much larger than a simple flotilla of rowboats. Unfortunately that made them easily visible from a distance of several miles in clear conditions. Second were the various advancements within the satellite and information technology sectors which had occurred throughout the previous half century, as those sources of intelligence could be readily accessed as a means for locating the fleet even during the absolute worst of atmospheric conditions. The result of those combined factors was that virtually every friend or foe of the United States who was paying attention knew that the American navy had increased their military presence within the region. Therefore all that remained as any level of mystery on this first day of the New Year was two-fold. What were the intentions of the repositioned vessels? And once that had been determined, could anything be done to alter that intent?

  Aboard the massive aircraft carrier USS George H.W. Bush, which had been named in honor of the United States forty-first President, thousands of officers and enlisted personnel waited impatiently at their various duty stations for the appropriate time to finally arrive. As the commander of the multi-ship task force which surrounded the last of the Nimitz class supercarriers to be commissioned, Rear Admiral Rutherford strode confidently through a bulkhead hatch and heard, “Attention on deck, admiral on the bridge.”

  With all of the men and women snapped to attention, he glanced around the bridge for a few seconds before stating, “Stand at ease, and return to your duty stations.”

  Throughout the next several minutes the stern yet fair admiral viewed the actions of his bridge personnel, and understood their collective desire to get on with the task before them. Although he shared their passion in the need to punish those who had viciously attacked America less than two months prior, the admiral sat calmly in his chair while demonstrating a restraint which was required for the moment. As a third generation career naval officer who like his father and grandfather had graduated from Annapolis, Tony Rutherford had spent many years following the orders of his superiors. The current situation would be no different, as he hadn’t earned the two stars on his shoulder boards by playing the role of a rogue officer. Rear Admiral Rutherford had always preached that there would be no room within his vast command for sailors or marines to run amuck, as they would all adhere to navy regulations and the chain of command if they wished to advance in responsibility and rank. Accordin
gly, in spite of his personal desire to have the Syrians punished without delay, the admiral needed to set an example for his subordinates by continuing to oversee all task force operations by the book. In this particular instance, that meant waiting just a few more minutes before he would give the order to unleash a powerful assault on various targets within Syria.

  Glancing at his old wristwatch to see that the moment was nearly at hand, Tony Rutherford flashed back for added motivation to happy memories that involved his younger sister Maria and her only daughter. Years before Maria had given him the wristwatch upon his promotion to Lieutenant Commander, and when he began to wear it again in her honor some seven weeks prior to the current date, he made a solemn vow. His promise to her memory was that he would wear no other timepiece until she had been properly avenged.

  Maria, along with her husband and their daughter, had been killed on Saturday the fourteenth of November during the terrorist attack upon Annapolis. That well-orchestrated act of violence had taken the parents by way of grenade and concrete fragments, while their daughter Heather had been mowed down by automatic weapon fire along with many of her fellow Annapolis Midshipmen. What cut at Tony Rutherford’s heart the most beyond the loss of his three family members was that his niece Heather was just beginning what would have been a promising career and life. At the time of her murder Heather was a mere six months away from becoming a fourth generation graduate of Annapolis within the family tree, and her uncle Tony could not have been more proud of her even if she were his own daughter.

  The admiral’s focus upon the moment at hand was then re-established when a young junior officer arrived from the nearby communications center and called out, “Begging the admirals pardon sir, but we have just received a coded message.”