by Johnny Jacks
Islam Rising
By
Johnny Jacks
Patriots and Infidels – Book 1
Copyright © 2017 by Johnny Jacks
Cover design and artwork by Hristo Argirov Kovatliev
https://www.facebook.com/hristo.kovatliev
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, stored, or transmitted in any form, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission, send email requests, to [email protected]. Include “Permissions Coordinator” in the Subject. Published by New America Books, Cullman, AL 35056
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, plot, subplots, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1979584616
ISBN-10: 1979584613
Published in the United States by
New America Books
A Division of Partisan Prepper, Inc.
P.O. Box 2604
Cullman, AL 35057
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Johnny Jacks was born in Alabama six months before D-Day to semiliterate sharecropper parents. His family lived self-reliantly the first ten years of his life off-grid, off city water, without indoor plumbing, and without assistance from the welfare state, which did not exist then. On his seventeenth birthday, he enlisted in the Air Force, later transferring to the Army, where he became a Special Forces soldier and began a career serving on Special Forces A-teams in Europe, Asia, and Central America, including a combat assignment to Special Forces A-team 102, Tien Phuoc, Vietnam, 1967-1968. He became proficient in guerrilla warfare strategies and tactics, radio communications, intelligence gathering, and guerrilla group organization and operations.
After retiring from the Army in 1982, Jacks worked for several government agencies over the next twenty-five years in national security and emergency preparedness programs. Those roles provided him with knowledge of the national security policy related to continuity of government and continuity of operations, with insight into what will take place with America’s senior leadership when the Schumer hits the fan and the nation falls into a state of anarchy.
Jacks lives with his wife on their farm in the Appalachian foothills of North Alabama, where he enjoys gardening, animal husbandry, and writing. His hobbies include traveling, gold prospecting, hunting, and fishing.
DEDICATION
To the Green Berets – Active Duty and Retired
You know what we must do when the SHTF to organize those who survive the die-off to defend and restore America to her original constitutional foundation. DOL
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my wife, Kay, for encouraging me to remain focused on the manuscript, especially when the grass needed mowed or the bathroom sink unclogged.
To Mahala Church, editor and writing instructor extraordinaire, for not letting her head explode when my OCD brain continued to change, add to, and delete what she thought was settled, not to mention the chapters I deleted or moved around without telling her.
To beta readers, especially Chin Gibson, who provided unvarnished feedback and saved me from well-deserved embarrassment in several scenes.
To Hristo Argirov Kovatliev, master of graphic art, for adorning this book with its splendid cover.
To the personal and Facebook author friends who helped me solve several newbie-writer problems. I’m truly humbled at the high degree to which authors support one another. It’s amazing.
To those who purchase and read the stuff that pours from places in my mind that I didn’t know existed, you are my reason to write. If not for a strong desire to please you with stories that bring enjoyment to your lives and present you with prepper concepts that might someday save your lives, my work would be an empty endeavor.
Chapter 1
Irreconcilable Differences
Year 1
“I ask you for the second time, Detective Dean, you purposely shot those men between the eyes, didn’t you?”
Grayson Dean scowled at the exceptionally adept Shannon Fisher, an ACLU lawyer he had done battle with before. He knew her objective was to malign his credibility. The tall, hard-muscled man had no intention of allowing her that satisfaction. It wasn’t his fault this crazy woman chose to defend the lone survivor from a bank robbery that went horribly wrong—at least for the robbers. Determined to prove the charges of police brutality against Detective Grayson Dean, Shannon had been throttling the brash detective for two hours without breaking him.
A trickle of perspiration snaked down Shannon’s spine as she stared at the unyielding man. She knew the odds were against her when she took the Delgado case, but she was single-minded in her efforts to get a short sentence for her client. To do that, she had to destroy Grayson Dean’s credibility and gain the jury’s sympathy. The outcome depended on the jury doubting the grim detective’s morality and state of mind. She braced for his response.
“I happen to be a good shot with a handgun.” Grayson’s ice-cold retort hung in the thick air of the courtroom.
“So, it was intentional?” Shannon spoke directly to the jury and then reset her confident got-you-now gaze on Grayson.
“How hard-headed can you be, lady?”
Shannon spun to the judge. “Objection, your honor!”
The judge, all too familiar with the confrontational lawyer and the blunt detective, released a big sigh. “Objection sustained. Detective Dean, answer the questions without commentary.”
“Sorry, your honor.” Grayson’s patience had left him hours ago.
He scowled at the frumpy woman in her baggy brown pantsuit. Obviously, she had a personal vendetta. Aware his answer might determine his future on the Houston police force, he struggled to tamp down his frustration.
Breathing deeply, he spoke in a measured, professional tone. “Of course, it was intentional, counselor.”
The hint of a smile tickled Shannon’s lips and murmurs filled the courtroom.
Grayson timed a short pause and then spoke before Shannon could fire another debasing question.
“When criminals shoot at a police officer, his return fire is always intentional.”
Low mumbles of understanding replaced the negative murmurs. Voices grew loud as the audience expressed mixed opinions, angry Spanish spilling rapidly from Delgado’s family.
The faces of the jurors and the nods of their heads made it clear Shannon Fisher had lost her case. The brilliant and highly opinionated lawyer did not like to lose. In fact, she despised losing.
The judge banged his gavel. “Order in the court! Remain silent, or I’ll clear the courtroom.”
Order restored, Shannon tried again to discredit the detective and gain sympathy for José Delgado, the lone surviving thief. She pointed to him. “Look at Mr. Delgado, Detective Grayson. Notice that he’s in a wheelchair, his legs useless because of the bullet you fired into his spine. Why didn’t you offer him a chance to surrender before shooting him?”
Grayson’s attorney objected. “We’ve already established that Mr. Delgado was holding a pistol and Detective Dean acted in accordance with proper police procedures.”
“Objection sustained.”
“No further questions, your honor.” Shannon’s voice betrayed her anger and defeat. She returned to the defense table, her eyes throwing a look of hatred at Grayson.
The judge called a close to the day. “Detective Dean, you are excused. Since it’s after four, court
is adjourned until 9 a.m. Monday.”
The air in the room continued to spark with anger from both sides of the aisle as everyone stood for the jury and judge to exit.
There was no doubt that José Delgado was going to prison, but Shannon had begun planning how to make Grayson pay for paralyzing the man, intentional or not.
Grayson watched her retrieve her papers and shove them angrily into her briefcase. He’d never despised anyone, until Shannon Fisher entered his life.
My fate on the force lies in that liberal bitch’s hands, and she doesn’t give a damn.
Chapter 2
Urinal Turmoil
Year 1
Grayson stood at the urinal, wishing he’d not drunk that sixth cup of coffee. He flinched when the men’s room door banged open. Shannon stormed in and marched within a foot of his side. She made the unfortunate mistake of poking him hard on the shoulder, causing his body to jerk and twist. Unable to stop the flow, he peed on his leg and Shannon’s dull brown shoes before he got a handle on things.
She stepped back. “What the hell! You did that on purpose!”
“No. But I will if you don’t get out of here.”
She stepped towards him, venom dripping from her fangs. At five-feet-ten inches, she still had to crane her neck to look him in the face.
Grayson shoved his broad shoulder forward, attempting to turn away, his bladder too full to stop the flow. Is there no end to this woman’s audacity?
“You’re really proud of yourself, aren’t you, Detective?” Her raspy voice dripped sarcasm. “You kill two men, paralyze another from the waist down, and it’s just another day on the job. How can you live with yourself?”
“Are you nuts, lady? Get out of here and let me finish my business!”
“I don’t care about your business! But I do care that you continue to shoot the citizens of Houston and aren’t held accountable for it.”
“Citizens!” Grayson’s temper flared, his body struggling to avoid whirling towards her intentionally. “How dare you call those crud balls citizens! They’re the scum of the earth! Your client and his gang were in the act of robbing a bank—a federal crime, and they shot at me first!”
“You should have let him surrender, or since you’re such a good shot, just wounded him, asshole.”
He lowered his voice and regurgitated anger. “They deserved to die. You ignorant excuse for an American! Ever look at his rap sheet? Did you consider the innocent people in harm’s way when your poor innocent client and his buds began shooting? Ever wonder why your bleeding heart always champions the bad guys and ignores the good guys?”
Shannon’s face filled with red fury. She never broke eye contact, sputtering as she searched for words that evaded her. She still had him at a significant disadvantage, but her mind thrashed for a retort.
“You don’t give a damn about that scumbag client of yours! Face it lady, you’re pushing your own agenda. You and your stupid anti-gun lobby use any tactic to try to confiscate firearms from law-abiding citizens. Otherwise, why did you accuse me of police brutality simply for defending myself against a gang of criminals trying to kill me?”
Shannon shook her head, as though awakening from a dream, and got in her last shot, looking down as his bladder finally emptied. Grayson’s face grew red as he struggled to get his business retracted and safely zipped. Peering up at him, she turned her head sideways and telegraphed one of her sarcastic false smiles, grabbed a paper towel to wipe her shoes, threw it in the trash, and stomped out.
When the restroom door hissed shut behind her, Grayson heard a flush. Chief of Police Ramirez exited the nearest stall. His body shook uncontrollably, and a muffled wheezing snicker suppressed the belly laugh that wanted to burst from his gut.
“That is one of the funniest things I’ve ever experienced in my life. Definitely, the only time I appreciated a hole in the wall of a men’s room stall. You know I’m going to have to tell this story a thousand times before I die, don’t you?”
Grayson walked to the sink to wash his hands. “You got me, Chief. But, please wait until you’re retired and out of the office…the guys…you know.”
“Not a chance. Look, Grayson, you’re one of the best lawmen on the force. Remember that. You are a lawman, no longer a Green Beret. This isn’t combat where you can charge in headlong, killing everything in sight. As your commander in Afghanistan, I know your expertise with firearms, but that liberal do-gooder is right; you could’ve wounded that bastard. My sentiments are too close to yours, so I kept my mouth shut.”
“Thanks. I appreciated your guidance in battle, and I appreciate it now. It’s just that I hate seeing our society going to the dogs because bad guys have the run of the town. The damn liberal lawyers treat them as if they’re Sunday school boys. For your record, I aimed to shoot the pistol from his hand. Unlike the others, he was shaking like a dog shitting peach seeds. The bullet accidently deflected off his gun, went through his guts, and into his spine.”
“As much as it goes against your grain, sometimes it pays to let the bad guys go, catch them another day. The bad guys in that bank weren’t the only ones shooting around civilians. As a police officer charged with public safety, you put innocent lives in danger.”
Grayson felt the flash of heat in his face. Years of combat had desensitized him to civilian casualties, sometimes unavoidable to kill the enemy. It was the hardest lesson he mastered as a soldier and as a man. It required him to turn off his emotions temporarily to keep himself and his men from dying in battle. The result was a long struggle with PTSD that, although controlled, would be with him for eternity. In tension-filled situations, it sometimes resurrected its ugly head and fueled his anger. He argued with himself that this wasn’t the case, but….
“I’ll work on it, Chief.”
“You’ll do more than work on it, you will control your temper. Period.” Chief Ramirez washed his hands and looked at Grayson in the mirror. “Don’t make me send you to anger management class again. It’s a good thing your girlfriend doesn’t know about that, or she’d have used it against you today.”
Grayson swallowed hard. A dressing down from the chief was worse than anything that ACLU lawyer could dump on him. “Don’t you worry, Chief,” the truth of Ramirez’s statement sinking in, he took a deep breath, “I’ll get it under control.”
“Good. Because right this minute we have hot potatoes being tossed around like hand grenades at an anti-gun demonstration outside this building. Your ACLU lady friend has no doubt joined them by now. It’s her pet project. I got a text while I was in the can. The demonstrators are demanding the state put you on trial for murder of the other two robbers. That’s not going to happen, but it’s best if you leave by the back door.”
Grayson hesitated. He despised breaking contact with the enemy and running from a fight, no matter the odds of winning, but he didn’t want to lose his job.
“Go home, Detective. Now.” Chief Ramirez’s voice did not brook altering his exit plan.
Chapter 3
Sanctuary and Relief
Year 1
Grayson’s anger morphed into a sour mood as he drove home. Despite the warm April day, a throbbing coldness settled into his bones. Why do I let that woman get to me? When will I learn to tamp down my temper?
He pulled into his driveway behind his wife, Margaret’s, pink Mary Kay Cadillac and gave his son, Daniel, a thumbs-up. Daniel was a good kid, never a moment’s trouble, tall and muscular like his father. The boy stopped the mower in the middle of giving the lawn its first cut of the year. Grayson only now realized April’s fresh showers had brought out the new grass. Daniel beamed at his father, trotting towards him with obvious excitement.
“Pop, I received a scholarship check today for five hundred dollars for my essay on ‘The Importance of Family.’”
Grayson grabbed him in a bro-hug. “Great news, son! At sixteen, you’re becoming a serious young man. You make your old dad proud.”
“Dadd
y! Daddy!” Grayson’s daughter, Amanda, bounded down the front steps. Her short five-year-old legs churned across the lawn, and she jumped into Grayson’s arms. His soul filled with love; Amanda’s hug pushed the nastiness of his day into the background.
“How’s my Little Angel?”
“Daddy, come see what I did in school today.” Amanda wiggled down and pulled his hand with all her might toward the front door.
“Danny, I’ll catch up with you inside when you finish the lawn.” Grayson clapped his son on the shoulder, picked Amanda up and carried her inside. With his free arm, he pulled his wife into a hug with a quick kiss on the cheek, foregoing the usual double pat on the fanny.
“Amanda has something exciting to show me.” Grayson halfheartedly winked at Margaret. He lowered Amanda to the floor, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and sat at the table to admire his daughter’s animal drawings from school. “Something smells great! Barbequed chicken?”
“And scalloped potatoes. You’ll be proud of me. I had a great Mary Kay party, and it put me over the limit to qualify for a new caddy.”
“I’m always proud of you, baby, with or without a Cadillac.”
“Did you talk to Danny?”
“Yeah, said something about a scholarship.”
A smile lit up Margaret’s face. “I’m proud of our son. He’s a self-starter, just like his dad. He’s well on his way to having enough credits to graduate next year as a junior.”
“Daniel’s a winner. I’m proud of him, too.”
Grayson’s affection warmed Margaret’s heart, but the worried expression he was trying hard to hide warned her to walk softly. “How did the trial go?”