Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  “I wish to make clear, to each of you, all of you who call this place our home…that the young man you see standing here alongside me today…is an invited guest. Invited by myself and Mr. Walker. This guest of ours is the son of a former friend to liberty, to freedom, to the America we…those of us old enough…the America we still remember. The America that was a beacon of light and hope to not only its own people, but the people of the world.”

  The Old Man’s voice, though clearly straining to be heard, rang forth with surprising strength, easily filling up the interior space of the operations center.

  “All of us here, every single one, have made sacrifices. We have lost family, friends, but we have not given in. We have not given up. Our willingness to fight, to remember what was and may someday be again, this is not in vain. We do not turn out backs on those we call friend. We live here in respect. Respect for ourselves and of others. So, I ask you to welcome young Mr. Neeson to Dominatus. I ask, as a favor to me, that you afford him your kindness, your humanity, and your respect. The very same respect I have shown each of you. He is the equal to any of us, and deserves no less.”

  As the Old Man’s words faded, the hall grew silent. I looked upon the faces of those gathered, as they looked back at me. The fear and apprehension that was so recently felt, seemed to have lifted.

  Dr. Miller again spoke, greeting me now with a wide smile.

  “On behalf of Dominatus, I welcome you, Mr. Neeson.”

  The Old Man pointed a trembling hand toward the woman who had suggested handing me over to the New United Nations authorities.

  “And what of you Ms. Carter? Are you willing to afford young Mr. Neeson the same welcome I gave you not so long ago when you came to us seeking the opportunity to live your life in freedom away from the mandates?”

  Stacy Carter looked down at the floor, shifting uncomfortably under the gaze of Alexander Meyer. Her response, though barely above a whisper, was heard by all.

  “Yes.”

  The Old Man nodded approvingly, though the physical toll of his travel to the operation center, and the few words spoken to those gathered, resulted in his leaning even more heavily on the young woman beside him. His breathing had become somewhat labored, and he closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to gather his strength before speaking again.

  “I assure all of you, no danger is imminent. Precautions, communications…have been taken to ensure that. Carol Denny will not visit us again tomorrow, or next week. Beyond that? Beyond that, each day we have in freedom is a blessing is it not? Let us be thankful for that, and not waste time in the creation of negative energy worrying over things… beyond our own control. Young Mr. Neeson here, in his own way, his own very important way…is a soldier of liberty…and I invite him to stay, to observe, to question any of us who choose to answer, and to then communicate to the world there are those of us who have not forgotten the true America. Those of us who have not yet bent completely to the will…of…of…the mandates. Perhaps our story shall once again, light the fire of freedom for those still seeking the warmth of its truth.”

  The Old Man then turned to me and took my hands into his own, his ancient face smiling up at me.

  “This is my granddaughter Dublin…Dublin Nabiah Meyer - the last of my family. She has been with me, assisting me here in Dominatus, for nearly ten years, and she can be your guide as you interview others. She will show you our community, what we have truly accomplished here. You can return to Mac’s residence, and she will arrive there shortly after. Once you have spoken with the others, please feel free to visit me at my cabin and we will have our own conversation. Is that acceptable to you Mr. Neeson?”

  “Yes sir, and thank you. Thank you for your kind words.”

  “No Mr. Neeson, thank you. Your time here is far more important than you may realize, God is not done with the world just yet, and each of us will play our part.”

  Again my face betrayed my emotion – this time confusion over The Old Man’s words.

  “Time enough for explanations later, Mr. Neeson. For now, simply await Dublin’s arrival at the tavern. Perhaps she will allow you the opportunity to interview her first.”

  The Old Man’s eyes looked over at his granddaughter, a hint of mischief dancing within them.

  Dublin regarded me for the first time and allowed the briefest of smiles.

  “If it pleases you, Grandfather.”

  Alexander Meyer stepped away from his granddaughter and once again faced those gathered in the hall, his hand now pointing to a small American flag that had been placed against the wall. It too was devoid of the New United Nations emblem that the mandates now required of all U.S. flags.

  “Let us say the pledge as the citizens of the United States once did. We do so not out of a need to agitate the authorities, but rather to honor the country that was the home to a good and honorable people. In my time, school children across the country began each school day reciting this pledge. Then the Grand Consulate of the New United Nations signed an executive order banning schools from requiring students to recite this very pledge. History, the history approved by the mandates, ignores that moment. For them, it does not exist. For me, I mark that moment as a signal of what was soon to follow. As each of us now understands too well, tyranny creeps before it overtakes. And so, if you so choose, join me in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.”

  Every person turned to face the small flag of the old America. I saw Mac’s hand cover his heart, and the hint of tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Every voice then rose up to join with the Old Man’s – it was the first time I had heard the pledge publicly in over twenty years.

  I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

  The Old Man then turned to make his way slowly down the steps of the stage and toward the exit at the other end of the hall. As his feet shuffled slowly with each step, he smiled and nodded to those who gathered on both sides of him.

  “They really love him don’t they Mac?”

  Mac too was following the Old Man’s departure.

  “Yeah, we do. And we want him to know that every time he makes himself available to us because we’re all well aware, it may be the last moment we have with him. Without him there’s no Dominatus. Without him, there’s no us.”

  VI.

  Once again I sat in the confines of Freedom Tavern – this time waiting for the Old Man’s granddaughter to arrive. It was nearly noon and Mac was preparing lunch for each of us behind the counter.

  “So, what did you think of this morning, Reese?”

  Mac continued working on the food, his eyes not looking up at me as he spoke, though I caught a hint of mischief in his voice.

  “Well, interesting I guess. Dr. Miller seemed nice. I would like to speak with him again. And meeting Mr. Meyer was amazing, after hearing about him for so long, to finally meet the man in person. He really does seem to be a remarkable individual, though I’m amazed someone that old manages to make his way around a place like this. It can’t be easy on him.”

  Mac presented a plate of smoked salmon, several slices of thick-crusted bread, mustard, and two large glasses of what both smelled and looked to be a particularly dark beer. He was already throwing slices of the salmon atop a piece of bread with mustard, and then washing all of it down with the beer. Between bites he managed to speak again.

  “What about Dublin? She’s rather remarkable too. You seemed to notice her as well.”

  Now I knew where the source of the mischief I sensed in Mac’s voice, while trying not to betray any embarrassment and pretending to focus entirely on the plate of food in front of me.

  “Yes – very pretty woman. Seems to care for her grandfather a great deal.”

  “That she does. She’s smart too. And strong willed. She’ll do a great job of showing you around Dominatus.”

  Mac paused for just a few seconds be
fore proceeding with yet another question.

  “So, you think you’ll be interviewing her as well? I mean, I assume you would. No reason not to, right?”

  I stopped chewing and looked directly at Mac, who returned my stare with a broad grin.

  “What? I say something wrong?”

  Shaking my head, I went back to the food – the smoked salmon was delicious.

  The entrance door opened behind me and I felt a rush of cold air from outside enter the room. I turned around expecting to see Dublin but instead it was tall man with the ponytail who had been at the tavern yesterday during Mac’s confrontation with Officer Denny.

  Mac shouted out a greeting.

  “Hey Keith, I don’t think I introduced you to Reese yesterday. Carol’s little visit sidetracked my good manners I suppose. Reese – this here is Keith Hughes, one of the guys who helps out with security around here. Keith – this is Reese Neeson. I told you about him a few weeks back, about him planning on visiting us.”

  Keith looked down at me and then to the almost completely depleted plate of food. His right hand shot out to grab the last remaining slice of bread and salmon as his left hand extended toward me, making itself available to shake my own. His grip was strong, the interior of his hand rough and calloused. I noted several tattoos that covered the exposed area of his forearm.

  “Nice to meet you Reese. Guess you brought us some excitement yesterday. That little shit Carol isn’t worth the trouble.”

  Mac placed a third glass of the dark beer in front of Keith.

  “Any reports of activity Keith? Word from the reservation?”

  Keith took a long drink from his glass, emptying half the contents before wiping his mouth with the back of a hand and giving Mac a response.

  “Nope. Quiet. Whatever threats Carol left here with seem to be empty. At least for now. No drones spotted. No sign of Carol at the reservation. No activity on the road up here. Nothing.”

  Mac looked at me and then nodded his head in Keith’s direction.

  “Keith was a biker – Hells Angels. How long ago did you come up here Keith?”

  Keith finished off the beer and his eyes gazed up at the low hanging ceiling of Freedom Tavern.

  “That would be, four, five years ago now. Me and my old lady were living in Portland. I did seven years for owning a shotgun. Assholes charged me with tax evasion and owning a gun. Same thing as Mac, they used the gun ban to send us away. Hell, the gun wasn’t even loaded. Old enough to be considered a damn antique. They found it in the back of a closet – knew exactly where to look too. The shells were kept in another room, locked up in a safe. The gun was my old man’s, was at least thirty…maybe forty years old. They found that shotgun and just smiled at me, said I was going away for a long time. And they were right about that. Seven years. Took everything I had to keep myself sane. The only thing that did it for me was knowing my old lady was waiting. She coulda packed it up and ran, but she didn’t. So, I got out, had heard about this place, actually heard about it inside, so as soon as I was out up we came. Mac met me on the trail, escorted me to the tavern here. People at the reservation had already notified him I was coming up. Met the Old Man himself and he said we could stay. Just like that. We built a little cabin. It’s a pretty sorry piece of work, but I love it out here. And I owe people like Mac, the Old Man…I owe them my life.”

  Keith looked at me and then back at Mac before his eyes returned to staring at the ceiling.

  “This is my home.”

  The three of us sat in silence for nearly a minute before Keith pointed over to the jukebox.

  “Where’s the music Mac?”

  Mac, who appeared to have been lost in his own thoughts, tapped the top of the bar.

  “Music? Right! Let’s crank that thing back up!”

  He strode to the end of the room and flipped on a wall switch, and the jukebox rattled somewhat reluctantly back to life, the first song of the newest day at Freedom Tavern was by a group that had called itself Alabama titled Mountain Music.

  Keith was clearly happy with the selection, loudly singing along to the first verse.

  “Now THAT’s more like it!”

  As Keith shouted his approval I felt another blast of cold air signaling the door was opening behind me again. This time it was the slight figure of Dublin that entered. Even though her face was partially hidden by the hood of her large winter jacket, I could see the flash of a smile as she caught Keith doing an awkward little dance to the song while Mac laughed out loud.

  I was startled and then fascinated as Dublin took several quick steps toward Keith, joining him in his comedic dance, her gloved hands rising above her head as her own laughter now mixed with Mac’s, who was now also dancing behind the bar, his hands clapping to the beat of the music.

  The more rational part of my mind took note of the surreal nature of the moment as I realized I was witnessing a former Hells Angel biker, a former Navy SEAL, and the granddaughter of a man who had been among the wealthiest men in the world, all dancing together to an old country song from some fifty years ago. The less rational part of me also began to realize I found Dublin Meyer to likely be the most attractive woman I had ever met.

  At little more than five feet tall, Dublin was dwarfed by the six-foot Keith, whose lanky body attempted a comically awkward twirl much to the delight of Dublin, who urged him on with yet more laughter. The hood of her coat had been removed from her head, allowing her long brown shoulder length hair to do its own dance as it moved from left to right around her. Mac continued pounding the top of the bar with one hand while the other extended an enthusiastic thumbs up to the dancing pair. Unlike yesterday, Mac now appeared much younger than his seventy three years.

  As the song ended, Keith collapsed into a chair, a wide grin breaking across his before then, perpetually sullen face as he prepared to light a cigarette. Dublin gave him a mock curtsey before doing a half skip-walk back toward me. I noted the handgun, like so many others I had seen in Dominatus, hanging from her hip.

  She sat next to me at the bar, as Mac placed a newly poured beer in front of her. Taking a drink, Dublin then turned to me, her dark eyes clearly evaluating this newest visitor to her home in the Alaskan wilderness.

  “So my grandfather tells me I should show you around Dominatus and answer any questions you have. He hopes to see you for dinner tonight as well.”

  Her voice was pleasant – soft, though with an underlying tone of strength. I panicked as I realized I had not responded to her comment, and panicked further as I glanced over at Mac who stood with arms crossed, grinning at my incompetent attempts at conversation with a woman I was becoming increasingly attracted to at seeming warp speed. Before my silence devolved into outright pathetic, I blurted out a reply.

  “Yeah…uh…that would be great. I would appreciate that very much. Your grandfather is an amazing man. Really, all this…it’s really something. I mean…really-really something.”

  My god! I had spent years crafting words and none of that experience, nor those words, were available to me now.

  Dublin’s eyebrows raised slightly, followed by the smile I had seen peeking out from under her hood earlier.

  “Yes – Grandfather is an amazing man. Is that what brought you all the way up here to Dominatus? To meet him?”

  “No…not…not entirely. No. I…my father had told me about this place years ago. Many times since then, and…he died. Last year. And…I wanted to see it. He told me to come see it, so…it’s part of what I do. My uh…my program. My communications.”

  Dublin took another drink from her beer.

  “I heard about your dad. Mac has told me some of that. So has my grandfather. And I’ve listened to your program. Quite a bit actually. You’re something of a celebrity around here. Around a lot of places I imagine.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I would call myself a celebrity. I hope I give a voice to some people, that’s all. I’m trying to stop everyone from forgetting how great this coun
try used to be. Maybe, just maybe we can get it back if enough people remember, or learn about it. Learn about places like Dominatus. People like your grandfather.”

  As our conversation continued, I found myself more at ease, and realized Dublin had allowed me to speak about my own interest as a way of accomplishing this. It was a gesture a less empathetic person would not have bothered with.

  She leaned into me, placing her right hand on my arm and squeezing gently. I fought the urge to inhale too deeply, so appreciative I was of the gesture.

  “So you’re here to tell the story of Dominatus – is that it?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly it. With their permission, the people here, your grandfather, that’s what I’m hoping to do. I think it’s a story that needs to be heard by as many others as possible.”