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

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Wait – the events in Benghazi really happened, but I never had this particular conversation with Benny. This can’t be real.

  Somehow Benny heard Mac’s own thoughts, causing him to break out in laughter again. Benny always seemed to be in a good mood, even during some seriously dangerous situations. It made the fact the report of his suicide upon his return to the States that much more unbelievable. They had killed Benny as sure as they killed the others and imprisoned Mac.

  We simply knew too much and what we knew made us not worth the risk. We had outgrown our usefulness to them.

  “You got that right, we knew too damn much. As for this conversation, you’re right, Mac. We never had it back then in Benghazi. We had others. I bet you remember Jack warning us how bad things were getting. The NSA surveillance of everyone from Senators to the little old lady next door. The odd behavior in the White House. All the cover ups, the lies, how afraid everyone was getting. Couldn’t trust nobody no more. Not CIA. Not military. We were screwed from the get go when we took that job.”

  “Why are you here, Benny? This is some dream, right?”

  Benny walked up to Mac and hugged him. Hugged him tight. Mac was surprised how real it felt. Surprised too how he found himself hugging Benny back.

  “This is as real as it needs to be, Mac. Call it a dream, call it a vision, call it the here and now. It’s all those things and anything else you need it to be.”

  Benny looked just as he did the last time Mac had seen him alive. Tall, strong, a round kind face with deep set dark eyes, his slightly receding closely shaved hairline sitting atop his brown, smooth forehead. Like Mac, Benjamin Williams had spent years honing his skills in the American military, and then later, as a hired gun for the U.S. government – actions people like them simply called “off the books” operations.

  “So did you kill yourself Benny? Like they said?”

  Benny’s face flashed anger – a rare occurrence.

  “Hell no, Mac. You know me better than that. They were in my house when I got home. A little needle in the back of my neck and I was immobilized. Still conscious, but couldn’t move.”

  “They got you with a paralytic.”

  Benny nodded back to Mac.

  “That’s right. We used that stuff a little ourselves didn’t we? In fact, the whole thing went down just like we would have done it. They sat me down in my own chair, in my own kitchen, already had a suicide note ready to go that looked like my own handwriting. Placed the gun in my hand, put it to my head, and pulled the trigger. Murder by suicide.”

  Mac looked back at Benny, noting how calm the man was even when describing how he had been killed.

  “How’d they get past the toxicology? Avoid traces of the paralytic coming up in the report?”

  Benny put a finger to the side of his forehead and tapped it lightly.

  “Think, Mac. What did they have us do right before we were sent off to Libya?”

  A light went on in Mac’s head.

  “The physicals. They drew blood. Everything.”

  Benny was nodding.

  “That’s right – they already had the report ready. Had a kill option for each of us if we learned too much. We always thought we were so smart. Thing is, we underestimated just how evil the people whose checks we were cashing really were. How easily they were ready to kill off their own. So they manufactured an entire autopsy report, had one of their own sign off on it, had me cremated, and that was that. The investigation was opened and quickly closed. I killed myself. That’s what they said, what the report said, and nobody with any kind of authority even thought to question it. I know you did…but by then, you were already in as much danger as I was.”

  Mac had carried a deep guilt over the loss of his team, always wondering if he could have found a way to protect them.

  “I couldn’t protect you, Benny. You, Jack, Minnick, I should have done something. It was my job – protecting you.”

  Benny smiled back at Mac.

  “You always thought you could save everyone, didn’t you? None of us went into that world blind. We all made a choice. We were paid and paid well, knew the risks. Don’t bother with guilt…or regret. Life’s too short, Mac. You’ve done well for yourself since then. More importantly – you’ve done well for a lot of other people. All those years you helped protect them in Dominatus. All those lives you saved. And you’re doing it again, Mac. One last time. Finish this mission. You’re close. So close.”

  Mac looked down at the desert sands outside the Benghazi safe house, doubt creeping into his mind once again.

  “I’m too old, Benny. Too sick. Too tired. You know, I’ve never really been right since Benghazi. The whole thing changed for me back then. Our own government running those weapons – the dirty bombs. How they killed off that ambassador. I still can’t believe we had fallen so far. That the people put in power individuals so willing to sacrifice so many, just to consolidate their own power. That’s the part I just can’t understand. The goddamn motivation to do such a thing.”

  Benjamin Williams placed a hand on each of Mac’s shoulders and gently squeezed them.

  “You can’t understand evil, Mac. No matter how you might try, evil is just too incomprehensible. People like us, we thought we were fighting for the good guys. Hell, we thought we were the good guys. And when that all gets turned upside down, it doesn’t make much sense. I get that. You are one of the good guys though, Mac. And this thing you’re doing right now…this trip to the priest in Churchill, it can change the world. Do you realize that, Mac? The weapon is real. It exists and it’s there waiting for someone to put it into action. You can take back some of what was lost here in Benghazi all those years ago.”

  Mac stepped away from Benny and looked up into the bright blue Libyan sky above him.

  “You’re just my own mind talking to me, Benny. You’re not here. This isn’t real. Maybe the priest is real, the weapon. I’m willing to try and find out, but you’re just my own guilt talking back to me. You’re gone, dead. A long time ago…”

  Mac looked down to find Benny gone. He stood alone outside the Benghazi safe house. Half hidden in the sand next to his feet was a scrap of weathered paper that moved slightly as a warm breeze blew across the open desert.

  This isn’t real. None of this is real. Benny is dead. They’re all…dead. And soon I’ll be dead too and that will be that. No God. No afterlife. Just…nothing.

  Mac’s mind continued to replay that thought as he leaned over to pick up the scrap of paper. Its surface was slightly rough, weathered, and on it he found a brief, handwritten message:

  The beginning of the new beginning

  Mac instantly recognized the words. They were the very words inscribed on the grave of the Old Man just outside his cabin in Dominatus. The words Alexander David Meyer had used to describe the events of the attack on Dominatus, when he believed that attack and their successful defense of Dominatus would initiate a second revolution throughout the United States. The Old Man had been right, to a degree. Many did rise up against the New United Nations, though not so many to ensure a clear victory, a victory that now appeared as uncertain as ever.

  Peering more closely at the message, Mac found himself smiling at what he saw.

  Not only were the words written down those of the Old Man, so too was the handwriting…

  XXXVIII.

  The Great Consulate had to stop. He could feel his heart pounding inside of his chest as he leaned against the cool wall of his residence. Below his feet lay the body of the adviser – the body he had spent the last twenty minutes slowly pulling across the floor toward the entrance to his killing room where a very hungry seeker awaited.

  The effort to move her to that entrance was proving more difficult than the Great Consulate had anticipated. He hadn’t believed it possible for her to be so heavy, or himself so weak. Perhaps a bit of rest was needed. Another cigarette and some candy corn to replenish his strength. Yes…that was a good idea.

&nbs
p; Walking back to the main room, the Great Consulate sat in his favorite chair facing the massive window that overlooked Manhattan, where he could trace the slow paths of the multiple drones that flew over the heads of the millions below who resided in New York. Next to that seat he always made certain to keep a carton of cigarettes and a glass bowl filled with his beloved candy corns.

  For nearly an hour the Great Consulate sat smoking cigarette after cigarette while slowly sucking the sugary sweetness of the Candy Corns as they dissolved against his blackened gums. His one remaining lung sucked in the wondrous nicotine infused smoke of the cigarettes that he had especially made for him. Each deep breath helped to calm the Great Consulate, relax his mind, and allow him to more capably form required strategies.

  There was a faint sound behind him. Something was moving in the residence.

  Rising from his chair, the Great Consulate turned to see the adviser walking toward him, her eyes appearing to glow in the constant dim lighting of the main room. She didn’t appear pleased with him as her right hand slowly massaged the area around her neck – the very neck the Great Consulate had so recently thought to have squeezed the life from her.

  “All of my years of service to you, all of my efforts, the investments, the counsel, and THIS is how you repay me? You would kill me with your own pathetic, putrid, filthy hands?”

  Her voice was venom. Fear welled up within the Great Consulate. Fear, and regret for what he had attempted to do to her. It had been foolish. Rash. Not at all well thought out. It had been the voice that had told him to do it. The same voice that was now so strangely silent.

  “What were you going to do with me? Feed me to that disgusting pet you’re keeping in that room of yours? Really? You know, that program, the seeker program, you have access to that only because I have allowed it. ME. Do you understand? All of the resources, all the time, all the aborted fetuses that have been used for its development…all of that happened because I convinced the Consulate to allow it. And it can be taken away from you JUST LIKE THAT. The only reason it has been continued is because it actually has purpose. It has a viable, operative purpose to our surveillance program. In fact, those seekers are, and have been for some time, considered more valuable to the government than you are. Do you understand?”

  The Great Consulate rose up to his full height, his jaw jutting out defiantly as he had done so often years ago when the world willingly bowed at his feet.

  “The seekers are mine, and mine alone.”

  The adviser laughed shrilly, then suddenly stopped as she jabbed a finger at him.

  “You have NOTHING that is not given to you by me. And I only give what the Saudis and others deem acceptable. The seeker program was developed with New United Nations funding. The seekers’ movements are closely monitored by our surveillance teams across the country. You have no claim to them, just as you have no claim to anything. Everything, including yourself, is government property.

  You may stay here, for now. Live in this filth. I will continue to see your cigarettes and your candy corns and your human toys delivered per your requests just as I have always done for you all of these years. Know this though, the time is coming when I will have you removed from this place. Your existence is proving increasingly tedious. You long ago became a burden to us rather than the asset you once were. That change has been your doing. Continue to monitor the seekers yourself, if you find some entertainment in that. That is no concern of mine. What is my concern is destroying the rebellion in Texas and elsewhere. As I told you earlier, the Muslims are already preparing to attack Alaska. That is mere days away. First they will take out that pathetic outpost called Wilfrid. From there we drone bomb Juneau and let the Muslims sweep across every city and town and do with them what they will. Within days the Alaskans will be begging for us to save them.”

  The Great Consulate looked outside at a drone passing directly in front of his window.

  “And what about the Dominatus survivors? The ones who left Alaska?”

  The adviser smirked, her eyes also following the path of the nearby drone.

  “I’m certain they think they have some plan. Perhaps another silly radio message? Or maybe they are simply escaping to somewhere else they think themselves safe. It’s not a priority, merely an annoyance, as they have always been to us.”

  It was the Great Consulate’s turn to smirk as his heavy lidded eyes looked back at the adviser.

  “We underestimated them before, and they destroyed many of our drones.”

  The adviser was already making her way toward the exit door. Without looking back at him, she responded to the Great Consulate’s concerns.

  “That won’t happen again. You sent all of your seekers after them, right? I’m certain they’ll eliminate them once and for all. And if they don’t I will have all the time in the world to take care of it myself.”

  Just before reaching the door, the adviser paused, and again without looking back, she addressed the Great Consulate.

  “Oh, and if you had any intentions of accessing the blocked silo codes, don’t bother. You can’t. Those codes were made obsolete and the warheads were dismantled almost ten years ago. The Saudis have always preferred more conventional forms of global disruption.”

  She was gone, leaving the Great Consulate alone once again, just as he preferred it.

  “You should have killed her! She will kill you first! How could you be so stupid! And she knew about your plans for the silo codes already?”

  Ah, the voice had finally returned to him. The voice was right of course, the adviser certainly did appear ready to eliminate him at some point in the near future. The Great Consulate was certain his seekers killing the Dominatus survivors would impress the Saudis just enough though, to allow him more time to deal with the adviser.

  “She treats you like a dog! Like a child! You must fight back!”

  The Great Consulate lit yet another cigarette and stared out the window as night fell over the city, the New United Nations building casting a massive shadow over the tiny figures that scurried in the streets far below. He would fight back. And soon. First though, his seekers would destroy all of them on that silly train. Did they think themselves safe as they travelled to wherever they intended to go? Idiots. Kill the Dominatus survivors, regain the favor of the Saudis, and find himself returned to his rightful place of glory, a god among the pathetic creatures of this world.

  XXXIX.

  The godfather watched as the Muslims entered Wilfrid. Hundreds of them drove or walked down the streets of what the welcome sign read as “the last real hometown on earth”, breaking windows, stealing food, looking for residents. They would find none though – they had been sent off to an encampment nearly five miles north of Wilfrid where they had been ordered to remain until he contacted them to say it was ok to return.

  For weeks his security forces had indicated an uptick in Muslim bandit activity. The arrival of Mac and the others from Dominatus confirmed this activity after they too had been attacked so close to Wilfrid. In years past, such attacks only took place much further to the south.

  It would seem the Vancouver warlord had been given both ammunition and permission to move a large Muslim force into parts of Alaska – Wilfrid was no doubt intended to be a nice little snack on their way to that much larger prize.

  The godfather had made other plans though, plans that would no doubt inflict an incredible price against these Muslim scum he had spent so much of his life fighting against. These radicalized animals who raped and beheaded women and children at every given opportunity. They would not have the opportunity now though. Not today. The godfather, as always, was prepared.

  He counted at least four hundred who had already entered Wilfrid in the last twenty minutes, with handfuls more still straggling in. Military trucks, groups of heavily armed men, and even an old Vietnam era M113 armored assault vehicle. Reports had been coming in over the last forty eight hours of movements on the main roads from Vancouver up to Kitimat,
and from there on the secondary roads toward Wilfrid.

  A message from the Russian’s wife confirmed the Dominatus survivors and Yakov had departed almost a full day earlier on their way toward Manitoba by the time the Muslim bandits began converging just outside Wilfrid. That would likely put them well past Terrace by now. From there the godfather knew the speed at which the train could take them toward Manitoba would keep them well away from the trouble now visiting Wilfrid, trouble he intended to take care of very soon.

  The godfather placed a microphone directly in front of him and powered it on, waiting a moment to confirm the intercom system was operating. He could hear his breathing bouncing back and forth between the numerous speakers that were hidden throughout Wilfrid. Some of the Muslim bandits were already looking up, wondering where the noise was coming from.