Drone Wars 1: The Beginning

by Mike Whitworth

  "The president is currently building an army of DIS agents who swear loyalty to him, and not to the United States of America, or to our Constitution. The president is simply an employee of the people. We pay his salary. If you owned a business, would you swear fealty to your janitor and then follow his orders on how to run your business and live your life while letting him spend almost all of your money?"

  "I do not believe that any president of the United States who would murder American citizens with no due process deserves the office.” The man paused for almost ten seconds.

  "That's a fact," one of the bar patrons said.

  "Yeah, we should kill the POTUS son of a bitch," another patron said holding his beer up to toast the crowd. There was much clinking of glassware and reaffirmation that that son of a bitch in the White House needed to be killed.

  The bar grew quiet again when the man on the video said, "We are leading the effort to replace all of the corrupt lawmakers, justices, and members of the executive offices in Washington, D.C. with honest people who love America and Americans. It is also our intention to remove any high-ranking federal officials who have blatantly disobeyed constitutional law. This is not a coup. We are not seeking power. We wish only to return the power to the people as our Founding Fathers wished."

  "Thomas Jefferson said, 'when the people fear their government, there is tyranny; when the government fears the people, there is liberty.' It is time for the people to stop fearing our corrupt and evil government. Rather, it is time that the government fears us."

  "I used the word we in describing the people I work with and for. By now you're probably asking just who we are? At present, we are a loose organization of patriots, a militia in the original sense of the word. We have no name. That is because we are you; Americans throughout our land who are loyal to America and her Constitution."

  "Some of you may have heard of Tench Coxe, and some of you may have not. Tench Coxe was one of our Founding Fathers here in America. Listen to his words from 1778:"

  "Who are the militia? Are they not ourselves? Is it feared, then, that we shall turn our arms each man gainst his own bosom. Congress have no power to disarm the militia. Their swords, and every other terrible implement of the soldier, are the birthright of an American.... The unlimited power of the sword is not in the hands of either the federal or state governments, but, where I trust in God it will ever remain, in the hands of the people."

  "Look around you. There may be one of us sitting beside you. We are legion. No one of us knows everyone else. However, I know that there are very many of us patriots, and only a few of the evil ones occupying offices, both appointed and elected, in our corrupt government. Therefore, this video is a warning to those members of our rogue government. We, the People, are coming for you. You cannot stop us. The best thing you can do is resign your position or office and leave the country, if you are able. Do it now, or face hanging for your crimes of treason."

  A loud cheer rang through the bar as everyone stood. "It's about time somebody got rid of these government sons of bitches," Bill said. "What I want to know is where do I join up with these guys?"

  The video ran on for a few seconds and then ended. Everyone in the bar was disappointed. They wanted to hear more. They re-watched the video half a dozen times throughout the night, and animated conversations continued until dawn.

  Near Kansas City

  "How did the video do?” I asked Peggy.

  "It has only been out four days now and we have had over five million internet views. The feds managed to take it down three times, but I put it back up using different accounts and different video hosting sites. I also posted comments to a number of conservative and liberal blogs, using fake IDs and IP addresses with the help of our hacker friends. Those comments drove a lot of traffic to our video. If we can keep it online for another week or so, I expect the views to top 20 million."

  "I expect the feds are countering this video somehow?” I asked.

  "In addition to removing our video from the internet when they can, they are erasing all of the evidence of you and your wife's existence in every data base they have access too, which, of course, is essentially all of them."

  "Does that mean I don't have to pay taxes any more?” I joked.

  "Well, since our hacker friends are hacking you back into the databases as soon as the feds remove you, I don't think you will be that lucky," Peggy smiled. "At least once we win this thing."

  "At that point, I will be glad to pay taxes," I said.

  Chapter 21: NORTH CAROLINA

  "A blind and deaf person is better informed than those who ingest only mainstream news.” John Debrouillard

  Tupelo, Mississippi

  They split up in Tupelo. Lorne and Doc drove off in a flashy red sports car headed for Kansas City, Missouri. Myrtle and Lowboy watched them drive away. Gwen was already in the back seat of the crew cab pickup truck. The three of them were going to a safe location in North Carolina. Lorne set it up for them to work as support for a group of 'rebellious nerds' who were designing a shotgun-fired, short range, remote-controlled missile that carried enough high explosives to destroy a small tank. The first prototype was ready to be tested. Myrtle called it a modern grenade launcher, but apparently the term mini-missile was more popular among the nerds.

  On the road, Gwen slept in the back seat with her .380 in her hand. Myrtle and Lowboy carried on a conversation as easily as if they had known each other all of their lives. When asked how he got his name, Myrtle told the story to Lowboy.

  "Ok then," Myrtle asked when he finished. "How did you get the name Lowboy?"

  "My real name is Marion Wilcox," Lowboy said. "How I got the name Lowboy isn't something I want to tell in front of Miss Gwen."

  "I think she is asleep," Myrtle said.

  Lowboy glanced into the backseat and rubbed his beard. "Well, it came about in the Marine Corps. The guys in my platoon gave me the nickname."

  "Was it because you could carry heavy stuff like a lowboy trailer used to move heavy equipment?” Myrtle asked.

  Lowboy hung his head, "No, it was because my balls hang down almost halfway to my knees."

  Myrtle said, "Hey, that's not so bad. I have heard much worse nicknames," Myrtle reached over and shook Lowboy's hand. "I won't tell," he promised.

  "Well I just might," Gwen piped up from the back seat.

  Lowboy put his huge head in his hands. "You wouldn't do that to me, now would you Miss Gwen?"

  Gwen laughed, "No, I reckon not. A man's balls are his own business. When do we get to our destination, Myrtle?"

  "In about an hour Ma'am," Myrtle chuckled and glanced at Lowboy.

  Washington, D.C.

  The president signed the paper with a flourish. "Well, this ought to take care of it," he said. "I just love executive orders. The people of America are just plain stupid. They should just do what I say. Fortunately, the power to write executive orders allows me to force them to do exactly as I say."

  "Yes Sir, Mr. President," the secretary of the Department of Interior Security said.

  "Congress is a bunch of imbeciles. It would take them 100 years to pass the legislation I want passed. The executive order that I just signed bans all guns in the United States, except, of course, in the hands of federal police and military on station outside U.S. borders. It wouldn't be wise to let military personal have easy access to weapons here in the U.S., especially since so many voted against me in the last election. We will go out and take the guns from anyone who will not turn them into us. These weak-minded fools will give them to us while they are shaking in fear and shitting in their pants. We have drones, we have a one-million-man federal police force, and we have digital surveillance, visual surveillance, satellite surveillance, and many, many other tools to control the population. There is no way that the people can resist me."

  "I think some of them may try, Mr. President," the secretary of the Department of Interior Security said. "Remember our experiences in Afghanist
an and the Russian experience in Afghanistan, Sir? The population there was never unarmed by either of two superpowers. The Afghans even made rifles and ammunition from scratch using nothing but hand tools. I don't see Americans being any less difficult than the Afghan people."

  "I disagree," the president scowled at the secretary, tempted to fire him for his impertinence. "Only a few people will resist," the president laughed. "And we will make an example of them."

  "Yes Sir, Mr. President."

  "Get notification out to the press on this executive order. Especially, let them know that there is a 30-day grace period for citizens to turn in their firearms."

  "Yes Sir Mr. President, I will get right on it."

  "Good. Now listen closely. I have something else I want you to do as well."

  "Yes Mr. President."

  "I want you to pick out a small town, preferably fairly rural, where gun ownership is moderate. Look for a town in which less than 15% of the people own firearms. That will probably make it on the East Coast or the West Coast. Once you have identified a likely town and checked with me on it, I want you to take 5000 federal police and take that town apart door by door. Each and every time you find a firearm in a house, kill every occupant of the house–man, woman, and child."

  "Mr. President, that sounds overly harsh," the secretary said.

  "It will get the people's attention," the president smiled. "After that, we will have no problem collecting all the weapons from the people."

  "Yes Sir, Mr. President. I will make arrangements for that to be carried out after the 30-day waiting period is over."

  "No," the president laughed. "Do it 10 days from today."

  "Yes Mr. President," the secretary said. "I will get right on it."

  The president watched the secretary leave his office. It made the president feel good to see that the secretary of the Department of Interior Security was afraid of him and that the secretary's knees were slightly shaking. The president liked the feeling he got when people feared him. Yes, he could see this was going to be a good day.

  The Farm, North Carolina

  Jonas Talisman was putting the finishing touches on the second prototype of the shotgun mini-missile. Jonas enjoyed his work, always. He reflected that he was a nerd, and had always been a nerd. He didn't mind a bit.

  Jonas was tall, almost 6 feet 4, six feet three and five eighths inches, to be exact, and he weighed 138 pounds. His idol was Nikola Tesla, the man who invented the alternating current transmission system and the alternating current electric motor and generator. Jonas had done his best to emulate Tesla since he was a small boy. He thought he had succeeded rather well in some ways, yet not nearly as well as he would've liked and others. He mused that he was almost two inches taller than Nikola Tesla and weighed four pounds less. He wasn't sure if he would ever match Tesla's brainpower though, even though sometimes he felt he might come close.

  Jonas was 25 years old, held a PhD in electronics and another PhD in physics with a minor in rocket science, as well as Master's degrees in both mechanical and chemical engineering. He was a genius, profoundly gifted, with a personality that made it extremely difficult for him to get along with anyone, including himself. Jonas had no illusions about his lack of people skills.

  He was, however, dedicated to the Constitution of the United States of America. Jonas had first read the Constitution of the United States when he was two years old. It made an indelible impression on him, then and now.

  Jonas regarded the drafters of the Constitution as being some of the most politically intelligent people in the history of the world. Most perhaps not as intelligent as Nikola Tesla, who was a genius of first magnitude, but certainly true geniuses of the practical. Except, of course, Thomas Jefferson, who was absolutely brilliant.

  Once John F. Kennedy held a dinner for the brightest people in the country. Looking over all of the geniuses in the room Kennedy said:

  "This is perhaps the assembly of the most intelligence ever to gather at one time in the White House with the exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined here alone."

  The United States was a successful experiment unlike any other in the history of mankind. It was a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. As described in the Constitution, it was the most effective approach to peaceful coexistence mankind had ever evolved. Jonas did not believe that he could exist under any other type of government.

  Jonas was not a joiner, nor was he a follower, nor was he a leader. Jonas was unique. Jonas was simply Jonas. All Jonas wanted to do was what Jonas wanted to do. That was mostly research and creating things that had never existed before.

  Jonas had no urge to hurt anyone, nor did he have any urge to let anyone hurt him. In truth, he was most content when no one else was near him and he was alone. However, a few years ago when he had realized that the United States of America was rapidly changing toward a communist form of government that had no respect for the Constitution, Jonas quietly, deliberately, and determinedly became a resistor. After doing about six months of very hush-hush part-time research, he identified Lorne Vanders as someone who was highly likely to believe that the current government had gone rogue, and who had the influence and money to do something about it.

  That was why Jonas quit his job at the university, where he had been a tenured professor since the age of 17, and showed up on Lorne's doorstep. A week later, he had his own laboratory and staff in an isolated location in the mountains of North Carolina.

  He informed Lorne that, because he had essentially no people skills, it would not do for him to be in charge of his own staff. Lorne laughed and made arrangements for Jonas to have a chief of staff who would remove the responsibility of dealing with people and finances from him. It was a situation that worked very well for Jonas, if not Porter, his chief of staff.

  Now, three years later, Jonas was working on a project that was not even his own idea, a shotgun-fired, drone mini-missile. That was a first for him. However, the concept was tactically brilliant and fit the potential needs of his patriots, as Jonas liked to think of the constitutional supporters he was working so hard to support.

  Jonas doubted anyone else in the world could put this project together as well as he could, or as quickly. He had been working on the project for almost two weeks now, and was now on his second prototype, which he was sure would work quite well, although there were a few tweaks he still wanted to include.

  He laughed again because, while he knew how the single barrel shotgun on the bench before him worked in theory, he had never fired a gun in his life. His one irrational fear in life was of guns. Intellectually, he knew there was nothing to be afraid of, nor was he opposed to them, but his fear of guns was so intense that he often got sick to his stomach when he even looked at one.

  He was hoping that at least with the second prototype, he would be able to pick up the single barrel shotgun and fire the test missile. He had tried to do that with the first prototype, but had gotten sick to his stomach and puked before he could touch the shotgun. To their credit, none of the staff laughed at him. That made him happy—after he cleaned up anyway. All of his life other people made fun of him, even at the university. He had grown to expect it; therefore it surprised him greatly when the staff did not.

  Lowboy drove the truck up the winding, tree-lined road that climbed beside the small, rapidly rushing mountain stream. Myrtle was asleep in the back seat and Gwen sat in the front passenger seat, her .380 still clasped in her hand. They turned into a small farm lane that looked seldom used and, for 20 minutes, the truck bounced over ruts and rocks until an old farmstead came into view. The house was small and unpainted and the small barn backed up into a steep hillside in the style of some of the older Smokey Mountain, high-country barns.

  As they pulled into the yard a man dressed in ragged overalls came out of the house and opened the barn door. He gestured for Lowboy to drive the truck into the barn and so Lowboy did.

  Outside, the barn was sided with
weathered boards that only occasionally carried traces of the original red paint. Even though the barn had a new metal roof, the overall milieu was that of a never quite prosperous farm that was now rundown to the point of being unprofitable, if not uninhabitable.

  Inside the barn, the difference was astonishing. The inside opened up into a cavernous section excavated into the hill behind. There was a new concrete floor, newly finished walls, and electric lights, and several quite large bays where numerous vehicles were parked. The man in overalls directed Lowboy into an empty space.

  Lowboy parked and then stepped out of the truck and closed the door. The man in the overalls opened the passenger door for Gwen and helped her out of the truck. Myrtle was still asleep in the backseat so Lowboy opened the rear door and shook Myrtle's shoulder. Myrtle awoke and groggily crawled out of the truck. The fellow in the ragged overalls introduced himself.

  "My name is Porter, Lyle Porter," he said. "I am sort of in charge here."

  "My name is Myrtle," Myrtle stuck his hand out and shook hands with the fellow in overalls. "Don't laugh. I'll tell you the story of how I got my name later.” The fellow in the overalls grinned and shook hands with Myrtle.

  "My name is Lowboy," Lowboy said. "And I ain't gonna tell you how I got the name, so don't even ask.” Gwen laughed quietly and then introduced herself.

  "My name is Gwen, Mr. Porter," she said. "I'm pleased to meet you."

  "I'm pleased to meet you too Ma'am. If you folks will follow me I will get you settled.” The three of them followed Porter to a small room in the older part of the barn that looked like a feed room. Porter opened the door and, instead of feed, there was a stairwell leading downward. "Follow me folks.” Porter said and started down the stairs.