Tyranny

by William W. Johnstone

  “And doing this,” Miranda said.

  “Definitely and doing this,” he agreed with a grin.

  “Well,” she said, “it’ll be over sooner or later, and with any luck we won’t both be in prison or dead.”

  Kyle’s forehead creased. He said, “If you were trying to lighten the mood, I’d say you failed.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She sighed. “But we have to be realistic. This could end badly. For G.W., for you and me . . . for everybody.”

  “That’s true. But I guess there have never been any guarantees in life, have there? And people still . . . fall in love anyway.”

  “Yes,” Miranda whispered. “In the worst possible circumstances . . . people still fall in love.”

  He bent his head down and kissed her again, and they were both so caught up in each other that neither of them noticed the shadowy form moving from the corner of the house toward the road leading to the gate.

  The crowd at the fence had remained fairly large most of the day, but as evening approached more of the defenders had gone back to the ranch headquarters to be with their families. Half a dozen men remained on guard at the gate, all of them armed. If anyone approached, they would alert the others at the ranch house by phone.

  G.W. Brannock walked warily as he approached the gate. He didn’t want to startle any of the sentries. They weren’t professionals; there was no telling what they might do if they got spooked. So when he was close enough, Brannock called, “Howdy, boys! It’s just me.”

  A man Brannock recognized as Thad Bowman came up to him and asked, “Is anything wrong, sir? I mean, beyond the obvious?”

  “Nope, I just wanted to come out here and spend a little time with you fellas. You’ve all gone out of your way to give me a hand, and I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Brannock,” another man said as he approached. “It’s an honor for us to help you.”

  A third man came up and said, “It’s not often everyday folks like us get to take a stand and do something as important as this. I sort of feel like . . . well, like the freedom of the whole country might be at stake here.”

  “That’s right,” Bowman said. “If the government can get away with stealing your ranch from you, what will they try next? Who will they come after and try to ruin?”

  “Somebody who’s not a Democrat, you can bet on that!” another man responded with a laugh. The rest of them joined in. Even Brannock chuckled.

  He said, “You know, when I was a young man, I never put much stock in which political party somebody belonged to. The way I figured, there were good and bad folks and good and bad ideas on both sides. That’s the way it ought to be. Maybe that’s the way it really was back then, or maybe I just didn’t know any better. But over the past forty or fifty years, it’s sure changed. There might still be a few good people over there on the other side, but they’re fightin’ for bad ideas. Evil ideas that are gonna wind up ruinin’ this country. I don’t care how misguided you are, when you set out to destroy America, you’ve got to be stopped.”

  “Amen,” several of the men said.

  Brannock grinned and said, “Well, I didn’t mean to go to preachin’. It’s liable to be pretty chilly out here by mornin’. Might be a good idea to build a little fire. Plenty of mesquite around to use for firewood.”

  It wasn’t long before the men had a small but cheerful blaze going at the side of the road. As they hunkered around it, including Brannock, one of the men said, “You know, this is sort of like the old days, like the night before a battle like Gettysburg or Bull Run, and we’re sitting here with General Lee himself.”

  Brannock laughed and said, “Lord, don’t go comparin’ me to Robert E. Lee. I never commanded an army in my life, or much of anything else. Never had any ambition to. But I’ve studied enough history to know that if there’s a battle, I sure hope it turns out more like Bull Run for our side. The damn Yankees won at Gettysburg!”

  Despite their determination to remain vigilant, by the wee hours of the morning all the guards were stretched out on the ground, asleep. Brannock still sat beside what was left of the fire, which had burned down to embers. He remained there all night, his mind full of thoughts.

  Because of that, he was awake and alert when vehicles running without lights slid to a stop on the highway outside the gate. Brannock heard the hiss of their broad tires on asphalt as they approached. He reached over, picked up a shotgun one of the sleeping men had set aside before dozing off, and rolled away from the embers into deeper shadows.

  He moved through the blackness like a phantom as he went toward the gate, sticking to the low brush that provided a little cover. A dozen armored vehicles had stopped on the shoulder of the highway. Men were getting out quietly. Brannock felt confident that Slade Grayson was among them.

  He slipped his cell phone from his pocket and turned so that his body would shield the glow of the screen as he turned it on. The phone came on, all right, but it blinked NO SERVICE at him.

  Brannock frowned. That didn’t make any sense. Sure, West Texas was isolated, but cell service in this area was good. He’d never had any trouble making calls before.

  Suddenly, he had a hunch that none of the phones belonging to the other men would work, either. With the resources of the government at his beck and call, Grayson would have been able to persuade the carriers in this area to shut down their towers and kill all the service. He wouldn’t want civilian calls going in or out.

  Knock out the enemy’s communications, Brannock thought, and you’ve taken a vital step in winning a battle.

  But not the only step, he thought. Not by a long shot.

  Several men were approaching the gate. Brannock was close enough to hear one of them give a whispered order.

  “Blow the damned thing down.”

  That was Grayson’s voice. Brannock was able to tell which of the shadowy figures it belonged to, so he leveled the shotgun at that one as he stepped into the open and said in a loud, clear voice, “The only thing that’s gonna get blown down is you, Grayson, if you don’t back off.”

  Chapter 52

  Grayson let out a startled curse, then yelled, “It’s

  Brannock! Shoot him! Shoot the fool!”

  The other men hesitated, though, instead of blindly following Grayson’s order, and that gave Brannock time to warn again, “If anybody opens fire, I’m gonna blow your head off, mister.”

  Grayson must have heard the sincere threat in Brannock’s voice, because he said hastily, “Hold on, hold on.”

  One of the other men said, “There’s no need for anybody to start shooting. Mr. Brannock, you’ve been legally served with the paperwork giving possession of this ranch to the Bureau of Land Management. I’m asking you to comply with this order and vacate the property peacefully.”

  “This is my land,” Brannock said, “and the state of Texas is workin’ on provin’ that.”

  “We’re federal agents,” the man said. He carried a rifle and wore body armor and a helmet, as did the other men. “We’re not required to follow the laws of the individual states.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s one of the things that’s wrong with this country today,” snapped Brannock. “Used to be the states had some rights, and that meant somethin’. You fellas have stolen that away. And I do mean stolen—just like Grayson here is tryin’ to steal my land for some reason.”

  “We’re wasting time here,” Grayson said. “Put down the gun, old man, or people are going to die.”

  From behind Brannock, Thad Bowman said, “You’re sure right about that, you son of a bitch.”

  The confrontation at the fence must have awakened the other defenders, thought Brannock as Bowman and the other men stepped up on either side of them, rifles and shotguns at the ready.

  “None of our phones work,” Bowman said, confirming Brannock’s suspicions of a few minutes earlier, “but I told one of the guys to get back to the ranch as quick as he can and let the others know what’s happen
ing.”

  As if to punctuate Bowman’s words, a pickup engine roared to life, and the vehicle took off with a spurt of dirt and gravel from the tires as the driver floored the gas.

  “We need to get in there now!” Grayson told the man who seemed to be in command of the other agents. “Come on, Lassiter! Do something!”

  The agent called Lassiter said, “Mr. Brannock, you know we’re coming in there one way or the other, so you might as well stand down and let us do this peacefully. There’s no need for anyone’s blood to be spilled.”

  The eastern sky was turning gray with the approach of dawn. There was already enough light for Brannock to make out the figures on both sides of the fence. The defenders were outnumbered, but their guns were up.

  So were the rifles of the federal agents. All it would take was a single shot to set off a storm of gunfire that would probably leave everyone on this side of the fence dead. But some of the government men would die, too.

  More men would arrive from the ranch headquarters in a matter of minutes, Brannock knew. That would tip the odds in their favor, although there was no telling what sort of armament those federal agents might have in those armored vehicles. They might cut loose with machine guns that would mow down Brannock and all his allies.

  The idea that popped into Brannock’s head just then would accomplish two things, he realized: It would allow him to stall for time, and there was just the faintest chance that it would bring this confrontation to an end without dozens of people dying.

  “All right,” Brannock said. “Grayson can come in.”

  “What!” Thad Bowman cried. “No, G.W.! Don’t give in to them!”

  “Grayson can come in,” Brannock repeated, “but only Grayson.”

  The government man gave a little jerk of surprise. He said, “What the hell are you talking about, Brannock?”

  “The fence is electrified, but the gate’s not. There’s nothin’ stoppin’ you from climbin’ over, Grayson. We’ll back off and let you do it.”

  “This is some kind of trick,” Grayson snapped. “You’ll let me climb over, and then you’ll shoot me and claim self-defense.”

  “Nope,” Brannock said. He lowered the shotgun he held. “Nobody’ll lift a hand against you . . . except me.”

  Grayson frowned at him and asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “We’re gonna settle this,” Brannock said. “You and me. Man-to-man.”

  Grayson stared at him for a couple of heartbeats, then let out a bark of laughter.

  “You’re offering to fight me?” he asked in disbelief. “Some sort of trial by combat thing? You’re crazier than I thought you were, old man! I’ve got thirty years on you, and I’ve trained for years. You won’t stand a chance.”

  “Then you don’t have any reason to be afraid of me, do you?”

  Brannock knew that veiled taunt would strike home. Sure enough, Grayson stiffened. After a moment, he reached up and unsnapped the helmet he wore.

  Lassiter said, “Grayson, what are you doing?”

  “Giving this old fool what he wants.” Grayson tossed the helmet aside and started removing his body armor. “He thinks he’s making some sort of grandiose statement, but all he’s really going to get is a beat-down.”

  “He’s an old man,” Lassiter said tightly, disapproval obvious in his voice.

  “He called the tune.”

  Grayson stood there wearing boots and tight-fitting black trousers and shirt now. He didn’t appear to be armed.

  “I can’t order you not to do this—” Lassiter began as Grayson started toward the gate.

  “Then don’t try to,” Grayson interrupted. He grabbed the iron pipe at the top of the gate, put a foot on the bottom rail, and started climbing.

  “G.W., are you sure about this?” Bowman asked as they all moved back to give Grayson some room to jump down inside the fence. “Kyle and the others will be here soon.”

  “I’m sure,” Brannock said. “This showdown has been a long time comin’.”

  “I hate to say it, but . . . this isn’t the Old West. And you’re not John Wayne or Randolph Scott.”

  Brannock grinned and said, “Actually, I’ve always thought I look a mite like Ben Johnson when he was older.”

  Grayson threw a leg over the top of the fence, climbed on over, and then dropped lithely the rest of the way to the ground. He stood there in a slight crouch, waiting.

  Brannock handed the shotgun to Bowman, then turned to face the government man.

  “Just so everybody’s got the terms of this deal straight here, Grayson,” he said, “if I whip you, you and your friends pack up and go away and forget about stealin’ my ranch from me.”

  “Sure,” Grayson said.

  His scornful tone of voice made it clear he didn’t expect any such thing to happen, and even if it did, Brannock knew good and well the man would renege on any deal they made. He didn’t trust Grayson’s word for a second.

  But he pressed on anyway, saying, “And if you win, we’ll all step aside so you can come in and do whatever you want.”

  Bowman said, “I don’t know if we can go along with that.”

  “I’m askin’ you to, Thad,” Brannock said solemnly.

  Bowman grimaced, but then he jerked his head in a nod and said, “If that’s what you want, G.W.”

  Grayson said, “What I want is to get this farce over with.”

  Brannock took off his hat, handed it to Bowman as well, and said, “Hold this for me, will you?”

  Then he turned toward Grayson, and as he did, the government man suddenly lunged at him, striking before Brannock could set himself.

  Chapter 53

  Kyle was asleep in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch with a Winchester across his lap. Miranda was using the bed in his room tonight, and as much as he would have liked to join her there, he knew they weren’t at that point in their relationship yet and would have been a gentleman about it even if there hadn’t been so many other people around.

  As he had dozed off out here on the porch, he had thought wryly that a month earlier, nobody in the world would have considered him a gentleman, least of all himself.

  Life had a way of changing in a hurry, usually for the worse, in Kyle’s experience. But sometimes good things happened, too, and at least partially balanced out the bad.

  Because of that, his dreams were of kissing Miranda instead of battling against a brutal, oppressive federal government. It was a peaceful respite....

  So of course, it was doomed not to last long.

  The roar of an engine jolted Kyle out of sleep. He snatched up the rifle and leaped to his feet. As he glanced around, he could tell that dawn wasn’t far off. He was able to see the pickup that came skidding up to the house with its headlights off.

  The driver didn’t turn off the engine. He shouted through the open window, “Grayson and a bunch of government men with guns are out at the gate trying to get in!”

  Kyle didn’t hesitate. He turned and pounded on the door with the flat of his hand, making quite a racket as he shouted, “Everybody up! Get to the gate! Get to the gate!”

  Then he stepped up onto the porch railing and made a flying leap from there to the bed of the pickup.

  “Head back out there now!” he called to the man who had brought the warning.

  The guy spun the wheel and gunned it. Kyle hung on to the Winchester with one hand while he used the other to grab the top of the cab and brace himself. He stood there peering over the cab roof toward the distant gate as the pickup rocketed away from the ranch house. The chilly early morning air ruffled Kyle’s fair hair and made him narrow his eyes.

  He wondered where G.W. was, but then instinct made something inside him tighten.

  He would have bet money that his grandfather was already out there, confronting the men who wanted to steal his land.

  The impact of Grayson’s sneaky tackle drove Brannock backwards, but he managed to stay on his feet. Grayson
’s arms locked around Brannock’s waist, and he butted his head against the older man’s sternum.

  Brannock clubbed his hands together and brought them down with smashing force on Grayson’s back. That made Grayson’s grip loosen slightly, and the punch that Brannock slammed to the side of the man’s head knocked him to the side. Brannock backpedaled quickly to put a little distance between them.

  Not enough, because Grayson instantly launched into a spinning kick that sent his boot at Brannock’s head. Brannock knew if the kick connected, the fight was over.

  He twisted away and raised his shoulder. Grayson’s boot thudded into it, staggering Brannock, who had to drop to one knee to keep from falling down completely.

  Grayson landed agilely and came at Brannock with a flurry of martial arts blows too swift for the eye to follow, especially in the dim light. Brannock surged to his feet as he tried to block the punches, but most of them got through and thudded against his head and chest. He had to give ground again.

  Grayson came after him, grinning, and now the government man’s overconfidence backfired against him. He was concentrating on his attack so much that he forgot to defend himself. Brannock took an unexpected step forward and shot out a straight right that landed squarely on Grayson’s nose.

  Decades of hard physical work had given Brannock plenty of strength. Cartilage crunched and blood spurted under his knobby fist. Grayson’s head rocked back as he let out a grunt of pain. He was so startled that he didn’t even try to block the punch as Brannock hooked a left to his belly.

  The biggest advantage Grayson’s relative youth gave him was stamina, Brannock knew. Already, the old rancher’s heart was pounding and his breath was coming shorter and faster. He couldn’t keep this up for long.

  So he seized the momentary advantage he had and threw another punch, this one a looping right that found Grayson’s jaw. Grayson staggered to the side, and for a second Brannock thought he was going to go down.