Sic Semper Tyrannis

by Marcus Richardson

  “Break time yet?” asked a hopeful voice from the other side of the redoubt.

  Rob grinned. “You read my mind.” He took off his Stetson and looked up into the azure sky through the gently swaying pines that soared above. “Close enough to lunch time for us to rustle up some chow. C’mon boys.”

  Nate whooped and Rob could hear the amiable chatter of the work crew as they gathered weapons and prepared to hike back up slope to HQ. He followed them for about a hundred feet then turned around to examine their work. From up here, the wall looked sturdy and strong as hell. He nodded again. Anyone approaching their mountain stronghold from the south, east, or west, would be funneled by the landscape through this area. Redoubt #3 was directly opposite #4 on the next ridge. Through the pines he could clearly see the wooden structure they had finished the day before yesterday.

  “Yup,” he said to himself. “Ol’ Charlie comes after us up here, he’s gonna be in for a world of hurt.”

  Rob turned and headed back up the mountain, his Winchester slung over his right shoulder. He was just starting to enjoy the serenity of the alpine woods and his brief solitude—the others had already crested the ridge and disappeared from his view—when his radio broke squelch.

  “One, this is HQ. What’s your twenty?”

  Rob paused and leaned against a pine tree as he fished the radio off his belt. He casually looked back down slope through the pines toward the redoubts. “Almost back to the ranch. What’s up?”

  “Two spotted some strangers on the south 40. Descriptions match our friends from last week.”

  Rob turned and started up the hill with a renewed strength. Strangers. It had been Lance’s idea to come up with a code name for the Chinese army that was making its way deeper into Arizona. Strangers seemed as good as any and wouldn’t necessarily tip anyone listening in as to who the Regulators were referring to in their radio transmissions.

  “Numbers?” he asked, trying hard not to gasp for breath as he finally reached the top of the ridge. Before him stretched a broad flat piece of mountain side, where he and Lance had built a hunting cabin in their mis-spent youth. That cabin, in the past month, had been transformed into the Regulators new base of operations—a fortress. The Redoubts downslope were just another layer of defenses he had set up to secure HQ from the Chinese.

  “Unit Two reports there are at least ten. Maybe twelve. I have RAF-3 standing by…”

  “Do it—I’ll be at HQ in a second.” He jogged over toward the main entrance to HQ and thought about who was on the Rapid Action Force. No weak links that he could think of—good men, all of them.

  He pushed open the main door and rushed to the rear of the cabin in order to find the radio room. Inside, Jerry Baersfeld was sitting at the terminal, one hand cupped the large earphones on his head, the other resting on the transmit button of a desk microphone. Rob got a nod and moved over toward the map tacked to the unfinished pine wall.

  The location of the Regulators’ HQ was marked by a red dot on the broken northern face of the Red Rock Mountain. Defensive zones were penciled in where the landscape would force anyone approaching into certain areas. The Redoubts were marked at intersections of natural paths with those funnels, making convenient choke-points. The Regulators had created a network of deer-paths that crisscrossed the mountain for the Rapid Action Forces to use. They could reach just about any spot in the area the Regulators controlled in a matter of minutes on foot.

  The South 40 was also penciled in on the map, the buffer zone Rob had created as a catchall for describing the dense woodland wilderness just outside the first line of defense at the base of the valley.

  Jerry glanced at Rob and put his finger on the map. “Roger that, RAF-3, you are clear to the border,” he said into the mic.

  Rob nodded. He leaned the Winchester against the desk and sat on the edge. He twirled a finger in the air. “Let’s hear it.”

  After Jerry flipped a switch and the speakers in the room piped the words of the leader of RAF-3 into the air. Jerry removed his headset and rubbed his ears.

  “Okay, radio silence all units. RAF-3 has the floor.”

  Rob and Jerry waited in silence for a few tense minutes as the response team maneuvered into position. He glanced at the map. He hated being stuck here while his men were out sneaking up on the Chinese. He didn’t feel too old for that shit. But, it had been one of the stipulations he’d been forced to make when the Regulators re-elected him their war chief. He was barred from personal engagements—the men viewed him as irreplaceable.

  “Where’s Lance and his patrol?” asked Rob.

  Jerry pointed to the south ridge. “He checked in here. I suggested RAF-3 set up there,” he shifted his finger to the eastern ridge across a narrow stream. “This spot is the high ground and they’ll get a good crossfire going. We’ll see,” he said with a shrug.

  “Sounds good. It’s what I would have done.”

  “HQ,” whispered the team leader. “I got a visual on Two and his boys. No sign of…” The voice paused. “Wait a minute…yeah, there they are.”

  “Can you confirm numbers?” asked Jerry.

  “Yeah—definitely twelve that I can see.”

  Rob leaned over the mic and pushed the transmit button: “RAF-3, this is One. Can you pull it off?”

  There was no hesitation: “Hell yes.”

  “Then have at ‘em.”

  “Roger that HQ. Moving to intercept.”

  Rob paced the floor of the little room for a few minutes like a caged animal. Jerry finally turned and looked up at his commander. “You want to be out there, huh?” he said with a jerk of his head towards the map. “Dude, just go.”

  Rob paused and stared at Jerry. “I can’t stay in here while they—”

  “I never saw you, man,” replied Jerry with a smile. He turned back to the radio.

  Rob grinned. He grabbed the Winchester and bolted for the door. If he took the upper path, he could cut across the Regulator compound and come up from behind Lance, on a higher ridge, and get a good view—if not participate—in the ambush. He ran as fast as he could for the deer trail. A quick glance at his watch and some mental map-checking—yup, he’d only have a few minutes…

  PO SIN LICKED HIS lips and replaced the cigarette in his mouth. He drew in and exhaled the pungent smoke that he knew his one-time friend despised. He couldn’t help but grin. Everything was going as planned.

  “Are you certain of this?” asked Shin Ho, now Undersecretary to the Supreme Leader, himself. He narrowed his eyes and looked over the top of the report in his pudgy little hands.

  Po Sin bowed his head. “Yes. It is all there in the report. I have confirmed the information myself. Our Expeditionary Force has completely breached the border and is moving north on schedule.”

  “Not completely on schedule, I see.”

  Po Sin frowned. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ash into the provided ashtray. He glanced down at the specks of ash that landed on the Undersecretary’s desk before answering. “What you refer to is just a minor hiccup. A scouting party was lost—”

  “The deaths of fifty-two men and the loss of a dozen vehicles, all their weapons and gear…” Now it was Shin Ho’s turn to frown. “You call this a hiccup?”

  Po Sin spread his hands, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Of course we mourn the loss of so many men—the place they had stopped at was evidently booby-trapped. We had not expected such cowardice from the Americans. But, as I said, it was merely a scouting platoon. This minor tragedy has had no effect whatsoever on the rest of the Expedition. We are on schedule and have removed the bulk of the fighting forces across the border into Arizona.”

  “This supply line is awful long, Po Sin,” said Shin Ho, idly waving at the smoke that was clouding his office. He laid the paper down on the desk and tapped it with a bejeweled finger. “Do you think it wise to bring so much materiel through open desert like this?”

  Po Sin nodded. “There is an element o
f risk, yes. But we have analyzed all threats and have come to the conclusion that this route not only provides the most safety for our personnel, but also the fastest—resistance-free—route into the underbelly of America.” He pulled a map out of his own file and handed it to Shin Ho. “As you can see here, now that we have gained a foothold in Nogales, we can funnel everything north and west. We will use the American highway system to ship our forces straight across Arizona and California.”

  Shin Ho sighed. “I’m to meet with the Russians this evening. They’re going to want to know the timetable going forward.”

  “Ah yes—tell me, are they having much success with their little adventure in…where was it that they landed? Georgia?”

  “Florida.”

  “Ah,” said Po Sin. “I visited Florida last year on vacation. Wonderful place. Completely infested with tourists, but some of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen.”

  “Indeed,” said the Undersecretary through a frown. “They have taken control of Miami with the help of our Cuban friends and are pushing north. Their aim is to use Florida as a springboard to the heart of the American South. Now…The timetable?”

  “Of course,” said Po Sin. Arrogant snot. You will not long sit that chair, I promise you. He smiled and handed over another document from his file. “We’re going ahead with Phase Two. The next wave of supply ships and troop transports will be leaving Dinghai at dawn. Estimated arrival is two weeks, barring any major storms or naval engagements. The Navy will be conducting offensives around Hawaii, which should keep America’s attention long enough for the task force to slip past.”

  “And you think the Expeditionary Force can cut through Arizona and California and reach the coast in two weeks?”

  Po Sin adjusted his glasses to hide his anger. “Sir, have we not crossed half of Mexico—through inhospitable desert, I might add—breached the border and brought an entire army into the United States, virtually undetected? And we did all that in less than two weeks.” He shook his head. “No, the American people are scared and hiding—the ones that have survived the starvation and gang wars, that is. Their own people are tearing the nation apart and their government is all but helpless to respond, especially now that President Reed is dead.” He chuckled. “That was an unexpected stroke of good fortune.”

  “Yes, you must see that it is not wasted.”

  Po Sin nodded in submission. “Of course, Undersecretary. To that end, I believe we should open a dialog with Mr. Suthby—”

  Shin Ho looked confused. “A cabinet official?”

  “True, he was the Director of their Emergency Management Agency—but now he is de-facto President. An alliance with him could prove…useful. I believe he will not be unwilling to cooperate with us.”

  The Undersecretary leaned back in his chair to the sound of squealing hinges. He steepled his fingers in thought and looked at the ceiling. “We could send out feelers to our Senators and Congressmen. Perhaps they can do something to get Mr. Suthby to agree to a non-aggression pact?”

  “After we take Southern California, of course,” prompted Po Sin. Everything hinged on gaining access to a deep-water port like San Diego or Los Angeles.

  “Of course,” said the Shin Ho, absently waving his hand. “I like this idea, my friend. If we can help to establish Suthby as the legitimate ruler he’ll be even more inclined to leave us to our own devices.”

  “After all,” said Po Sin in agreement. “He has to contend with Russia and the U.N. invading the East Coast.”

  The Supreme Leader let his chair return him upright and place both hands on his desk. He fixed Po Sin with a dangerous stare. “Po Sin, I’m going to trust you on this and report what you have told me to the Supreme Leader. You are sure this plan will work as conceived? I don’t think I need to remind you of the consequences of failure.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Very good.” The Undersecretary stood.

  Po Sin scrambled to his feet and quickly stuffed the remaining files into his expensive Italian attaché case. He bowed.

  “See to your conquest, Po Sin. And thank you.”

  “Of course, sir.” He turned and started to walk out of the room, exhaling more smoke in his wake.

  “Oh, and Po Sin?” called out Shin Ho, already re-seated and shuffling through papers on his desk.

  “Sir?” Po Sin asked with a smile on his face as he paused at the door to the Party Undersecretary’s palatial office.

  “Don’t ever smoke in here again.” He looked up and fixed Po Sin with a gaze that sent a chill down the Army Chief’s spine.

  So you have claws after all? Well…I’ll deal with you soon enough, he thought.

  Out loud he said, “As you wish, sir.”

  ROB COLLAPSED JUST BEHIND the brush-covered crest of the last ridge overlooking the ambush site. His heart thundered in his chest, sweat poured down his neck, and he was dangerously out of breath, but he had arrived before the ambush.

  “Two, you in position?” his radio squawked.

  Rob adjusted the volume of the ear piece and closed his eyes, trying to calm his heart rate and catch his breath. He worked the action of his Winchester as he lay on his back, sucking in a lungful of the thin mountain air.

  I am getting too old for this shit. He frowned. Even his thoughts came in gasps.

  “Roger. I see you, RAF-3. The strangers are moving up the ravine to your right. See the lead man? Sounds like a moose in heat…”

  A tinny chuckle played out in Rob’s ear. “Yup, I see ‘em. Alright boys, you know the drill. Get in positions.”

  Rob keyed his mic. “RAF-3, Two, this is One. I’m in position on the north ridge, your left flank. I’ll provide overwatch support.”

  “Dammit, One, what the hell are you doing out here?” Lance’s voice was sharp, but Rob could well imagine the smile on his old friend’s face.

  “Heard there was a party about to go down and I didn’t want to miss out on any fun…”

  “Well, glad to have you, One. You want to make the call?”

  Rob peeked over the ridge. He could see the members of RAF-3 spread out along the far ridge. His gaze shifted down and soon he was able to spot a few of Lance’s men. But there was no sign of his friend and second-in-command.

  “Negative, RAF-3. I’m here to support. You boys run the show.”

  “Roger that, One,” the team leader whispered. “All right, people, stay frosty, they’re coming in to range. Two, we move on your call.”

  “Stand by…I’ll give you a signal…” replied Lance’s voice in a hushed tone.

  Rob raised his old Winchester and took aim at the third Chinese soldier emerging from the ravine. “Come on, Lance…give us a shout or something…” he muttered. He could imagine the other Regulators thinking the same thing as they all picked targets and began tracking. The longer Lance waited, the more Chinese moved into the open, but the greater the chance someone would miss an easy shot. The Regulators were not, as a rule, young bucks right out of the service anymore.

  Movement caught Rob’s eye and he unconsciously followed it—Lance stood up out of his hiding spot almost directly below Rob’s position. He was between two well-spaced large spruces and raised his carbine up in one hand. There was no way the Chinese could avoid seeing him.

  “WOLVERINES!!!!”

  Rob had to force himself not to laugh out loud as he swung his gaze back on target. Before he could twitch his trigger finger, shots rang out along the ridge and destroyed the silence of the forest. Birds squawked and exploded from the conifer canopy above him. There was time for two of the Chinese to shout in horror as the rest of the Regulators opened up.

  Rob squeezed the trigger on his Winchester and the old warhorse bucked like a mule. When his vision cleared, he noted with grim satisfaction that his target was down and not moving. His radio erupted in combat chatter.

  “—got a runner on the left flank, Tommy—take ‘im!”

  “Got it—he ain’t goin’ nowhere.”<
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  “Watch your six! Two, there’s more coming up the ravine!”

  “On it!”

  “Reloading!”

  “Pass me a spare mag, Four!”

  “Dave’s hit! He’s hit!”

  Rob turned his attention to the remaining Chinese soldiers still on their feet. One took aim and pulled his trigger just as Rob did. He shoved his rifle aside and peered over the edge to see the invader slump against a tree and fall to the rocky soil clutching his chest.

  “Nnnhhh…”

  “RAF-3-Actual is hit!” someone called out, voice near panic-stricken.

  Shit, thought Rob. I was too late.

  “Move, move, move!” called out Lance’s voice. “The last one’s making a run for it! Don’t let that bastard get away!”

  A flurry of AR fire erupted at the far end of the ambush site. Shortly, silence returned to the forest, broken only by the screaming and moaning of the wounded. Rob stood up and called out, “All clear, hold your fire—RAF-3 move in to check for survivors.”

  “Roger that, One. 3-Actual is down, repeat, 3-Actual is down. I’m taking the rest of the team down to check ‘em out.”

  “I need some help over here! Dave’s bleeding out!”

  Rob gingerly worked his way downslope as he listened to Lance take charge of the battlefield and coordinate the rescue of wounded Regulators. Each patrol and RAF team had two men who carried a medic load-out. Rob was grateful they had implemented that rule, as he listened to the gruesome screams of his men over the radio.

  Once at the base of the ridge, he called out, “How we doin’, RAF-3? We clear?”

  “Roger that, One. All strangers are sleeping and accounted for.”

  An engine echoed off the mountainside. “HQ sent out the ATVs. Everyone get ready to EVAC the wounded!” Rob hollered. The Regulators jumped into action to prepare their fallen brothers for a bumpy ride back to base where they could be properly triaged.

  Lance stepped out from behind a tree, his camo-painted face a mask of anger and relief. Rob jumped a little at the sudden appearance of his friend. “Jesus, Lance, you scared the shit out of me!”