Sic Semper Tyrannis

by Marcus Richardson

  He followed the tracks with his light to the bushes on the other side of the clearing. Had some alligator appeared out of the darkness and taken Larsson to his death? Stepanovich swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He felt like he was being watched.

  Stepanovich shook the foolish thought away. It was sheer ridiculousness. Alligators couldn't cut through that many ropes, no matter how sharp their teeth were—they were mere animals, stupid beasts. Just a big lizard, really. They would never be smart enough to not only cut the ropes from Larsson’s wrists and ankles but then take them as well. Besides, there would be blood everywhere…

  No, someone helped him escape, or Larsson escaped on his own.

  The unnatural silence started to unnerve him. He turned and slowly looked in all directions holding the pistol out and ready to fire. Someone was out there, he was sure of it. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. His eyes darted left and right and his head never stopped swiveling as he searched the faceless trees and bushes along the edge the clearing. Someone could be hiding behind any one of those plants, holding a weapon trained on him right now.

  It certainly wouldn't do if I were shot out here in the dark all alone…

  Stepanovich began to slowly retrace his steps back toward the main compound. As he drew away from the clearing the stench subsided and he was able to breathe easier. He backed his way around the path until he was closer to one of the American prison cabins. He turned and ran for the cabin—it was time to raise the hue and cry.

  “Sound the alarm! Larsson has escaped!"

  Stepanovich skidded to a stop as he rounded the corner of the cabin. There was no one there. The two guards he’d saluted earlier were gone. There was not even any sign that anyone had been there. Anger welled up inside him. He walked over to the door and noticed in the darkness it was ajar. He kicked the door open and shined his flashlight into the cabin. It was one of the smaller ones. If he remembered correctly, there should've been 15 Americans in there chained to the walls.

  The blue beam of light illuminated empty chains and a bare, dirt floor.

  Stepanovich turned and shined the flashlight into the darkness of the main prison camp. There should be guards patrolling this area, he realized. There was no one. Anger mixed with fear inside his chest.

  What the hell is going on here?

  And still there was that unnatural silence. Where were the bugs? Where the birds?

  Stepanovich spun around again, keeping the pistol ready. He could feel a cold sweat begin to trickle down his back as he crept past another empty cabin. His flashlight beam started to tremble slightly and he tightened his grip. In the distance, the silence around him was pierced by a startled shriek that was choked short.

  Stepanovich spun and pointed his gun in the direction of the scream. He crept across the dirt pathway and headed toward the next cabin. If he was going to meet his death tonight, he would do it as a Russian, on his feet, shooting his weapon in the face of his enemy. There would be no cowering shriek of fear from Gregor Stepanovich this night. He gripped the reassuring solidness of his pistol even tighter as he walked. He was a soldier. It was time to act like one.

  He rounded the corner of the next cabin and was relieved to see two Russians rush out of the darkness from the other side of the compound, Kalashnikovs at the ready.

  "Captain! Are you okay?" asked the first. He was a head taller than his compatriot.

  "We heard a scream…"

  Stepanovich nodded. He had men to command. He holstered his pistol, clicked off the flashlight and replaced it on his utility belt.

  "Raise the alarm, Erik Larsson has escaped. The cabin over there," he said jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "It’s empty—there are 15 Americans on the loose."

  The taller soldier pulled a radio off his belt and spoke quickly, alerting the command post. He looked confused for a moment, then tried again. "Sir, I get no response."

  "What? Let me see that," said Stepanovich, his hand outstretched.

  “I don’t think it’s broken…” the soldier said as he handed over the radio.

  "This is Captain Stepanovich, raise the alarm—we have another escape attempt in progress!” He waited a moment for the air raid siren to start. Nothing. Even the damn bugs remained silent. Stepanovich keyed the mic again: "Repeat, prison break! Sound the alarm! Command, answer me, damn you! Do you read me?"

  The radio was useless. Stepanovich cursed and tossed it back to the tall soldier. He caught the radio and clipped it back to his belt, a frown forming on his lips. He opened his mouth to say something and a red mist suddenly erupted behind his head accompanied by a loud smack. A small circle appeared between his eyes and the man's mouth hung open. He dropped to the ground in a limp pile.

  Stepanovich froze in confusion, looking down at the body at his feet. Did his eyes play a trick on him in the dim light? The man had been standing right there when it sounded like he’d been slapped—then he just fell. What had happened? He had heard nothing but a wet smack. Like someone slapping a side of beef with a baseball bat. The sandy soil turned dark red as blood gushed out of the man's head. Stepanovich stood there for another few heartbeats staring at the body at his feet, willing his mind to catch up to reality. The second guard needed no such time to make his assessment of the situation.

  "Sniper!"

  Stepanovich threw himself against the side of the building in time to see the second guard’s head jerk sideways before he too tumbled to the ground. The soldier landed on his back, arms and legs spread out like a rag doll. His day pack kept his chest elevated, but his neck was limp and his head hung backwards at an unnatural angle.

  “Shit!” hissed Stepanovich. He had heard no rifle. Where was the shooter? He scanned the darkness but saw no lights in the suddenly oppressive forest. He bolted for the command center, hoping that whoever the hell was out there would have a harder time hitting a moving target.

  THAT’S ENOUGH FOR NOW," Ted announced. He lowered the silenced rifle to a prepared bed of pine needles on the ground.

  Erik was incredulous. "What do you mean? Stepanovich was right there—why didn't you take the shot?"

  Ted frowned. "Because I need him alive for this plan to—”

  “I don’t understand, that asshole doesn’t deserve to live another second!”

  “Keep your voice down, dammit!” hissed Ted. “Look, I don't expect you to understand what I'm doing. Just trust me."

  "So it was okay to take out the two guards and the command post but not the guy that—"

  "Erik, listen to me. If we take him out, what's stopping the rest of the soldiers from killing everybody in this camp, including our wives? And my children?" Ted asked through gritted teeth. He began to slither out of their impromptu sniper’s hide.

  Erik shook his head and stared at the prison camp. Lights flickered on across the clearing and more than a few gunshots popped in the distance. Erik crawled out of the tangle of bushes, vines, and branches haphazardly thrown together to create a visual break.

  Ted crouched behind a large tree repacking his Russian rucksack. He stood up and shouldered the pack, slinging the rifle over his back. "Come on, we’d better get the hell out of here before sunrise."

  Erik stood and brushed off the pine needles. "What? We need to go in there and get—"

  "No," said Ted shaking his head. "We can't go in there right now. You know that, man. We go in there now, guns blazing and the only thing that will happen is we’ll get killed and they’ll probably execute our families out of spite."

  Erik fumed at the patience in his friend’s voice. He turned from Ted and stared back toward the camp. In the distance he could hear faint shouting. They were on the opposite side from the two buildings that held the women and children. He turned back to Ted, hands on his hips, slowly bringing his breathing under control.

  "All right, we’ll do it your way.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ted muttered.

  “But I still don't unde
rstand. We need to go get Brin and Susan and the kids."

  Ted stepped forward and slapped Erik on the shoulder. "And we will, we will. Trust me when I tell you, there is no force on this earth that will stop me from getting to our families. We get them back…and Ivan will pay." Ted's face was so deadly serious, that for a moment Erik was simply speechless.

  Ted turned and made his way north, away from the prison camp.

  "I don't know," whispered Erik as he reluctantly followed his friend. "This feels so wrong. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to charge back there and get Brin…"

  Ted turned around. "And that my friend, is what the Russians expect you will do. I guarantee it, Erik, they've got people in there watching Brin and Susan and the kids right now. You are what's called a high-value target to them." He laughed ruefully. "If they knew the truth about you, this whole thing would be kinda funny. However," he said, suddenly growing serious, "because they think you're Special Forces and you have now escaped, our families have gotta be in danger. But I couldn’t think of any other way to go about rescuing them without your help. There’s only so much one man can do."

  "Even if he’s a Marine?" Erik asked with a smile.

  “Recon does have its perks," Ted said with a chuckle. "Now come on," he whispered. "Follow me. We gotta get well north of here by sunrise. I've got a little camp in the woods. We need to plan our next move."

  "What is it that you think we can do that won't endanger the girls and your kids?" asked Erik as he ducked underneath a low pine tree branch. The sounds from the prison camp faded into the background and vanished. The pine forest grew so thick that Erik found it hard to even see the lights of the prison compound when he turned to look.

  Ted glanced over his shoulder and whispered, "We need to stay away from gut reactions—that's what the Russians want. They know they have our families. They know we’re coming."

  "Well, they know I am. I don’t think they know you’re out here,” Erik said. He tried to stay on the path that Ted forged in the darkness, but his friend was shorter and the trees didn’t give Ted so much of a problem. “What about all those guys that were in that cabin?" Erik asked. He felt his anger rising once more. "I tried to rescue them once, I a lot of guys killed, I had to look…” Erik stopped walking. “They made me watch, man…"

  Ted turned around and fixed Erik with a stare. "What you've been through the last 24 hours is a lot. And it sucks. You lost a lot of men. Trust me when I tell you, you are not the first officer to lose a lot of men and you won't be the last.” He looked down thoughtfully.

  In a quiet voice he said, “What separates the good officers from the bad is the ability to compartmentalize things. Yes, it sucked and those men died. But if you do not push that aside and worry about it afterward, then our families are as good as dead, already." Without waiting for an answer, Ted turned and continued hiking through the woods.

  Despite the fact that Ted walked slow and quiet, Erik found it hard to keep up. He winced every time he stepped on a twig, or snapped a branch on the ground. He could not hear Ted at all—it was like the man was a ghost. Erik felt slightly claustrophobic in the quiet closeness of the dark forest.

  “What about the men in that cabin? Stepanovich went in…it was empty…”

  "Don't worry about those guys," whispered Ted from up ahead. His voice drifted back through the darkness and Erik felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "I got them out before I came for you."

  A wave of relief washed over Erik. "Where are they? Are they going to help us take back the prison camp?"

  "Yes and no. Keep up, will ya? If you fall behind out here—”

  “Hey, I’m no super soldier, remember?” hissed Erik as a tree branch slapped him in the face.

  “Neither am I,” grunted Ted’s voice up ahead. “I’m Recon. I don’t expect you to be an expert woodsman, Erik, but try to sound less like an elephant, okay?”

  “Jesus,” muttered Erik. “Everyone’s a comedian…”

  “Look,” said Ted. “I sent some of those men off to establish contact in Tampa. There's all kinds of army units scattered between here and there. I figured one of them has got to find somebody with radio. A few others I sent off to find civilians. We need supplies, weapons, and help. The rest are at the camp that I made by now, or least I hope they are—I gave them pretty good directions. I picked the strongest, the smartest, most experienced to be our fighters."

  Erik pondered this for a few moments as he crashed through the undergrowth. "The Russians want to make an example of us…" Erik whispered.

  Ted chuckled softly up ahead. "Well, that's about to backfire. We’re gonna make an example of them."

  CHAPTER 28

  Sic Semper Tyrannis

  THEY’RE READY FOR US, said Daniel as he held the door open to the President’s office.

  President Suthby sighed. He stood from behind his desk—a poor replica of the one in the White House—and stretched his back. He had no idea the most powerful man on the planet had so much paperwork to do on a daily basis. Sign this, approve that, read this, memorize that…there had been a never-ending stream of staffers and aides rushing into his office since the day the remnant of Congress had grudgingly approved his leadership.

  Now that the U.N. had also given legitimacy to his reign, he began to see memos and notes from foreign dignitaries and embassies. Suddenly everyone wanted to meet or talk with the ex-FEMA chief who was President.

  “All right, lead on, MacDuff,” he muttered as he followed Daniel down the utilitarian corridor.

  “You getting enough sleep, Mr. President? ‘Cause you look tired,” commented Daniel.

  “Oh, I get as much as you let me. I’ll rest when I’m dead—we’ve got a country to save, right? So, what’s on the docket this afternoon?”

  Daniel checked some papers in his hands as he lead the way toward the briefing room. “Another video conference with the new Speaker—”

  The President groaned. “Let me guess. He’s going to remind me that as soon as the Vice President is found—assuming he’s alive—he will be sworn in as the legitimate President for the remainder of Reed’s term. I’ve heard that threat at least twenty times. Why does he insist on reminding me of it daily?”

  “What’s left of Congress is afraid of you and your new pals at the United Nations, sir. We’ve got to solidify your leadership by smoothing feathers first. Stroke their egos and remind them again that you are on a pro tem basis.”

  “Anything to distract from the ‘protectorate status’, huh?”

  Daniel chuckled. “You got it, Mr. President.” Daniel nodded to an Air Force captain who paused to salute the President.

  “Hey, what do you think they’ll call me when the Florida transfer is complete and we’re officially a UN state? Governor? Governor-General? I kinda like the sound of that.” Suthby gave a half-assed salute to the captain and ignored the man’s frown as he walked past.

  “One thing I’d love to change is the requirement that all these soldiers have to salute me all the time. It’s a ridiculous waste of time and effort.”

  Daniel glanced sideways at his boss. “Sir, I don’t think that’s in your purview. You’re talking about a military tradition that goes back to the time of the Caesars…”

  The President sighed again. “I know, I know. Jesus! We taking the long way?”

  Daniel apologized about the circuitous trip through the spartan halls of the Cheyenne Mountain facility. “Some scheduled maintenance down the normal route—they have to clean the air system or something…I asked,” he said noticing the President’s face. “They said it’s because all the extra people now living here. This place wasn’t designed as a fallout shelter for half of Washington.”

  “I don’t know how you memorized the map of this place so quickly.”

  “It’s my job, Mr. President,” said Daniel. He paused at a nondescript door and held it open. “Here we are, sir. I took the liberty of setting up the videoconferencing equipment
over here until the maintenance is all wrapped up. We won’t even have access to that wing of the facility for a few more days.”

  “What a hassle.” The President swept into the makeshift conference room and saw two Air Force officers next to a polished oak desk. One held a tray of tea and cookies, the other had the “football” chained to his wrist. The President took the tea with thanks—he was in desperate need of a mid-afternoon caffeine fix. “Where you from, soldier?” he asked the server. He never noticed the color rise on the young man’s neck.

  “Air Force, sir,” he said quietly. “The Army has soldiers. We’re airmen.”

  President Suthby looked at the young officer—a lieutenant, if he was reading the insignia right—the man looked just out of the Academy. Now I’ve got kids reminding me I don’t belong. He settled in the chair with a sigh.

  “Okay, airman. Where are you from?”

  The younger officer looked down at him. “Florida, sir. St. Petersburg. My whole family…” his voice, thick with emotion, trailed off and he looked up to stare above the President’s head, blinking back tears. His jaw clamped shut, but Suthby could see the muscles twitching away under the olive-toned skin.

  “What’s your name, lieutenant?” asked the President.

  “Garcia, William James, sir.”

  “Have you heard from your family…since…?”

  “No, sir.”

  President Suthby took another sip and looked at the briefing document that Daniel handed to him. Absently, he said, “A lot of people have lost contact with their families this past year. I hope they’re okay.”

  “No you don’t.”