World War III - Home Front: A Novel of the Next American Revolution - Book One – As Day turns to Night

by William C. Seigler

  “Tower, this I Cessna 54-triple deuce at Clark’s ready to taxi.”

  “Cessna hold your position. I think there is someone who wants to talk to you.”

  “Hold on we’re getting out of here.” She gunned it, swung the aircraft around, and started her takeoff run across the ramp. Fortunately, there wasn’t much traffic on the taxiways. They were airborne by the time they reached the active runway.

  She stayed low and picked up speed. The pilot expertly rolled the little craft up on one wing, and they were gone, barely over treetop level. She pulled the power and prop back to the top of the green. Once out of sight of the airport she eased it up to five hundred feet AGL.

  Upon reaching the Savannah River valley, she dropped down to two hundred feet and turned downriver. She eased the throttle back to seventy-five percent power and slowed the prop down.

  “We’ll keep this up for a few minutes. Then we’ll turn for Texas.” She looked over at Cy. “You okay.”

  “I will be once I get my teeth unclenched. You do this often?”

  “I run errands for local patriots. That’s the first time I ever had to get out in such a hurry. You must be a high value target.”

  “I don’t know how that happened.”

  “Well, you upset somebody.”

  “Yeah.”

  After about twenty minutes she climbed to eight thousand and turned west. “We should be safe now. Have you flown in a light airplane before?”

  “No, actually this is my first time in any sort of airplane.”

  “Oh boy, well that was not a normal takeoff. It’s usually not so exciting,” she said with a smile.

  “If I live long enough, I might even try it again.” They both laughed. “Won’t they be able to find you? I mean don’t you have to call them on the radio and tell them who you are?”

  “Do you think I’d use my real tail number? No these numbers peel off.”

  “Oh.”

  As the sky darkened the light plane winged its way westward, and Cy eventually drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  “Phil, Phil it’s time to get up.” Bill Prost was shaking his son awake.

  Phil awoke with a start and jumped. As soon as he was fully awake he relaxed and fell back down. “Wow, thought I was back in Syria.”

  He put his hand to his forehead. “Man.”

  “I had bad dreams for a long time after Nam. That’s why I came in to wake you. I sort of suspected you might too.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven.”

  “I better get moving. Don’t want him to beat me to the airport.” With that Phil began to make his preparations. He soon was headed out. Ilene was still up.

  “Here, you better take this.” She slipped him a pistol.

  Having your mother slip, you a small black revolver proved to be a bit disconcerting. “Okay, thanks Mom.”

  “I’ll feel better with my little friend keeping you company.”

  “Right.” He smiled and could see something in his parents’ eyes he had never seen before, something he had seen in the eyes of his buddies in Syria. It hit him; we might just be in a war.

  As soon as he pulled away, Bill picked up the CB mike. “Breaker, breaker one niner, Hillbilly you got your ears on?”

  “Oh you better believe it.”

  “I’m on my way, so keep me a cold one.”

  “That’s a big ten-four. We’ll be waiting on you.”

  Now command knew that Phil had departed for the airport. What none of the Prosts knew, was that the airport was being watched by another of the patriots, and a team of Parker County deputies were nearby, just in case the feds wanted trouble.

  The Cessna dragged the field once, then easily slid in over I-20 and smoothly flared before gently sitting down on the runway. There was no one around at this hour.

  Phil opened the door and left it open. He moved over to where a streetlight illuminated his face and waited.

  The aircraft taxied back and turned onto the ramp. When the landing light fell on Phil it stopped for long moments.

  “It looks clean. Do you recognize that guy?”

  “Yeah, that’s Phil. I know him.”

  “Good, I’ll get a little closer and swing around so that you can get out on that side. Get your kit and do not walk in front of the aircraft,” she said emphatically.

  “Okay, and thanks.”

  “Sure, it was fun.”

  She had not shut down the engine. Cy opened the door and swung his legs out. Reaching into the back seat he retrieved his backpack. He had to force the door against the slipstream. He was careful to walk directly away from the airplane. That propeller was a bit too close.

  “Hey old man, welcome to Texas.”

  “Glad to be here.” They shook hands, and at that moment the engine revved. The plane taxied out for takeoff.

  “Hop in. There’s a lot to talk about.”

  Sitting at the Prosts’ kitchen table, Cy was so exhausted he was afraid he might not seem too bright. However, he felt safe for the first time in what seemed like days.

  “Would you like some more pecan pie Mr. Blackwell?”

  “Oh no ma’am. One more bite and I might explode.”

  “Well, don’t explode here,” teased Bill. “Phil will have to clean it up.” They all laughed at that.

  “I’m beat guys. You will need to call your mother in the morning. I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up to long dear,” she said eyeing Bill.

  “Be along shortly darling.”

  After she left, Bill retrieved the spiced rum. “How about a little something to help you sleep?”

  “I don’t know that sleep will be a problem, and thanks again for putting me up.”

  “Think nothing of it. Phil has told us how you helped him in New York.”

  They sat silently for a bit as Bill poured the rum. Finally, Phil spoke up. “How the devil did we ever come to this, I mean the TSA, Syria, and probably a dozen more things I don’t even know about?”

  “Add to that corrupt politicians and police beating and killing people. We’ve sunk to a new low,” added Cy.

  “I’m told it was not always like this. I mean there were always problems, but never anything like this. Now there is no privacy, and we are all treated like criminals while the government digs deeper into our pockets. No offence, but don’t expect any police protection.”

  “None taken.”

  “Cy what happened?”

  Cy related the story to his hosts including the rather unusual takeoff in Athens where he was almost caught. “Now instead of being a New York City police officer, I’m a wanted man, and I didn’t even do anything.”

  “It sounds like a setup, like someone is out to get you,” said Bill.

  “I’m afraid it’s because you helped me out.”

  “Well maybe so, but I would not have changed a thing I did. If the system is that screwball, maybe I have some rethinking to do.”

  The conversation went on long into the night. It was midmorning before Cy came crawling out of bed. He could smell breakfast cooking. There was a smell he could not recognize. It turned out to be refritos, refried beans, with onions, jalapeños, and extra sharp cheddar, a Texas specialty.

  He didn’t realize he could put away so much food. How does anybody in Texas stay skinny, he wondered to himself.

  “Anything else Cy?” asked Ilene.

  “Oh no ma’am. I think I need to go for a good run to get this off.”

  “I don’t want your mother to think we are starving you down here,” Ilene said with a devilish grin as she began to pick up the kitchen.

  “Do you need a hand Mom?”

  “No, I just want to have everything picked up before …” she paused. “Before we have company.”

  Cy caught it but pretended not to. Something was going on, probably the same something that has so far kept him from behind bars.

  The doorbell rang. Bill answered it, and Cy could hear someone else wal
king down the hall with him.

  Bill entered just ahead of a stranger. Cy stood not knowing what to expect.

  “Mr. Cyrus Blackwell allow me to introduce Commander Rico. Commander, Mr. Blackwell, recently of the New York City Police Department.”

  “Mr. Blackwell, I’m glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard how you assisted Lance Corporal Prost with his difficulties in dealing with the statists.”

  “Commander,” said Cy. He had no idea what was going on, but extended his hand.

  “Please gentlemen, have a seat,” said Bill enjoying the part of the gracious host.

  Cy half expected drinks to be passed around.

  “Cy, it was Commander Rico who set up your rescue,” said Phil.

  “I’m in your debt.”

  “It was my pleasure. I’m curious, do you have any plans going forward?”

  “Not beyond finding a payphone and calling home.”

  “How much do you know about what’s going on inside the country?”

  “We get weekly briefings. Lately, the weekly briefings were almost daily, terrorists blowing up things and shooting up anyplace full of people. We had been told that much of it was right-wing hate groups.”

  “Tell me, what do you believe it to be?” asked Rico.

  “I don’t know anything about any hate groups. Other than a few nut-jobs, I’m not sure if I believe they exist.”

  “Mr. Blackwell, I work with people who desire our constitutional republic be restored to its original principles. We often need people to provide us with information, information that is used to keep other patriots safe.

  “I can’t offer you much, but I can tell you this, if we are not successful everything you hold dear will be in jeopardy. You need a few days to rest and recuperate. I have brought you a few books which you might find interesting. After a while we can meet again.” These he removed from his backpack and slid across the table to Cy.

  “Now Mr. Prost, if you will excuse me, I really must be going.”

  Bill got up to show Rico to the door. “Hope it works,” whispered Bill.

  “We will see, just don’t be giving away any secrets. Remember, tight lips keeps one out of jail.”

  They shook hands and Rico left. After a walk to a payphone and a call to Manny’s with a message for his folks, Cy’s indoctrination began with The Theory of Money and Credit, Atlas Shrugged, and Alongside Night just for starters. There was much to learn from Ludwig von Mises, Murray Rothbard, and Marine Corps Major General Smedley Butler. There was much to learn and precious little time in which to learn it.

  Chapter 21 – The Party Begins

  I was dozing in and out; this business of staying awake after midnight was getting old. Red had drifted off, but I didn’t have the heart to wake her. I could see the street outside. Other than the occasional streetwalker plying her trade or a few drug deals, it was another quiet night.

  The marine radio was plugged in and left turned on. We also had devised a signal to be used if using the telephone. Occasionally the police scanner activated.

  When the cell phone went off, Red rose about two feet off the couch. I reached for it and put it on speaker. “Hello.”

  It was Ricki. “Are you still awake; we’ve got one heck of a party going on down here? Why don’t you join us?”

  “Okay, be along shortly.”

  We just stared at one another for a moment in silence. Then we got up and grabbed the kits we had put together. One of the safe houses was under assault.

  At the door we stopped for an unusually long kiss full on the mouth. When you don’t know if there will be another kiss, it takes on a particular potency.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  She was suddenly radiant. I can’t explain it, there in that place, that dingy second floor walkup, about to charge into a firefight, and I could not escape how radiant she looked.

  “You too,” was all I said.

  We took off in separate cars for separate muster locations. I had pick-ups to make. Hector didn’t live too far away, and Smitty was on the way.

  “Hi,” said Hector as he stepped out of the shadows with his pack and slid his Mosin out of hiding. I had opened the trunk, and he deposited his rifle there.

  “Any idea where we’re heading,” I asked.

  “Nope, same as you.”

  Smitty was waiting as well around beside his house in the dark. He slid his .308 in back and jumped in. Both had their machine shotguns in their backpacks. We had gotten in the habit of calling them grease guns because of their appearance or just ASGs, automatic shotguns. They were available if needed but would be kept out of sight unless there was a problem. Besides, pistols were more readily available.

  We were the last to arrive. Rico was already bringing people up to date. “You guys decide to join us?” he said with a grin.

  “Unless the dress is formal,” replied Smitty.

  “Yeah, I hope this is formal enough,” said Hector removing his ASG from his pack.

  “It should do. We’re all here except Craig. His wife’s in the hospital; I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

  Nobody really minded. Craig was in pretty good shape for a guy his age, but his best years were spent long ago in Vietnam.

  Rico continued, “We’ve had a zombie raid hit one of our safe houses. We’ve got three of our people in there and five escapees. Obviously, they’re outnumbered.”

  “We’re riding to their rescue?” asked Ricki.

  “Yes, but we’ve been assigned another mission. We are to go to this location and set an abandoned manufacturing plant on fire,” he said pointing to a map. “Then we are going to shoot up a police station.”

  “I thought we weren’t attacking them,” offered Lara.

  “What choice do we have? They attacked us.”

  “What about the people under attack, who’s going to help them?” insisted Slime.

  “We’re supposed to draw some of the heat off them. Otherwise the statists will be able to dump everything they have on the safe house, and we’d never get them out.

  “Other units, especially the units in outlying areas, are doing the same thing, so that it will be hard to bring help from outside. After we’re finished, we are to run interference in order to make it difficult for the zombies to bring in backup.

  “This isn’t going to be another Waco or Ru….”

  “Don’t you guys believe in security?” interrupted Craig. “I just walked in here.”

  “Craig!” Laura shouted.

  “I thought you were at the hospital,” said Rico.

  “I was, but one of the nurses said they were expecting plenty of gunshot wounds, and nobody was home anywhere I called. So I put two and two together.”

  “What about your wife?”

  “She’s stable; my daughter is driving over to the hospital now.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I just said I was tired and wanted to go home.”

  “Glad to have you on board. Tim, Ricki get the explosives.” Ricki’s fascination with fire led naturally to explosives. She had brought Tim, a precise and careful technical man, along as well.

  “Gotcha boss,” said Tim. He and Ricki went for the explosive mix and the detonators. We had been working on that.

  The rest of us climbed in the van hiding our rifles under a blanket. The portable scanner was alive with activity, and it was clear that our fire was not the only one being set tonight.

  Rico dialed up his prepaid cell phone. “Hi Billy, you guys still up shooting pool?” After a few moments, “Hey that’s too bad, see you tomorrow.” Now command knew we were on our way to the first assigned target.

  He was listening on the marine radio, but there was silence. As we neared the target Rico keyed the mike and said, “Watchman this is Prowler.”

  “Watchman here.”

  “Got anything?”

  “Negative, it’s clean.” Bill Prost looked over at Ilene. She smiled back. They were parked in a lo
ver’s lane overlooking the target and about a mile away.

  Rico did not answer. I caught his gaze. “That’s one of the older patriots who helps keep an eye on things.”

  “Slick, now I don’t feel quite so alone.”

  “Oh, we’re not alone; don’t let that fool you. There are plenty of us, and there are many jobs to be done. Remember your Milton – ‘They also serve who only stand and wait’.”

  “I’m curious, but I don’t suppose I have a need to know.”

  “You can’t spill what you don’t know. We are pretty well compartmentalized.”

  We neared the target. “Okay follow me,” said Rico.

  “Pacho, Slime, Laura, help me with the juice. Craig drive around a bit; Hector, you and Smitty keep watch. Come with me.”

  We entered the fence through a hole already cut and quickly found a window that had been knocked out. The door had a rusty chain and lock on it, so we took the window. I suspect Rico had already checked the place out. It was old, and the floors were wood.

  “Try not to get any on yourself,” instructed Rico as we poured the syrupy mixture over the floor. He set the detonator for five minutes.

  “Come on,” he said and led us back to the window.

  Just as we reached it, the rotating lights of a police car illuminated the place. Hector and Smitty opened up with the new ASGs.

  “Mother Goose, get back here now,” Rico called on the radio.

  “Wilco,” was the only reply.

  We were out the window and joined in. The policeman opened up with his pump shotgun but was severely outgunned. At that moment, Slime cut in front of Hector’s line of fire.

  “Watch what you’re doing!”

  Slime hit the deck.

  “Hold your fire,” ordered Rico, “and let us pass. Pacho keep his head down.”

  “You got it.” I started spraying short bursts at the police car concentrating on the tires.

  After Rico had led the others away from the plant, he called out to the three of us, “Okay guys, we’ll cover you; get through the fence.”

  Craig had pulled up by this time and pumped several .30-06 rounds into the engine compartment of the police cruiser. “Okay, everybody aboard,” called Rico. He was the last one to climb in, and Craig floored it.