New World Order: California Invasion (Vol. 2)

by W. R. Benton

  As Ben rode the motorcycle, he checked the countryside as he moved. The last thing he needed was to get caught in a UN check point, and they had them all over the state. While the main fighting line was near Bourbon, Missouri, the enemy had used airborne troops to their advantage, by dropping them in to disrupt the CSA. Knocking out power, destroying oil pipelines and gasoline storage areas, and by setting up roadblocks, they were vicious in their attempts to bring the country to a stop.

  President Grant had declared them criminals to be shot on sight, but they'd not slowed their activities in the least. Just like the CSA partisans, they gave no quarter and asked for none in return. They both knew if they were caught they'd either be shot or hanged, and no trial was required, either. As a result, very few of the UN paratroopers or CSA partisans were captured.

  They'd just gone down a steep hill, crossed a bridge over the Gasconade River, and started up a long hill when Ben saw a roadblock ahead flying a UN flag. The roadblock was a good quarter mile away, so he stopped the bike and moved into the woods, hoping to circle around them.

  Machine-gun fire was heard, but the bullets were striking trees, a good 100 feet or more behind them. Ben knew distances were deceiving when shooting up or down hill. Once about a 100 meters into the trees, he began to move quickly through the woods, hoping to get past the gunner before they could fire on the motorcycle's position accurately. His driving brought more than one scratched shin or scraped elbow, but ignoring the pain, they continued to move. The machine-gun began to spit bullets in their general direction.

  Suddenly Cook screamed and his grip on Ben was suddenly weaker.

  “Are you okay?” Ben asked.

  “I was struck in the back, at an angle and have no idea how badly I'm hit, but I'm bleeding.”

  “We'll stop on top of the hill and plug you up. Can you hold on that long?”

  “I think so, because I don't have much pain.”

  Yelling to be heard over the straining engine as they moved uphill, Ben said, “The pain will come later, trust me. I have morphine, but don't want to give it to you, because you'll be useless to me if I do. I'll give you a codeine pill and that's the best I can do for now.”

  “The pain is starting now.”

  “You need to deal with it until we're closer to the crest of this hill. It won't be long, maybe five more minutes.”

  “Uh, I'll try.”

  Minutes later, after reaching the crest, Ben stopped the motorcycle and pulled a first aid kit from his gear. Using a flashlight under a poncho, he cut the back of the Captain's flight suit, he discovered a small hole at the top of his left shoulder with no exit wound.

  “Whatever hit you didn't exit, but it wasn't a round from a rifle or a machine-gun or you'd be really torn up. I suspect a ricochet from a part of a bullet struck you. While you're bleeding a lot and I'm sure it hurts like hell, it isn't close to being a life-threatening injury. I'll bandage you and we'll continue on. Once at Fort Wood, they'll be able to treat you better at their hospital.”

  Grinning, Cook pulled the bottle of whiskey Nancy had given him from a lower pocket and took a long pull. He had more than half a bottle remaining.

  “Just for my pain. While the pill will help a little, some liquid pain killer will work the best.” Captain Cook said.

  “Hush, I just heard someone coming. They've stopped now.” he whispered.

  Chapter 13

  The C-130 aircraft was flying fairly smoothly on this moonless night, and rain was in the forecast for later in the morning. The three passengers in the back were as ready as they could be for this jump near Chicago. The pilot had announced a few hours ago they were flying at 7010.400 meters and would be over the drop zone (DZ) in less than ten minutes. He was under orders to pass over the city once and only once, then swing north into Canadian airspace for the return flight to New York City.

  Suddenly, the load master moved to the rear ramp and, pushing a button, the ramp began to lower. The man was attached to the aircraft by an adjustable nylon strap.

  Each parachutist wore an olive green helmet, goggles, parachute, flight suit and were breathing oxygen from the aircraft. They had an oxygen bottle installed in their parachutes, so once they left the aircraft they'd activate it by pulling a small green ball. The goggles and oxygen mask both felt too tight on The Boss' face. They each had a full communications system, so they could speak and hear.

  “Move to the open ramp.” the load master was ordered by the pilot.

  The load master helped each of them to the ramp due to the weight of the weapons and ammunition they carried, and then kept his eye on the red light by the aft doors. As soon as the light turned green, the small group was to jump. The jump master was experienced, so he stood ready to kick one of the jumpers from the ramp or push them. He'd been told that all three were to jump, at all costs.

  The light turned green and, since they could hear him through their communications system installed in the helmet and oxygen mask, they heard the load master say, “Go!”

  All three waddled off into space and were gone from view. The load master then closed the ramp and said, “Load master to pilot.”

  “Go.”

  “Ramp closed, which your console light should confirm, so let's go home. I heard the navigator was buying the beers at the bar.”

  As he fell, The Boss remembered to extend his arms and legs, so he was spreadeagled as he dropped. At the altitude they jumped, the air was cold. He'd lost sight of the other two, so a few long seconds later he said, “I'm passing through 4572 meters and all is well.”

  “All is well.” Adolpha replied.

  “I'm fine.” Thomas said.

  The Boss, not trusting his equipment, kept his eyes on his altimeter and was ready to pull his parachute at exactly the right moment if the gear malfunctioned. At 152.40 meters, he'd deploy his parachute, unless it worked properly. He disliked the falling sensation and if not required by the NWO, he'd not stay current in jumping because he'd never gotten totally over his fear. I must be falling at terminal velocity, he thought, and hoped his speed wouldn't cause problems with his chute. He was praying he'd gotten a good parachute, drop his heavy bags, and land without injury.

  Looking down, he could see little in the darkness, and his altimeter showed he had roughly a thousand feet to fall. It seemed like seconds later his chute deployed; he reached down and released both equipment bags. He prepared mentally to touch the ground and do a parachute landing fall. He swung gently twice and then struck the ground. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he pulled the releases on his harness and the parachute disconnected from him. He was collecting his chute when Adolpha said, “I'm on the ground.”

  He was burying his chute when Thomas said, “I'm on the ground, oh . . . but struck . . . tree . . . on the . . . way down.”

  “Are you badly injured?” The Boss asked.

  “I'm not . . . sure, except . . . I feel . . . nothing . . . nothing from my waist . . . down. I . . . I took . . . morphine.”

  “Adolpha, let me see your strobe light.” The Boss said as he slipped a pair of Night Vision Goggles (NVG's) on his head. A few seconds later, he said, “I see your light; I think you are on the edge of the big field I am in. Turn the light off now.”

  “Let me see your strobe flash and I will guide you to me. I can see Thomas from here.”

  “Can you see me?” he asked, as he turned the bright light on.

  “I am straight in front of you at your 12 O'clock position.”

  A few short minutes later, he was standing beside her.

  “We will get rid of the helmets and oxygen masks as soon as we get to Thomas.” he said, and then added, “Do you see him?”

  “He is about 100 meters along the treeline behind us.”

  “I . . . I . . . think I am going . . . to pass out.” Thomas said in a voice just above a whisper.

  “Let us move to him now. We will return for our bags in a few minutes.” The Boss said.

  Th
ey found Thomas just a few feet from a huge oak tree and he was flat on his back, unable to move. They removed their helmets and masks, and then Adolpha looked the injured man over.

  Finally she stood.

  “Well?”

  “His back is broken. I do not think he will ever walk again.”

  “Take our helmets and masks, including his, and bury them.” The Boss said as he handed his gear to her.

  As she turned to walk away, she heard Thomas asked, “Why . . . the gun?”

  She heard three low “thoots” and knew the injured man was now dead. Apparently, it was decided by the Boss that Thomas was now a liability and not an asset to the NWO.

  When she returned, the Boss was undressing Thomas and removing all the dead man's gear. He did leave his wallet, with drivers license and other papers in place. He took the money to make it look like a robbery. He had no idea if the branches and tree limbs overhead were broken, but he could do nothing about that.

  Looking at her watch, Adolpha said, “Our ride should be here in a few minutes, unless they were caught.”

  “You still have the money bag, right?”

  “Yes, $250,000 in good funds and $50,000 counterfeit. All in new $100 bills.”

  “They did an excellent job copying the American money too, because I cannot tell the difference in them.”

  “I see headlights approaching from the north.”

  Minutes later a truck pulled near and the driver said, “Double.”

  The Boss said, “Play.”

  “Looks like one of ya was killed. Throw the body in the back and we'll stop at a hog farm on the way back and throw him over the fence. In 24 hours they'll have to identify him by DNA from his bones.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Adolpha asked.

  “Hogs will strip and eat the flesh of a human in hours. The ones I have in mind are always hungry, so I suspect little will be left, except for his skull and part of his chest. Call me Noah.” the smiling black face said.

  “Let us move, and do the job now.” The Boss said.

  “Load the body and gear you need. Just make damned sure you have the money that was supposed to have been sent, along with the weapons.”

  “We have the money and the arms, as well. We will load this stuff and then move to two other spots to collect all our bags for you.”

  “Let's hurry, I don't like bein' out here at night. If they catch us, we'll all be shot.”

  “We might shoot back.” Adolpha said.

  Giving a big grin, Noah said, “Now that I'd like to see.”

  The President of the United States now slept, ate, and relaxed in the deep bunker, going out only to speak to the public. Agents were living upstairs so movement could be seen through the windows of the new White House. In their rooms, each had a pair of televisions mounted on the wall with a video constantly playing an outdoor view. If you didn't know better, you'd think you were looking out a real window, so it gave his family the feeling of living above ground.

  “Sir, we have reports of large aircraft approaching, in two flights of three. They are coming in from the west.”

  “Most likely they are B-52 aircraft and if so, they'll do some damage if their target is here.” a General said as he turned to a Chief Master Sergeant and added, “Joe, scramble the fighters and do the job now.”

  A few short minutes later, the six large dots on the screen were showing a dozen smaller dots moving toward them.

  “General,” President Norton said, “turn on the radio so we can hear the communications.”

  “Uh, Ox One, I count six B-52's approaching from the west and I have them visual.”

  “Roger that, Ox One, take 'em out.”

  “Copy, and we're moving into position now.”

  “Ox flight leader, be advised the enemy aircraft have fighter escorts. We are just now picking up their images and they're faint. We estimate twenty-four escorts, repeat two – four escorts.”

  “Copy, starting our attack now.”

  “Bandits at our nine o'clock position, over.”

  “Ox Six, break right! Hard right!”

  “Ox four, get out! Eject now!”

  “Four going down and I didn't see him leave the aircraft.”

  “Ox One, this is Ox Three, and my instrument panel is lit up. I'm going to try to make it home.”

  “Uh, Three, this is Seven and your tail section is in flames.”

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Ox Three and I'm ejecting. Leaving now!”

  “There goes his canopy!” someone said, and it sounded like Ox One.

  “I saw his seat fire, and he's out.”

  “He has a chute. This is Ox Four, and he's off my right side.”

  “Base, this is Ox One requesting immediate rescue.”

  “Copy One, continue your mission. We have marked your location, over.”

  “I got one!” a voice yelled and then Ox Three said, “I saw the hit on the fast mover. Way to go, Ox Two, over.”

  “Uh, one chute just left the bogey.”

  “Ox One, Ox Two, the front aircraft in the first wave of the Big Ugly Fat F**kers (BUFF) is smoking from his port wing.”

  “Wing man, watch my six as I try a missile.”

  “Roger that, boss, go.”

  “I have a radar lock and missile released.”

  “Damn, what an explosion!” someone yelled.

  “Clean up the language!” Ox One ordered.

  “Ox Two here and it's going down. The wing is collapsing!”

  “This is Ox five and I see; one, two, three, four, five, parachutes at my three o'clock low.”

  “They're all out.”

  “Break Five, break left!”

  “Hard left! Pull up, Five!”

  “Ox One this is Ox Five, I have extensive damage to my aircraft and I'm returning home.”

  “Take your wing man with you.”

  “Roger.” Ox Six said as he moved in beside the battle damaged jet.

  Both aircraft began a gradual descent, which had them out of the fight in seconds.

  “I got a BUFF, just slightly behind the last flight.”

  “I have it in sight and I count no parachutes at this time.”

  “Break hard right, Ox Seven.”

  “Ox Eight, and I see two chutes from the BUFF, but it's starting to spin now. Wait, two more chutes just opened.”

  “Ox Flight, return to base.”

  The controller turned to the General and said, “The enemy aircraft will be overhead in less than three minutes, sir.”

  “Alert the Surface to Air Missile (SAM) launch crews.”

  “They're following this on their radar, sir. I suspect they'll launch any second now.”

  The White House was ringed with SAM sites and all fired at the same time. The aircraft were too high to see with the naked eye, but the crew watched for explosions and some watched the radar screens.

  Suddenly the sky above had a gigantic flash of light and someone at a SAM site said, “Got 'em, and there will be no chutes from that one.”

  Then the ground shook as 108 bombs, weighing 500 pounds apiece, fell from each of the remaining three B-52s. A total of 324 bombs and 160,000 pounds or 80,000 tons of munitions landed on the square block housing the White House. The SAM sites disappeared, blown to hell and back. Hundreds of military personnel instantly ceased to exist and little would remain to be buried. The whole area was pockmarked with craters.

  Half of the flight of B-52's were lost, along with 10 lives, but the White House was buried under tons of concrete and debris. It would take workers, working around the clock, days to gain access to the bunker again.

  However, there was a tunnel out of the bunker and it opened in a city park, less than a mile from the bombing site. Choppers were locating downed aircrew members from both sides of the war and most had some injuries. Once they were treated at a hospital, the Prisoners of War (POW's) were turned over to military intelligence, and housed in a prison. For many of them,
it was their first introduction to hell, with the interrogations being the flames of Hades, and the interrogator Satan himself.

  Chapter 14

  Ben turned the motorcycle off and squatted behind it, his rifle and Cook ready for action. They'd moved into a brier patch, and had the dirt bike laying on it's side. He lowered his NVG's, and instantly smiled at the green tint that surrounded everything he saw. Someone would have to walk up to them by accident or smell the hot motorcycle in the darkness to find the bike. Dark forms began to move up the hill toward them. From his count, Ben made out ten men in his night vision goggles.

  “This is bullshit, Sarge,” an unknown voice said, “they were on a motorcycle, so they're way gone by now. All we've done all day is walk and my ass is tired.”

  “Shut your mouth, Taylor, and follow orders. The Captain told us to check to the crest of this hill and by God, that is what we'll do.”

  Ben saw both men clearly in his NVGs as they talked, and the Sergeant was a big black fellow while Taylor was a much smaller white man, packing an M-240 machine-gun on his left shoulder.

  Taylor mumbled something and then the Sergeant said, “That's enough. Keep the noise down and if you've got something to say to me, say it to my face once we're back in camp. If you want, I'll even take my shirt off, and beat the hell out of you again.”

  “I'm just tired.” Taylor said.

  “Be tired on your own time. Right now, shut your mouth, and not another word.”

  Within minutes the men move out of hearing range and toward the top of the hill. Ben waited for their return, but an hour later, realized they must have gone down the other side of the hill. He gave them another 30 minutes and then started the bike once more.

  Cook mounted behind him and they were off and moving. Once over the top of the crest, he rode to the old road and they were able to move much faster on the pavement. Just before they were to enter Waynesville, about a mile out of town, they came under attack. Bullets kicked chunks of concrete high in the air as two grenades exploded way behind them. Tracers, both red and green, flew through the air, but either behind or in front of the motorcycle.