Pete nodded. “That young man who saved his people later became the chief of the Yaqui Nation. He was called Chief Running Creek. He was my ancestor.”
Raz looked at Pete. These were not only strong and brave people, but they were smart too. “What ever happened ta the soldiers that got run out?”
Pete offered a grin. “They didn’t get too far.”
“What ‘bout the gold?”
“Still where it belongs,” Pete said.
Raz chuckled. “I think we have a plan, boys.”
Chapter 42
During the shootout between the camp guards and the men trying to rescue the prisoners, the captives stampeded back into their buildings. They had seen the dead guards pierced with arrows. Who in the world would attempt to overrun the camp by shooting arrows? Sure, many guards were killed in the attack, and that was a good thing. But the mystery liberators had been beaten back, run off into the desert.
Some of the prisoners were afraid the remaining guards would turn ugly and pull them into the yards looking for information. Or maybe they would simply go on a killing spree, taking out their rage on the innocent and unarmed hostages. Security personnel would want to know who attempted the failed rescue. And they’d want to find out quickly. People were terrified of what might come next.
Everyone inside huddled against the walls and each other. No one spoke for fear they would be heard and singled out. Women and children were crying after watching gruesome death before their eyes. Questions ran through many of their minds. Were Indians attacking the camp? Was this a Native American reservation? Who were the men in that Army vehicle? What did they expect to accomplish? Why were there so many new guards who showed up all of a sudden?
And finally, the big one.
Would they ever get out of there alive?
The soldiers on the ground eventually completed their shift change. The tower guns were once again manned and readied should the Indians return. The rest of the guards remained alert and diligent, believing the attackers would not dare show their faces again. They stripped the gear and weapons from the dead guards and forced prisoners to load their lifeless bodies and those of the massacred inmates into the backhoe front buckets. The bodies were then transported to the large open trench. Dead mercenaries were as expendable as civilian inmates. Squads of soldiers climbed the hills to find layers of slain Indians. Some of the men laughed at the unnatural sight. It was the first time they had ever seen a real American Indian in the flesh.
The additional guards scoured the entire camp and surrounding area for any other potential attackers. They found pickup tire tracks leading away from the complex and followed them more than a half mile into the desert. They stopped where the road fell into the wash and then returned to base camp. The soldiers would next be ordered to interrogate prisoners, everyone in the camp if necessary, to determine who the attackers were and where they were hiding.
Robin was startled when the front doors to her building were kicked in. Several armed guards stormed inside. She grabbed her kids and covered them the best she could with her jacket. She was sure she had earlier heard her husband Cody calling her name, looking for his family. But the large crowd against the fence prevented her from getting closer. She wasn’t able to see him, but she knew it was Cody. She screamed and screamed, answering back as Cody ran down the length of the fence, searching. But the deafening noise from the wild chanting had drowned out her cries.
Then the shooting began.
Bullets were flying everywhere. Guards went down. Machine guns were peppering the ground, battering humans, good and bad. Shots hit and ricocheted off the Army vehicle, failing to find their mark. Blasts of lead tore into the fenced area, killing dozens of inmates jammed against the chain links. People were screaming and running, looking for cover from the constant shooting. Inside their prison they waited and waited. Robin knew her husband was out there somewhere and would return for them again. She peeked through the opened shutter and realized the Humvee had gone. She had no way of knowing if Cody was safe or not.
Every detainee in the place lowered their heads to avoid eye contact with the four guards who had entered. The soldiers booted people on the floor. They jabbed the butts of their rifles into lowered heads. They moved in closer and elbowed some men standing up, knocking them to the floor. Then the guards grabbed four men by their collars and shoved them out the doors. One of them was Joseph, the man who tried to help Robin. He said nothing as he and the rest were thrust down the steps into the yard. He simply looked down with fear plastered on his face.
The forewarned inmate interrogations were about to begin. Retributions were certain to follow.
Squads of soldiers escorted collected inmates down the long center road toward the interrogation building. As prisoners were being pushed inside, the rest of the captives watched in suspense. Robin watched them from the doorway. Would they return? Joseph had mentioned that some never came back. Would the guards come back for more inmates? What if they took her? She had nothing to say. Would her children be safe without her?
She saw there were extra guards at the nearby sentry point. The troop truck was at the entrance blocking the road. More guards walked the perimeter, far more vigilant than earlier. The backhoes on the far side of the interrogation building were dumping dirt in the hole, layering the bodies with fill dirt.
Obviously there was no escape route now that the camp was on high alert.
Robin returned and sat with Jeffrey and Jennifer. She glanced around the large room. No one stopped to look at her, not like in the transport bus. There was no fight left in these people. They had already given up, dismissed any crazy thoughts of escaping. Instead, the people around her huddled close to friends and loved ones, hoping they would not be plucked from the barn to be served to the enemy.
Robin remembered hearing a term she had never liked, never agreed with. Sheeple. She had heard it on the radio, read it in some books, ignored it in conversation. Maybe they were right, she thought, gazing at the defeated mass of neighbors. These were the sheeple she had heard about.
But not her.
She refused to be one of them. She held her kids tighter and tears leaked down her cheeks. She would not give in. She was not going down so easily.
Then she heard several gun shots in the distance. The killings had begun.
Chapter 43
The President and the First Lady were enjoying a lovely dinner prepared by their private chef. General Wells and his wife had been asked to join them for the late meal as well. When they had finished their fresh Maine lobsters and perfectly grilled Kobe steaks, the men excused themselves from the ladies and retired to a small adjacent sitting room. They had business to discuss.
The President poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to the General. “To our success,” the President lifted his glass in a triumphant toast, though it was probably still too soon to declare victory.
“Wow,” the General said. “That’s good.”
“Royal Salute,” the President said. “Fitting, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir.”
“What’s going on, General?” the President asked. He had decided to get an update on the procedures above ground from the man he most trusted, rather than sit and listen to the other Deputies and Secretaries. General Wells was at the top of the chain and he knew all that was happening.
The General downed his drink. “Mr. President, you are aware of the situations with the Chinese and Russians. Until recently, there have been enormous measures taken by our adversaries to make strategic moves on America and some of our closest allies. Of course, our network of ICBMs and our nuclear armed squadrons of airborne bombers remain at peak operation and are still considered calculable deterrents by the communist and terrorist regimes.”
The President nodded, quietly holding his glass. Tell me something I don’t know, he thought.
“It appears sir, over the past few hours China has withdrawn several of its nuclear subs from our wester
n and southern coasts. Half of their brigades along the North Korean border have been ordered to pull back and they are now being re-routed north toward Mongolia. Three of their five infantry and tank divisions near the Afghanistan border are also being diverted north to Kazakhstan, which as you know, borders Russia. It seems, according to our intelligence sources, the massive Chinese offensive movements have changed into defensive lines.”
“Is it my understanding, General, that the Chinese are more concerned about our nuclear strength than was earlier expected?” the President wanted to know.
The General shook his head. “Not exactly sir. If I may, I’d first like to let you know about the Russians.”
The President sat back and waved his hand, as if to say ‘continue’.
“The Russians are changing their tactics as well. Troop alignment along the borders of Eastern Europe and the newer states, which were once a part of the Soviet Union, has eased up. Large portions of these Russian armies are being mobilized to southern Russia, closer to the edge of China. Four of their subs have left our shores also and are heading home. Speculation is they are on course to the Sea of Japan and the East China Sea.”
“Looks as if the enemy of our enemy has become our friend, at least in this case,” the President remarked. “And, only temporarily,” he added.
“Yes sir. Neither side is satisfied with their deal, and they both want the whole of America for themselves. Like two dogs fighting over a bone. It’s come down to one having to destroy the other in order to win the big prize. They’ve taken their eyes off the ball, so to speak, to clash with each other. Then, the victor can easily come back into our waters for their trophy with no resistance. Or so they think. This is a battle, sir, for singular superpower status,” the General stated.
The President smiled like a master chess player facing his weakened opponent. The proper pieces were in play, just as he had predicted. Neither side, Chinese nor Russian, would be able to declare
checkmate. “Excellent work General. Let the bastards annihilate each other, fucking greedy, conniving sons-of-a-bitches. This gives us time to eliminate both foreign assholes from our sights.”
The General went to the wet bar and poured another drink for himself and his boss.
“This calls for a celebration,” the President raised his glass, waiting for the General to do the same.
“Well, sir. Maybe not just yet,” the General said in a low tone.
“What aren’t you telling me, Joe?”
General Wells knew when the commander-in-chief called him by his first name he should be worried. The major problems of enemy nations attacking America was at arms length for the moment. In their place were domestic wildfires spreading out of control in many towns and cities in the country. It was an internal windstorm traveling both independently and collectively throughout the land with a force far superior than any organized army and far more determined than any hostile force with a dedicated purpose.
The Army officer was afraid to say it, but he had to explain the new insurgent developments. “We have another dilemma, sir.” He hesitated, then reluctantly continued. “If you recall earlier, we had several skirmishes with outlining renegades. Small citizen groups exchanging blows with the authorities.”
“I was assured those insects would be squashed,” the President said angrily. “And they have guns and seasoned soldiers.”
“Ah…yes sir. Veterans’ service clubs like the VFW, American Legion, AMVETS, DAV, and hundreds of other affiliates are gathering their ex-military members in efforts to fight back. They’re causing havoc at evacuation centers, road checkpoints, even at detention camps,” the General explained. “And most of them are armed.”
“A bunch of drunken old farts, all of them.” The President was furious. “I told the damn Congress I wanted to confiscate every gun in the civilian population. But they backed down, fearful of the publicity, afraid of losing votes. Fucking pussies! We wouldn’t have this problem if we had insisted and followed through on complete gun control.”
“Yes sir, but….”
“But nothing. You know I’m right. We have the god-damn Chinese and Russians under control and you’re telling me we can’t stop a few splintered factions of over the hill…what’d you call them before? Dangerous old men? Come on General. What do we have to do to stop them? Take their fucking Social Security checks away?”
“Yes sir, I mean no sir,” the General was all over the place. “It’s not only them. There’re cowboys in the west, the rednecks down south, the patriots up north, police forces from numerous cities. Rebels are coming out of the woodwork, sir. Hell, even people in California are rebelling. I’m afraid we underestimated their reaction or their ability to unite.”
“Well, how in the hell did that happen?” the President wanted to know.
“Apparently they do have transportation and communications. We’ve received reports of motorized caravans approaching major detention camps. Some of the collection centers have been overrun. Many of the dissenters must have been preppers, you know, citizens who stock up on provisions and weapons in case of natural disasters or potential uprisings against the government.”
“I know what the fuck preppers are, General Wells. They’re a bunch of god-damn conspiracy theorists. Whackos. Instigators,” the President shouted. “No good useless eaters who want to go back to the old way.”
The President tightened his stare. “Why weren’t all these troublemakers rounded up in the first place?”
The General had no answer.
The President began yelling. “They think they have sacred rights? They think they’re so fucking special because they live in America? They think they can stop what we’ve worked so hard to create? We’ll show every one of them how god-damn special they are.”
The General lowered his shoulders in a show of submission. “Yes Mr. President.”
Chapter 44
It was mid-morning, a few hours after the first attack. The outside temperature was actually warming up. Raz, Pete, and the entire remaining Pascua tribe were preparing once again to face the camp soldiers.
This time the outcome would be different.
“How’s my boy?” Raz asked one of the men just returning from the Indian village.
“You can ask him yourself,” the young man said. “There he is.” He shrugged his shoulders and pointed down the trail.
A pickup pulled up to the men in a circle. From the passenger side out slid Cody. He looked like a rag tag soldier all taped and bandaged up. His wounded left shoulder and arm were held chest high with a makeshift cloth sling hung around his neck. His chest and side were tightly wrapped under his jacket making him look like a mummy. And he still had the bandage on his forehead from the glass cut.
“Ya look like hell,” Raz grunted.
“Great, because that’s exactly how I feel,” Cody remarked.
“What the hell ya think ya doin’ here?”
As he moved, Cody scowled from the pains in his body. Every part of him hurt. “I’m going back in there with you guys. Don’t try to stop me old man.”
Raz shook his head. “I ain’t gonna try ta stop ya. A fool does foolish things.”
“Ah…thanks, I think,” Cody said.
“Ya ain’t gonna be no help, though,” Raz added.
“I can still shoot,” the young man reassured him.
“Yup, from way behind me,” Raz ended the conversation and turned toward the Humvee.
Pete yelled out, “Okay men, get your tired asses ready. It’s time to cause some pain to the white guys. When we get to the hills have the rest of our people line up as we planned.”
Raz got in his car. Cody was moving slowly. “Hey boy, ya comin’ or not?”
“Hold your horses John Wayne.”
The group fired up their vehicles and drove toward the camp. The other Pascuas, the old men, the women and children, followed on foot behind the caravan of trucks. Once they reached the camp, it would take them maybe fiftee
n minutes to set the circle on the ridges.
Looking down from the peak Raz noticed through his binoculars there was lots of activity in the detention camp. Guards were hurriedly escorting prisoners from every building. Five or six at a time. The yards were empty, but the doors were wide open. People were being pushed into the structure outside the fence. The interrogation building, the killing center. If anything, Raz knew it was more like a torture chamber. The backhoes were covering up something in the ditch with more buckets of dirt. He heard gun shots, the echoing sounds delayed a few seconds because of the distance.
People were being shot inside.
“Somethin’s up,” Raz said to Cody who was still struggling up the hill.
Guards were pulling out more prisoners from their safe havens. Those who refused or struggled were shot on the spot. Those who fell to the ground out of sheer panic were shot. This was no regular questioning process.
“This ain’t good,” Raz said with a sense of urgency in his voice.
“What is it?” Cody asked, as he reached his friend.
“The detainees goin’ in that buildin’ ain’t comin’ out standin’ up. See there.” He pointed at the back of the structure so Cody could see what he was talking about. It was difficult to see everything, but Cody
could make out people carrying something, bodies, out the back. They were tossing the things into a pile for the backhoes to scoop up.
Raz rubbed his weary eyes to be certain what he was watching. “Yup, they’re carryin’ dead bodies out. The bastards must have asked them a few questions and got no satisfactory answers. Son-of-a-bitch! Those people don’t know nothin’.”
He yelled down the hill. “They’re innocent, you fucks!” But it was good that he wasn’t heard down in the compound.
Raz watched most of the guards, laughing and talking, return to the prisoner buildings, ready for another group of walking dead inmates.
Treasonous Behavior- in the Beginning Page 28