by Warren Ray
Contents
The Shadow Patriots - #1
New Recruits - #2
Dark Maneuvers - #3
The Shadow Patriots - #1
Warren Ray
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2019 by Warren Ray
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Chapter 1
Lucas County Iowa
Without hesitation, Cole Winters jumped out the back of the slow-moving American military transport then stumbled and rolled on the sandy ground. He picked himself up and ran after his hat, which had blown off his head. At fifty-two, chasing a hat blown about by a swift spring wind wasn't an easy task. After a couple of futile attempts, he finally stepped on it and then took a moment to catch his breath before picking it up. Winters put the hat back on, turned around, and saw his friends waving at him as the last of the three-truck convoy disappeared over the crest of the hill. Contemplating the remaining half-mile trek to the train station, he wondered why he had impulsively jumped out of a moving truck all for a hat.
Winters stood a couple of inches under six feet, with narrow shoulders and thinning salt and pepper hair. His facial wrinkles had deepened with age and gave him a serious look. He didn’t drink beer but carried excessive belly fat. This was a result of infrequent exercise and indulging in too many vending machine snacks.
He walked down the center of the road, which was bordered by barren Iowa cornfields. Not wanting to be thought a slacker, Winters picked up his pace and reached the top of the hill. He squinted his eyes and spotted his friends standing beside the parked trucks up ahead.
Loud crackling sounds rang out. Those, mixed with loud screaming sent a chill up his spine. Confused, he ran towards the tree line to his right. More popping echoed through the air.
It was gunfire.
Reaching the cover of the trees, he fell to the ground and focused on the source of the screams. His mouth dropped open as he realized it was his friends.
“Die ya old geezers,” shouted a skinny man with an AK-47.
“That’s enough, stop wasting your bullets, can’t you see they’re all dead,” yelled another who’s nose appeared to have been broken more than once.
“Hey, did you hear that one big feller begging me not to kill him?” asked the skinny one.
Both men checked over the dead. “Bunch of idiots, thinking they could actually fight,” said Crooked nose.
“Well, they did die for their country, just not how they figured,” said the skinny one.
Both laughed.
They turned around when Bill, their boss, yelled at them. “Get those bodies out to the field and clean up that mess, pronto.”
Crooked nose gave a half-hearted salute. “Oh yes sir, pronto, right away sir.” He turned to his friend. “Never see him do any of the dirty work.”
Two more men joined them and added to the jovial banter.
Frozen with fear and shock, Winters stared at his lifelong friends lying dead on the concrete platform. The scene started to sink in making him sick to his stomach.
The three big transport trucks pulled out of the parking lot and headed home. The four men started to throw the dead bodies into the back of a pickup truck.
“Hey, I only count twenty-nine, shouldn’t there be thirty bodies?” said the skinny man.
“Are you sure?” asked another.
“Yeah count ‘em up.”
“Two, six, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-two, twenty-nine. Damn! One’s missing alright.”
Winters kept his eyes on the four men as they started looking around in the distance. They appeared to be searching for something.
The skinny one yelled across the parking lot. “Bill, looks like we’re missing one.”
The boss walked over and counted. “Get these bodies over to the field then go check the surrounding woods. You two take the other pickup, see if our missing man isn’t walking home.”
The second pickup peeled out and took off south. The rest of the workers finished loading the lifeless bodies in the truck. They then drove into a field, where they dumped the corpses into a large pit. Minutes later, they left the field and made a beeline towards the woods. The truck pulled up within forty yards of where Winters hid. Two men carrying AK-47 rifles slid out of the vehicle and walked into the woods.
Winters shimmied backward before getting up to run. His legs turned to rubber and shook uncontrollably, which made him stumble after a few strides. Desperation forced him to crawl on his hands and knees across the pine needle covered ground.
He tried to get up once more, but his legs failed him again. His panic-stricken breathing came in short rapid spurts. He dragged himself over to an old fallen tree and hid behind it.
Twigs snapped a short distance away, and faint voices grew louder as the two men closed in. They moved within yards of Winters, who scrunched himself tighter into a ball trying to disappear. He fought to control his breathing as the two men walked right past him.
Winters' eyes locked on them. He recognized the skinny one and Crooked nose. With their backs toward him, the two stopped and ceased talking. They stared into the empty woods looking for any signs of life.
Winters' chin trembled while sweat began to bead on his forehead. The woods were quiet except for a gentle breeze whispering through the pines, and he worried his pounding heart could be heard.
The skinny one fished out a cigarette out of his pocket and flicked open his lighter. After lighting the smoke, he puffed on it a couple of times, and they continued walking.
Winters smelled the smoke as it wafted toward him. He waited for them to go over a hill before getting up and moving to the other side of the moss-covered log. He didn’t dare peek over the tree, so he sat and waited for time to pass. During which, he pondered how he might be caught and killed like his friends. The thought sent shivers through him.
The sun started to set and made the heavily timbered woods darker, giving him a slight sense of relief as less and less of the sun’s rays penetrated the woods. A half an hour later, the truck engine roared to life. Wheels spun in the dirt as it pulled out of the woods.
Winters let out his breath when the sound of the engine faded. He sat on the cold ground struggling to figure out what had happened. His eyes welled up as he thought about his friends. All of whom he’d grown up, worked, and gone to church with. They had been his lifelong friends and now they lay dead in a field.
Now alone, Winters wondered what to do. He knew better than to return to the Patriot Center. The men running the place had to be involved. He couldn’t trust them, but still, he needed to find out who was behind this and prevent them from killing anyone else. He owed that much to his friends.
Winters waited over an hour before getting up and bolting out of the woods. He kept running until he ran out of breath. It didn’t take long before pains shot through his stomach. He stopped, bent over, inhaled the chilly air, and waited for the pain to subside.
Minutes passed before he could stand up straight. He stared into the darkness, barely able to make out anything in front of him, but was able to see the distant lights of the train station.
Like a warning, the sound of a bad muffler echoed in the night air. He jerked around and saw bright lights coming around the bend.
Chapter 2
Winters dove to the side of the road and fell into the tall grass. He rolled a couple of times before the same pickup from earlier sped by him. He watched the tail
lights of the truck growing smaller and smaller.
Winters did an about face and started walking on the road again, his thoughts wandered to his deceased friends and their murderers. An internal battle began in his mind, should he risk his life and kill the bastards or tell the authorities. What if the authorities already know and are involved? He decided to keep running.
Ten minutes later, an overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him. He stopped walking and stood still. He tried to get rid of the guilt by making excuses that there was nothing he could do. He shook his head knowing that wasn't a good enough reason. The urge to do something wouldn’t leave him alone, so he finally gave in and decided the only way to alleviate his guilt was to avenge the deaths of his friends. With his mind made up, he started walking toward the train station all the while wondering how he was going to do it.
Having no weapons, Winters set out toward the burial pit with the plan of scavenging through the dead in the hope of finding a weapon.
As he got closer to the pit, the odor of rotting bodies floated through the air. Upon arriving at the edge an unbearable stench caused him to vomit. He was thankful the darkness did not reveal the butchery.
He slid down into the pit and stopped after touching the first corpse. He pretended the dead were asleep as he dug into jackets and pants pockets. He yanked his hands back each time he touched flesh and whispered an apology for disturbing them. After a few minutes of scrounging, he discovered an eight-inch blackened steel knife. It was perfect for what he needed, not too long but incredibly sharp. Cole Winters climbed out of the pit, said a quick prayer for the dead and goodbye to his friends.
Keeping to the safety of the woods, Winters headed toward the main building. He surveyed the grounds and soon determined this was where the men lived. Working up the nerve to get in closer, he scurried to a shed, which sat to the left of the station. Chatter from inside became obvious. It was a mixture of laughter and yelling. The men were drinking and it sounded like the booze was doing its job.
If they were already this drunk, then a couple more hours would give Winters an edge. An edge he desperately needed. He sat on the ground and leaned back against the shed thinking about how he got here.
He had come to the Iowa Patriot Center to volunteer to help fight in the disastrous war being waged against the Chinese in California. For the past year, China and America had been arguing over trade disagreements, encroachment by China in South America, and the U.S. debt.
This was happening during a worldwide economic depression that included a complete collapse of the American economy. Tens of millions of Americans were out of work and out of hope.
Up until six months ago, negotiations had been going smoothly with both countries coming to an agreement. Then out of nowhere, China attacked southern California.
At first, U.S. forces made progress against the enemy but the momentum shifted, and now they were losing fighting men and women in droves. America needed anyone and everyone to help.
The government, in need of more volunteers, formed recruiting stations called Patriot Centers. They contracted private companies to operate them. At first, the centers recruited men and women in their thirties and forties. As the war continued to escalate, they asked anyone to join.
Winters woke up shivering. The temperature had dropped so much that his breath turned into a frozen mist. A bit groggy, he stretched his arm out and looked at his wristwatch. To his surprise, it read three in the morning. Before getting up, he listened for any sounds from the building.
Silence.
It was time.
He snuck across the parking lot to the entrance of the building.
He paused and eyed the door, giving himself a chance to back out. He found his adrenaline had given him an unusual strength to carry forth. He reached for the door handle. It was unlocked. His pulse quickened as he slipped inside the building and crept through the dimly lit hallway.
He opened the first door he came to and tiptoed into a room that reminded him of a dorm room. Beds sat on either side of the room, each occupied. The men slept with their heads toward the entrance. A floor heater sat between the beds and created white noise as it blew warm air through the room. The only other sound came from the snoring man on the right, who Winters saw to be Crooked nose.
Winters inched the door shut and pressed himself against it. He knelt down, wondering which man to kill first and decided to leave the snoring one for last. He was much smaller than the other one. He crawled across the vinyl floor to the man on the left. The man was big and bulky with broad shoulders. The stench of booze rose up from his breathing and stung Winters' nostrils.
He stared at him wondering how he should do it. He didn’t want the man to make any noise or yell out to his colleague across the room. As an avid hunter, he had killed various kinds of animals, but this was different. It was up close and this was a person.
Thankfully, it appeared they had all been drinking heavily and had passed out drunk. This gave him a shot of confidence that he could do this. Still, he was about to kill a man and he started to rethink what he was going to do. But his thoughts turned black thinking about his murdered friends. His best friend was now lying in a pit out in the field. Winters’ heart began to race faster the more he thought about it.
His breathing became rapid.
Remembering the ghastly sight of his slaughtered friends, Winters covered the man’s mouth with his hand and threw his full weight down on him while forcing the knife into the side of his neck. Anger poured out of him the deeper the blade sank into the fleshy double chin. Blood spilled over the man’s chest and onto the dingy white bed sheets.
The man’s eyes opened in complete surprise but Winters bore down harder. He watched life fade away, as the man hopelessly struggled for a brief moment.
Winters let go and leaned back. A sense of accomplishment swept over him as he stared at the dead man. The tightness in his chest loosened as he contemplated what he had done, but the euphoria was fleeting and the knife in his hand seemed heavier now.
He kept his attention focused on the dead man for a few more seconds, but then realized that Crooked nose had stopped snoring.
The smaller man rolled over on his side facing Winters. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He was groggy from drinking, which kept his mind in a daze.
Without hesitation, Winters zipped to the other side of the room. As he did, his foot hit the heater sitting on the floor between the beds. The sound was just loud enough to startle the man awake.
Winters jumped on top of him swinging the knife down into his stomach. The man let out a breathless gasp and grabbed Winters’ wrist. He tried in vain to stop the attack and swung at Winters.
The blow hit his jaw but it was too little too late. Ignoring the pain, Winters plunged the knife again into his stomach. The second strike took the fight out of the smaller man and he stopped struggling.
Winters took a long breath and exhaled slowly. He rubbed the side of his jaw and was glad the blow had been a glancing one. He grabbed a towel from the floor and wiped the blood off his hand.
A voice from the back entrance made Winters jump. “Johnny-boy, wake up, it’s your watch. Johnny, get your ass up.”
Winters froze not knowing if Johnny was one of the two dead men. He stared at the door expecting it to open. He felt like a gladiator thrown into a pit of lions. His heart raced ahead of his lungs, and his knees began to shake.
Winters let out a breath when he heard, “I’m up. I’m up. Gotta take a leak first.”
He sucked in a gulp of air and held it trying to calm his racing heart.
While he waited for the guy coming off-duty to fall asleep, Winters began to question his judgment and wondered if he’d made a mistake. Not knowing they had a guard on duty outside was amateur hour. Not getting spotted was pure luck. Of course, if he left now the guard might see him. He had no choice but to finish the job.
Winters continued sitting on the bed for thirty minutes bef
ore tiptoeing out of the room. Back out in the hallway, he opened the next closed door. A squeaky hinge forced him to stop.
He peered through the crack and could make out a figure lying on a bed. He carefully pushed the door just enough to fit through the opening. Again, the smell of alcohol hit his nostrils.
There was no floor fan, which made for a quieter room than the first. The two men slept the same way as the last two, their heads toward the entrance. He glared at the skinny one on the right and strove to remember the sound of the man’s voice. He wanted to take out the off-duty guard first and didn’t think it was the skinny one.
The guard, who lay before him, had a full beard, which made it difficult to determine where exactly his throat was in the dark. Though having killed two men gave him a bit more confidence. Winters angled the blade under the beard and repeated the same action he had taken on his first kill. Pushing down with all his weight, he covered the man’s mouth while driving the blade into the throat.
His eyes opened up as he grabbed Winters' arm in a futile attempt to stop him. He struggled for only a few seconds before dying.
Without waiting, Winters scrambled over to the skinny one. The one who had been making jokes about his friends. He slept on his side with his back toward Winters. He grabbed the man’s shoulder to turn him over. As he did, the man rolled over holding a gun.
Even in his drunken stupor, the skinny man sensed something was wrong and pulled the trigger. Winters jerked his body sideways as the gun went off. He grabbed for it with his left hand as he started stabbing wildly at anything with his right. He wasn’t sure if any of the blows hit their mark until the man began screaming.
The skinny man let go of the gun and Winters took control of it. Swinging the weapon around he fired twice. The first round entered the man's nose. The second struck just below his right eye. He fell back in his bed dead.
Winters' heart was pounding against his chest knowing that Johnny-boy would be storming inside. The only upside was that he now had a gun of his own.