The Last Marine : Book Two (A Dystopian War Novel)

by T. S. Ransdell

  “Here you go.” Morgan held out his lighter, but Rodriguez didn’t take notice. He was staring at the sky. Morgan looked up to see what had captivated his friend. He too stared in shock. Morgan had only seen drones of that size once before, in China. He didn’t want to admit why they were here now, but he knew.

  Oh, Lord, Morgan silently prayed, I…but there wasn’t time to finish.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “That fucking worm!” Limen rubbed his forehead, trying to relieve his headache. Being woken up from a two-hour nap with bad news had only added to his sense of exhaustion.

  “You’re still on the scene here, covering the peace riots.” Janice Wayne worked to sooth Limen’s ego.

  “Peace riots! Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck is that compared to Marines attacking FedAPS?” Limen popped some Adderall and chased it down with coffee. “Since when did Vogel become a go-to guy?” he continued to whine.

  “Don’t let that twerp get in your head.” Wayne gently placed her hand on Limen’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. “The peace riots are the biggest story of the year. This is a monumental time in American history, and you are the face of it. Trust me.” She lifted Limen’s chin to direct his eyes to her smiling face. “Whatever the Marines have or haven’t done, we will make it part of your story. Whatever Vogel reports will only make your narrative bigger. Story don’t fall apart now. You’re about to transition from celebrity to history.”

  “Janice, I, ah, I–”

  Jayden Hase burst into the trailer, but then retreated into timidity.

  “What, Jayden?” Wayne snapped at Hase. She lacked the energy to mother both of them.

  “I can’t find Hannah anywhere. No one knows where she is, and she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Well, then you’d better get cracking. Looks like you’re working the protest footage solo,” Wayne barked, losing her patience with having to deal with someone of such low stature.

  “But I can’t. It’s…it’s…”

  “Are you fucking retarded? Spit it out, goddammit!” Wayne ordered.

  “The footage is gone. We’ve got nothing on yesterday’s march. Plus, the backup hard drive has been deleted.”

  “We’ve got two backups! What about the other one?” Wayne seethed.

  “It’s gone. Along with Hannah and her camera.” Jayden spoke so quickly from fear that it took a moment for Wayne and Limen to understand the implication.

  “All our raw footage is missing, along with Tse?” Wayne asked for confirmation.

  “That fucking bitch!” Limen exploded. “Is she selling us out? Did you know she was going to do this?” he screamed in Hase’s face. “If another network uses our stuff, we’ll sue their fucking ass!”

  “Story”–Wayne’s tone with Limen went from motherly to authoritarian–“the footage was backed up on the network’s server. But if she’s got raw footage of Cuppell’s shooter, you should be worried about FedAPS, not the other networks.”

  Mythers sat outside watching the sunrise and enjoying the cool morning air from his office balcony. He loved moments like this. After all the calculating, risk-taking, and the unforeseen emergencies, to be able to revel in the warmth of his brilliant execution was a high well worth all the stress that came with it.

  “You’re halfway there, Peter,” he mumbled to himself before sipping his fresh coffee. The more he played the drone strike over in his mind, the more he liked it. It destroyed all the evidence. He, of course, could have controlled the investigation; but now he had the ultimate control. There was no chance of contradicting evidence emerging. Even the very noticeable explosion had worked to his advantage. He knew some would have seen, felt, or heard the explosions. Others who didn’t would claim they did. The media could use them as the “eyewitnesses” of the story he’d give to the reporters.

  Let me see. His mind began plotting in reaction to the hot coffee. Something about the rogue Marines, tied up in the attempted coup d’état, attacked, no, butchered the newly trained agents of the DSF. Motive? Why, given the nationalistic culture that was allowed by President Clark to thrive in the Marine Corps, it’s a wonder nothing like this had happened earlier.

  “Oh, but it did!” Mythers exclaimed out loud to himself as he played the hypothetical conversation in his mind. “Didn’t we see this same motive to kill during the Sino-American War by these very same Marines?

  “Yes! Brilliant!” Mythers laughed at his own ingenuity. It all fits together so perfectly, he thought. The press will gobble it up! Now, about Tang…

  “Excuse me, sir,” Colonel Pankhurst called as she knocked on the door.

  “Out here, Maya,” Mythers called out. “Oh, by the way, would you bring me a refill of coffee, please.”

  She returned with the coffee pot and refilled his mug. “Sir, I was contacted by Colonel Wall. Lieutenant General Johns’s personal assistant,” Maya explained in response to Mythers’s look of confusion. “He says there’s a potential leak of the raw video footage of Cuppell’s shooting.”

  “Story Limen was actually dumb enough to film Cuppell’s real shooter in the act?” Mythers asked, amazed at the stupidity.

  “His intern did, sir,” Maya answered. “She was part of the crew allowed to accompany the Peace March.”

  “You got a name?”

  “Hannah Tse, sir.”

  “Get me–” Mythers stopped short of asking for her file when he noticed Pankhurst was already holding it out to him. He smiled. “No doubt, Maya, you make my life easier.”

  “Sir, I took the prerogative to confirm that her parents are currently living in Scottsdale, Arizona.”

  Mythers looked at her blankly for a moment.

  “Sir, the wildfires in Arizona right now would provide excellent cover for closing the California-Arizona border.”

  Mythers smiled. He was pleased with himself for having chosen Pankhurst as his personal assistant. “Outstanding, Maya.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Except we don’t want to close the border. Get me Major General Sieger on the phone,” Mythers ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Before Mythers finished his second cup of coffee, Pankhurst had Sieger on the phone. He took it as a good omen that his plan would pull through; he was going to make this happen.

  “Max, listen, I’m ordering you to set up checkpoints on every road crossing the Arizona-California border ASAP.” Mythers waited for a confirmation, but only got silence. “Say it back to me, Max.”

  “Sir, that’s a lot of roads. It’s going to take some time.”

  “I know it is, Max.” Mythers cut Sieger off. “But we’ve got a crisis of the highest priority. National security is at stake. You’ll be told more later, but for now it’s all on a ‘need to know.’ I want every vehicle going from California into Arizona checked. Specifically, we want a suspect, Hannah Tse, taken into custody. Her parents live in Scottsdale, Arizona. I’ll have Maya send you the address. She’s a college kid. She’s tied into the events that started the riot in San Diego. We believe she may try to reach her parents. Get people on their house. When you get a hold of her, just detain her. No questioning. Colonel Stewart will do that himself. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sieger responded.

  “I love being brilliant,” Mythers exclaimed after he hung up the phone. Now, what to do about Tang?

  “Good morning.” Victor Forge greeted Pablo Martel with a smile and handed him a coffee.

  “Thank you.” Martel gratefully accepted the steaming cup. “Just the thing on a morning like this.”

  Initially, the two men did not speak as they sipped their coffee. Though they stood in the middle of Balboa Park’s Peace Village, surrounded by tents, the two men were virtually alone. Most in the village were sleeping at dawn’s earliest light. Those who were awake were rioting in the downtown district.

  “Outstanding work yesterday,” Forge complimented Martel. “I see why Sanchez calls you his war dog.” />
  Martel nodded thanks to the legendary social justice activist as he received an envelope containing several prepaid debit cards and cash totaling fifty thousand dollars.

  “Furthermore, you’ve made a good impression with some important people,” Forge continued. “Enough so that they would like to give you some extra work that’s even more valuable than before.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Similar to yesterday’s, only bigger. Interested?”

  Martel nodded his head before slurping his hot coffee.

  “Time and place.” Forge handed Martel another envelope. “The station will be lightly manned. We’ll see to it no one is armed. Do what you want to the personnel; your objective is the prisoners. Make it public and vigilante like. Are you familiar with the French Revolution?”

  “Yes,” Martel answered, hiding his irritation over the question.

  “Good. Then you know the kind of righteous, public brutality expected at this event.”

  “I know.” Martel held out the unopened envelope to Forge. “Haven’t said I’ll do it.”

  “You will,” Forge confidently stated. “It’s worth three times more than yesterday’s work.”

  “Oh, it’s going to cost more than money. I want something even more valuable.”

  “Don’t get greedy, Pablo.” Forge was calm, but threatening.

  “You know my capabilities.” Martel smiled. “I’m proposing a new arrangement. One more beneficial and efficient than what we have now. I’ll do the job you want, and in exchange I get the job I want.” Martel’s smile faded; his eyes hardened.

  Forge stared back at the man, absorbing his words and reading his face. “Tell me what you have in mind.” Forge was genuinely interested.

  Before he even opened his eyes, Harris felt immense pain. His mind longed to fall back into a numbing sleep, but that was impossible now. The spiking pain in his forehead intensified with each heartbeat. The floor, where he lay, was no longer comfortable.

  “I know you two go way back. That’s why you’ve got to be realistic. He’s not stable. The fights–”

  “That’s bullshit.” Edwards’s tone was low, but serious.

  Harris sat up. The overheard conversation in the kitchen was now receiving more attention than his hangover. McCurry was still sound asleep across the living room floor of Mackenzie and Sarah’s apartment.

  “The FedAPS officer he beat up?” Rivett countered. “Is that a bum rap also? Look, you think nobody is going to notice we’re gone? We’ll have to answer some questions when we get back. We can’t just say we all decided to go out for a beer, and to heck with orders. I’ll take what I got coming for going out after Harris. Because I think it was the right thing to do. It was the best way to defuse Harris. But I do think he’s unstable. He’s self-destructing. You’ve said that yourself. He’s drinking too much. He’s increasingly violent. He thinks everybody is an enemy.”

  “Yeah, well–” Edwards paused “–after all the shit we’ve seen lately, he may have a point.”

  “What if local police or FedAPS had picked him up? You said yourself Mackenzie was worried about the way he was acting.”

  “I got no problems with cops as long as they’re cool. FedAPS, I’d have killed the bastards,” Harris interrupted. Walking into the kitchen, he looked at Edwards with a slight grin. He opened a cabinet containing nothing but plates and slapped it shut. “Where the hell are the coffee mugs?”

  “Here you go.” Edwards filled up a mug of coffee and handed it to him. “What the hell, Harris?” Edwards’s demeanor became serious. “Jimmy’s right.”

  “You think I’m unstable too, huh?” Angered, Harris reached into his shirt pocket for cigarettes.

  “Look, Sean”–Rivett felt a need to reexplain his opinion–“I’m telling you this as a friend. I think you’ve got some anger issues.”

  “You think?” Harris sarcastically snapped. “What kind of man sees all this crap going on in our country and doesn’t have any anger?”

  Rivett shook his head, not knowing what to say. Suddenly his cell phone buzzed, catching them all by surprise.

  “At least the phones are back up.” Edwards forced a smile, but failed at his attempt to sound lighthearted.

  “It’s Mia. She says check the news immediately. All caps.” Rivett took the opportunity to walk away from the discussion.

  “Rivett’s got a point.” Edwards returned to his usual blunt manner of speaking. “You need to listen to it. Leaving base last night was just fucking stupid.”

  Harris stared at the floor and shook his head, but said nothing.

  “You trying to end up back in the brig?” Edwards continued. “ Get a dishonorable discharge? What if you’d been picked up by FedAPS, police, or whatever. I know you get angry enough to kill. I’ve seen you do it.”

  “Come on,” Harris scoffed. With an unlit cigarette in his mouth, he headed towards the balcony for a smoke.

  “Don’t pull that shit on me, Harris. Remember when we found Schmitt’s body?”

  “Fuck off!” Harris glared at Edwards, controlling his urge to punch the last of his old friends. “I don’t remember you bitching at the time.”

  “It was war. You lose it and pull that shit stateside, it’s murder.”

  “You want to talk about losing it?” Harris found a sudden clarity in his anger. “I remember finding Schmitt, as well as what the Pricks did to his body. I also remember why we were fighting that war. You know it too. I remember all the bullshit we put up with together over the years.

  “We watched that same kind of bullshit on TV yesterday. In case anybody hasn’t noticed”–Harris indignantly raised his voice to insure Rivett could hear him–“I ain’t the one who’s losing it. I’m not the one everyone needs to be worried about. It’s those WAR assholes. You know, the ones who are literally burning down the city. And don’t forget those fucking media types who called us CRIMINALS for what we did in war. But then calling those fucking anarchists PEACE PROTESTORS, or some other such horseshit!”

  “Guys! Get in here now!” Rivett shouted.

  “What the hell happened? ” Edwards asked walking into the living room. Harris, not wanting to be around them, headed toward the balcony to smoke a cigarette.

  “That’s Camp Pendleton.” Rivett’s pointed at the TV. His voice sounded flat and unnatural.

  “…reports from FedAPS are that last night’s attack may be a part of a broader attempt to overthrow the Tang administration…” emanated from the TV speakers.

  “Attack? That area was firebombed.” Rivett looked over at Edwards.

  “…FedAPS officials say they do not expect to find any survivors.” The reporter talked as he walked through smoldering ruins. “And while we’ve only been allowed just beyond the gate at San Onofre, General Mythers’s office is stating that nearly all of the northwest corner of Camp Pendleton has been destroyed.”

  “Dash,” the voice of an unseen female reporter said, “any official explanation, or even speculation, as to how the Marines got weapons that could do this type of destruction?”

  “No, Gloria. FedAPS officials are not commenting on exactly what caused this much destruction. However, General Mythers’s office stated, at this point, they believe all of First Battalion, First Marines was behind the attack on the Domestic Security Force agents stationed here at Camp Pendleton.”

  “Incredible, Dash. Such a travesty. Given that many of those DSF agents were first- and second-generation Islamic immigrants, do they see that as a possible motive?”

  “Well, yes and no. My sources tell me they believe the attack to be in conjunction with General Bolitho’s mutiny in China. Unfortunately, the religious preferences of these FedAPS agents appear to have made them a prime target of opportunity.”

  “Thank you, Dash.” Gloria Brenner appeared on the screen. “Again, for those of you just joining us, President Tang and the Federal Agency of Public Safety have confirmed the Second Marine Division, by command of Gene
ral Henry Bolitho, along with elements of the former First Marine Division, under the command of General Edgar Ragnarsson, have mutinied against the President of the United States and have attacked American forces in China, American Naval vessels in the Pacific, and the FedAPS Domestic Security Force stationed at Camp Pendleton, in what is developing into the largest act of treason in American history.

  “We now take you live for further developments of the Peace March in downtown San Diego. Story, how are the peace demonstrators reacting to the news of what appears to be an act of treason by the United States Marine Corps?”

  “I don’t believe what I just heard.” Rivett shared the same dumbfounded look with Edwards and Harris.

  “It’s bullshit, that’s why,” Harris exclaimed. “A battalion of grunts wouldn’t have done that kind of damage.”

  “We’re here in front of the FedAPS station in downtown San Diego”–the screen showed Story Limen standing among protesters holding signs that read JUSTICE NOW–“where Staff Sergeant Michael Kruschinsky of the United States Marine Corps, who brutally murdered social justice activist Michael Hill during the march for peace yesterday, is being detained.”

  “You’re right,” Rivett answered Harris directly as he turned the volume down on the television.

  “Yeah, he is.” Edwards spoke quietly, as if lost in his thoughts.

  “I got another message from Mia.” Rivett reacted to his buzzing cell phone. “She says all Marines are to report to the nearest police or FedAPS station immediately.” Rivett looked up at Edwards and Harris. “She says we should turn ourselves in. She’ll vouch for our innocence.”

  “Fuck that!” Harris yelled loud enough to cause McCurry to start stirring in the corner, where he still slept. “We’ll end up in the slammer and–” Harris was silenced by what he saw on the TV screen.

  A handcuffed and bloodied Kruschinsky and two other Marine prisoners were being hauled away from a looted and burning FedAPS station. Protesters took turns slugging and kicking the Marines.