By the Dawn's Early Light

by David Kershner

  “You ever touch my wife again, I’ll —,” he began to threaten before Culpepper struck him with a vicious jab to the face.

  “How do you plead?”

  The prisoner half chuckled then turned to look at him. “I’m guilty as bloody sin, what do you think?”

  “Do you have any last words before your sentence is carried out?” the POTUS asked unemotionally.

  The man swallowed hard and glanced over at his wife. “I’m truly sorry, Chloe. I never thought it would come to this… that’s all,” he stated compassionately as he started to turn his head back toward Culpepper.

  Before he was even able to get his eyes back around to his accuser, the POTUS pulled the trigger, shooting him in the head.

  As casually as he had performed the deed, the President handed the still smoking pistol to the Sergeant.

  “Gentlemen, I want the following, in order. This room searched, their individual quarters searched, her and her staff questioned. You have until 6:00 PM tomorrow.”

  Shocked at what he just witnessed, Secretary of Defense Fielding was barely able to get the words out. “What’s at six?”

  “A firing squad will perform their duty.”

  The POTUS paused as he looked around at the faces of those present. Each conveyed a wide range of emotions. He wasn’t interested in a debate.

  “Get it done, gentlemen,” he proclaimed, then exited the room with his Secret Service detail and the handcuffed former Secretary of State in tow.

  Chapter 24

  July 3rd, 2023

  Planning, packing, and preparing had consumed the small town of McArthur for a little over a week. Katherine wanted to check and recheck that all of her pieces were in place before she moved on the city. She was content to let TK sweat it out. Resupplying the forward observers (FO’s) was a chore, but they managed to get the pair what they needed.

  Before departing for the rally point on the outskirts of Columbus, Katherine found herself in an alley behind Mama Reni’s. The rumbling in her gut was too much to ignore. Without warning, her nerves got the better of her and she started puking. After a minute or two, a shadow filled the narrow passageway.

  “You ‘bout done with that,” Brent asked as he approached.

  She slowly stood in response as she used the back of her hand to wipe off her mouth.

  “Yeah,” she replied sheepishly. “I’m guessing this is why dad told me to eat a light lunch.”

  The man stood and casually observed her as she attempted to collect herself. When he didn’t offer any advice or speak in general, she asked, “What?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Spill it,” she ordered irritated, but still managed a playful tone.

  “I was just thinking how you reminded me of your mother, Amanda.”

  “Yeah well, aside from physical appearance, there isn’t much to compare,” she stated somewhat exhausted from her nerve induced endeavor in the alley.

  “That’s not entirely true, Katherine. Granted, she went off the deep end, but her drive and commitment to seeing things through, there’s a shade of that in you. You didn’t get all of it from your father.”

  “You didn’t even know her, Brent. What makes you an expert on her all of a sudden?”

  “Who do you think she spoke with during those weeks Josh was in his coma? I didn’t just zip in, read his chart, and zip out. I was there, by his side, by hers, until he woke up. The compassion that woman felt for her patients, for your father, was something to behold. I know a great deal about her. One of my regrets in life, of which there are many, is that I wasn’t there for you and your family when she lost it.”

  She looked at him quizzically. The man never ceased to amaze her with the things he knew.

  “Tell you what, we come out of this alive,” he continued. “I’ll let you and Layla in on the conversations I had with your mother. Maybe then, in some small measure, it’ll help you to better understand yourself as a whole. Deal?”

  She was skeptical, but agreed.

  As the pair began to exit the alley she stopped him.

  “You’re not gonna tell anyone I was hurling my guts out, right?”

  “Oh, Katherine,” he answered somewhat condescendingly, but just as playfully as she had been earlier. “We’ve been waiting for it. Frankly, we were concerned that you hadn’t done it sooner.”

  As they exited onto the sidewalk, her father, Dallas, James, Gregg, and the Sheriff were lying in wait for them.

  “Good news!” Brent proclaimed. “She’s in the club!”

  The men mockingly thrust their hands in the air and cheered.

  “Yeah, yeah… bunch of wisenheimers. Get in the truck,” she deadpanned in response.

  Josh pulled her to him and wrapped her in his fatherly embrace. As he held her, he whispered, “You be careful, got it? These aren’t pieces on a board anymore.”

  “I will,” she replied as she nuzzled deeper into his chest. “Your shirt smells like Samantha. Been married less than a month and she’s wearing your stuff?”

  “What’s mine is hers,” he answered.

  The two stood in the middle of the street sharing what could be their last moments together. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break the embrace.

  “If it gets to be too much, and I’m not saying it will, but if it does, you need to be strong enough to turn the Op over to Brent. Understand?”

  “Oh, Daddy, we all know I’m commanding in name only.”

  A wave of panic washed over him and Josh abruptly detached.

  “That is one hundred percent not true! If that’s how you’re approaching this, I’m replacing you right now!”

  “Relax, I was just kidding. Geez.”

  Her father grabbed her and pulled Katherine back into him as he sighed loudly. “Little brat.”

  Across the street, the pair heard, “Before you guys load up, can you come over here for a few minutes?”

  When they turned to look, Heather was standing outside the doors to the church, wearing Samantha’s wedding dress.

  “It won’t take long I promise.”

  Josh whistled to get the groups attention.

  Heads popped out from behind and within the deuces.

  “To the church, double-time.”

  As the group approached, Brent caught a glimpse of his granddaughter and proclaimed, “What the –!”

  “Papaw, you’re walking me down the aisle,” Heather said calmly. “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Not a problem,” he replied.

  “What? The hell I am!”

  “Can you guarantee that everything is going to go according to plan? Can you guarantee that you are coming home? The answer is ‘no’ to both so don’t bother. I’m getting married, right here, right now… whether you like it or not.”

  “I think I’ll just head up front and find my seat,” Josh discreetly stated as he tried to sneak away.

  “Oh,” she stated half remembering something. “Take this,” Heather said as she handed him her grandmother’s wedding band. “You’re the best man, you’ll need this.”

  Her father looked over at his former commanding officer who was visibly shaken by the display. An idea popped in his head and he smiled.

  “Carlos Rayna!” he barked into the church. “Front and center!”

  It seemed as if he was half way down the aisle before Josh even finished his command.

  “That’s our cue to leave, Dallas,” James declared.

  “Ah, not so fast, James. Gimme your knife,” he commanded.

  When he started to reach into his pants, Josh clarified.

  “The big one… if you please.”

  James un-sheathed it and handed it to him butt first.

  As Carlos approached, Josh thrust it into the wooden bannister.

  “Yes, sir?” he said as he painfully, but reflexively came to attention.

  Josh looked at Brent and his future son-in-law then stated, “Solve the equation,” and promptly walked away.
<
br />   Before he entered the church though, he leaned into Brent’s ear and whispered, “One of these days you’ll have to explain this.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hoplite smirking.

  Carlos took two steps forward, unholstered his side arm, then used the barrel of the pistol to dislodge the blade knocking it into the bushes below.

  As he re-holstered his weapon, he turned toward the General and asked, “Who’s the idiot that brought a knife to gun fight?”

  Brent Howard half chuckled when he replied, “That’ll do.”

  * * *

  At dusk, the Sheriff, Juan, and his sons pulled the loaded deuce into Motts Military Museum grounds. Jesus discreetly exited the cargo hold and began working his way toward a non-descript out building through the woods and brush. The gravel being crush by the deuce, combined with the diesel engine, told everyone within earshot that someone was approaching and where they were. The steel warehouse located at the back end of the property was so far removed from the main structures that it looked like it didn’t even belong to the museum.

  Their cargo, not including the men, included an assortment of supplies. The dozen high explosive shells Josh procured from the DSCC had been packed tightly and strapped numerous times to prevent shifting. The accompanying fuses were still locked in the original wooden crate. The remainder of the gear consisted of ten jerry cans of diesel and the necessary goods to get back to McArthur, should things go awry. As a precaution, the fuel and ordnance were stowed as far away from each other as possible. It would have been better to ship them separately, but the group only had so many operable vehicles.

  When Katherine first started planning the Op, her chief overriding concern had been the most precious of commodities, fuel. Everything about her planning came down to it. The disabled train behind the farm hadn’t been the gold mine Josh had hoped for. Aside from the few cars full of hogs, cattle, and lumber, the fuel containers were nearly empty as they had been offloaded before stalling on the tracks the morning of the HANE.

  Her original concept for the taking of Columbus from Tim, or at least when she first included the M110A2 self-propelled howitzer into her planning, was that they would fire a full twelve round volley at the crossroads and at Tim’s cash crop in Huntington Park. However, once they learned that the British were on their way, the plan needed more fluidity.

  Katherine’s amended Op plans called for a maximum barrage of six shells into Columbus in two three round sets. The second set would only be called in if necessary. They would have to make do with the burning of the marijuana crops. She hated to lose the fuel to the movement of one chess piece, but the fifty gallons of fuel, plus whatever diesel was available at Motts, would be needed to reposition the artillery piece and cover McArthur. Ever the planner though, she managed to barter another thirty gallons of diesel from Chillicothe in gratitude for the assistance Josh and the engineers had provided months earlier with their defense and perimeter construction. In truth, the self-propelled piece of weaponry could be repositioned just under half way to their weigh point and still be within range of the crossroads with its massive barrel.

  As it stood, from their southern Columbus location, Sheriff Watson and the museum was, as the crow flies, only twelve miles from their target. Chillicothe lay only fifty the other direction.

  The Sheriff brought the lumbering deuce to a stop near a set of massive closed over-head doors and killed the engine. Abelardo leapt from the back as Juan and Jim exited the cab of the truck.

  Before their feet even hit the gravel, two men sprung up from a pair of shallow spider holes and leveled what appeared to be some heavy duty firepower in their direction.

  “Halt!” a man barked. “Stand fast or be cut down!”

  The three immediately froze.

  “Turn around, lace your hands behinds behind your head, get down on your knees, and cross your ankles,” one of them ordered. “You in the back, get up here with the other two!”

  Abelardo and the others did as instructed without complaint. All three wanted to reach for their fully exposed side arms, but thought better of it.

  Once they complied, one of the men approached cautiously, and removed each of the pistols. He wasn’t cavalier about their removal though as he didn’t toss them away at distance. He did, however, quickly stuff each into a satchel strapped across his chest.

  “Check the back of the truck.”

  He did as instructed. “All clear,” was shouted as he exited the vehicle.

  “Very good. Turn and face me,” the man directed from his hole in the ground.

  Again, the three men did as instructed.

  Just as they were nearly facing the pair, Jesus burst from the brush from behind. Within seconds, he had a K-bar at the man’s throat and his pistol leveled at the other.

  “Play time’s over, Señor. Lower your weapon or the spray from my blade will cover your friend before I put him down,” Juan’s son snarled.

  The man swallowed hard and turned his head slightly to look at his executioner.

  “You must be Jesus. Josh said you were a crafty SOB. I’m Dick Brashier, that’s my grandson, Holland.”

  “Qué? How do you know – ,” Jesus started to ask.

  “Josh said you’d probably be one of the ones coming to use our little baby.”

  “You’re lying. He never contacted you… I was right next to my CO when she made the call. She didn’t mention his name, or mine! Time to die!”

  “Wait! Wait!” Holland exclaimed as he abruptly raised his hands. Jesus stole a quick glance in the man’s direction.

  “I’m going to put my gun on the ground… nice and easy, see” he said calmly. “Let’s not do anything rash, okay?”

  “Your man, Josh, he stopped by here, last winter, with President Sarkes and a Secret Service Agent, I swear. They were driving this exact truck,” he explained as he gestured toward the deuce next to him. “The truck had more gear in it at the time, but he had twelve, two-hundred pound high explosive rounds and a wooden crate of fuses.”

  Jesus wasn’t fully on board with the man’s explanation. He’d seen and done too much in the last few months to take anything anyone said at face value.

  “I’m going to reach into my pocket for a piece of paper. It has the serial numbers to the truck and all twelve shells. He told us that, if someone ever did come by, you might need some convincing.”

  Jesus nodded in his brother’s direction. He promptly got up, took the note from Holland, and verified the information in the back of the truck.

  As he hopped out of the cargo hold, he proclaimed, “He’s telling the truth.”

  “Why not just come out and meet us?” Jesus asked.

  “We were expecting four. Only three exited the truck.”

  Juan’s oldest son slowly removed the knife from the man’s throat and helped the older gentlemen to his feet.

  “I’m Jesus Martinez,” he began. “The one in uniform is Sheriff Jim Watson. The one in the cowboy hat is my father, Juan. The scrawny one about to piss himself, that’s my little brother, Abelardo.”

  The man turned and extended his hand in friendship. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said as they shook hands.

  The Sheriff and Juan swallowed hard, but eventually began walking toward Dick.

  “Josh stopped here?” Jim asked as they approached.

  “Yes, sir, same day the lights went out. Said he hoped he was wrong, but there might come a time when our services could be called on.”

  The farm manager half chortled through his nose and slowly began shaking his head. “Patron knew it would come to this long before that.”

  “How’d you manage to keep your museum intact?” the Sheriff wondered aloud.

  “Honestly, we didn’t. The main building was ransacked a few months in. Holland and I watched as they tinkered with the Huey and the M110.”

  “You have a chopper?” Jim asked excitedly.

  “Ha! You wish,” Dick replied. “That damn
light show fried all of the circuits. Can’t get replacement parts. That and there’s only enough fuel for about a fifteen minute flight.”

  “That’s too bad,” Juan stated.

  “We disabled the howitzer before they arrived though,” he added. “A few days later we moved her over here, hidden away as best we could. Now that the introductions are over, your boss lady said you boys wanna bring the rain down on a city block, eh?”

  Jesus looked at him confused.

  “Something like that,” the Sheriff interjected.

  Dick just smiled at him. “Good! Those scavenging bastards have put the hurt on a lot of people.” Then he turned toward his grandson and said, “Holland, why don’t you get ol’ Daisy on out here, give her a little vitamin D. Jim was it? You mind backing that deuce up a bit?”

  Being a veteran of the Army, and having been trained on the piece of equipment, the Sheriff knew exactly what was about to come out of the garage. He grinned back. A minute or two later, the truck was relocated and he was on his way over to stand with the others again.

  Beyond the door, the group heard several locks being removed, then the grinding of a bar being repositioned. Holland began pulling the chain and the door lifted, receding into the wall above. The cavernous opening was icky black behind the man as darkness began to fall outside. Then the man’s grandson disappeared. Seconds later, the whine of the eight cylinder turbocharged Detroit diesel came to life.

  Juan and his sons stood in amazement as nothing seemed to exit the structure except the massive barrel of the beast. After what felt like an eternity, the tank like frame emerged from the darkness.

  Holland expertly maneuvered the behemoth, rotated the tracks until he was aimed north, and then shut down the hulking power plant.

  Jim whistled at the presentation. It was immaculate and looked like it had just rolled off of the assembly line.

  “Okay, who’s ready for the nickel tour?” Dick asked excitedly.

  Chapter 25

  About the time the Sheriff, Dick, and his grandson, Holland, were giving Juan and his sons a crash course on artillery fire, Katherine, Brent, Dallas, and the rest of the contingent arrived at their rendezvous point. Her FO’s were dirty and exhausted, but on their game. The engines to their vehicles had barely been shut down before the pair emerged from the brush, produced a makeshift table, and their marked up map.