“Where’s the front door?” he asked the boy.
The kid pointed to the right, down a hallway. The group started in that direction, stepping over people that were lying on the floor as they went. The group cleared two rooms and found another staircase leading down. Nathan kicked the door open and the group ran outside with their rifles aimed in either direction up the street. As they ran in a northward direction, Nathan kept in mind that he needed to head back south, but the UN troops were most likely waiting for them on the other side. When they had cleared the street, the men that shot Blake came awkwardly running around to the other side of the building, where they now had visual on Nathan, Jess, and the others as they were heading deeper into town.
As they maneuvered from block to block, avoiding armed UN troops in white hazmat suits, they began seeing more signs that had apparently been set up by Civil Obedience and Biocontrol units. The signs ranged from UN-Controlled Zone to Biohazard Zone to Martial Law. Blocking the rim of every city block within eyesight was concertina wire. The sight reminded Nathan of some of the postapocalyptic novels he once had sitting upon his bookshelf. Not only did he enjoy reading them, but it had an allure that satisfied his curiosity about how the end would come. He tried reading zombie and nuclear biohazard novels, but could never find a niche in such a possibility. The real-world novels, like EMP attacks, martial law, and cataclysmic natural events, interested him most. He gleaned whatever he could from the authors that had studied such things, but nothing could have prepared him for what life after liberty would offer.
Gunfire picked back up, causing Nathan, Jess, and the others to tuck their heads as they ran along the concertina wire and into another building that was across the street west of the concertina wire.
“This is not ideal,” Nathan shouted. “This is not how the story ends.”
This building was all lower level and had boarded-up windows. It was impossible for the group to see what was waiting for them, if anything at all, on the back side of the door.
There was limited light in the building, making it difficult to see what was in the room.
Jess, like the others, had broken from the group once they were in the building, and began searching for other exits.
“Over here!” she shouted, having found a doorway that led to yet another room with an exit sign above the exterior door.
The group ran towards her while she peeked her head outside to see if it was clear to exit. Hearing only voices, she said, “Move, now!”
The group moved as a unit back out onto the street. Jess attempted to lead them south, back to the rally point, but they were hearing lots of gunfire in that direction.
Nathan looked over his shoulder and saw several Biocontrol troops chasing after them. Nathan, thinking quickly, grabbed Jess by the wrist and said, “This way.”
The group turned towards Nathan and Jess and ran down an alleyway, around the corner, and into another building.
“Upstairs,” Nathan shouted.
The group ran up the stairs and into an apartment building, above an old storefront, that had been abandoned for years.
“Seems like nothing’s locked up these days,” Jess said.
“Is everybody okay?” Nathan asked the group, looking around at each of them, then turning to the window curtain for a vantage point. “It’s no use. It’s getting too dark to see anything.”
“We’re going to have to stay here until we can see where we’re going,” one of the men said.
“I’m going to have to agree with that. Jess, do you have any chemlights left?”
“Let me check.”
The old Posse members had been told to keep their equipment wherever they wanted, but consistently keep it there. Then, in the event of an emergency, you would know where to look.
Jess took her pack off and went right to the position of the chemlights and took them out.
“I have two,” she said.
“Don’t break them yet,” Nathan instructed. “Does anybody else have any?”
The other members of the small group took their packs off and located only two more.
“That’s four. Save them until we absolutely need them.”
“It’s freezing in here,” Jess said.
“I know.”
Nathan looked around the room and at the window.
“What’s running through your head?” Jess asked.
“Did you see that old stove in the kitchen?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s got a vent. Maybe we can heat the kitchen with a small fire over the stove and not have to worry about the light being seen from that window.”
“What about the smoke?”
“I don’t think there’ll be enough smoke to make a stink. Besides, it might be concealed under the cover of darkness.”
“I have a roll of duct tape,” one of the men said.
“Perfect,” Nathan said, taking the duct tape from the man. “Thanks, Bill.”
Bill was a quiet man and always willing to help. He’d joined the group in Marion and had since proven himself an asset to the team.
Nathan started placing tape on the window in strips that ran vertically, until the entire window was lightproof.
“Wood?” Jess asked.
“There’s furniture right there. Chemlights, please,” Nathan asked as he pulled his Ka-Bar out of its sheath.
Others joined Nathan as he began dismantling a couch.
“Too bad for the couch. I was hoping you men would let the lady sleep on it tonight.”
“What lady?” Nathan asked.
Jess slapped his arm and looked over to one of the men leaning back on the door that they had come in. She was thankful to have a good team and individuals with clear heads enough to think about the important details, like guarding a door.
It’s going to be a long night, she thought.
Pyongyang, North Korea
Kil Jong Ho was a ruthless North Korean dictator. He had inherited his rule from his ancestors who had ruled before him. The iron-fisted approach to control had been the norm for several decades. For years, his regime and the regimes of his forefathers were kept under the thumbs of the Chinese dynasty. Years of appeasements by the United States led only to a more emboldened North Korea. Sanctions placed against the evil regime barely had an impact. The people of North Korea starved while the ruler lived in luxury. Secret financial aid from China always seemed to find its way into his mansion. The Chinese knew they were paying for a friend, but the people of North Korea only saw empty tables. Kil Jong Ho blamed it on US sanctions, causing hate to brew in the minds and hearts of the ignorant. As far as Kil Jong was concerned, Councilor Pao was a friend, loyal to the communist cause of North Korea. When Pao was murdered, he blamed the Americans and forged a campaign to further his anti-American rhetoric.
Kil Jong had no patience for the Russians, the French, or the Iranians, so when the time came to launch an attack on America, he did not hesitate.
For years Kil Jong had been gloating about his missile capabilities and saw no reason why he shouldn’t demonstrate North Korea’s might.
Several years earlier, North Korea announced its sovereignty and defied the global community by revealing its uranium-enrichment programs and testing them over international waters. North Korea, now fully nuclear, often touted its sovereignty.
The fact that America was now being controlled by a global movement, or so they thought, did not deter Kil Jong, who, although ambitious, was way too clever to launch a nuclear assault on the US. Instead, he chose to dismantle what technological edge America still held. His goal was to detonate a massive electromagnetic weapon above American soil. After such a technological weapon had been deployed, his technology could be brought onto American soil, where his army would have sole discretionary use of it and have the edge over the patriot resistance and any international force that may be operating within the former US. Such a monopoly hadn’t been employed yet. To Kil Jong, it was bold and demanded res
pect; for who could bring America to its knees? Nobody but Kil Jong Ho.
Nuclear electromagnetic weapons were outdated in 2032. Newer technology had been in the development stages for years. The UN, pretending to send inspectors into sanctioned countries, only emboldened the rogue nations to continue their development.
Direct energy weapons, or dewies, as they were called, were at the top of North Korea’s advanced weapons lists. After that, harnessing the power of electromagnetic energy that only permanently disabled electronics was the focus. Kil Jong Ho’s ambitions were riding higher than ever and he was feeling the need for recognition. The death of Councilor Pao was only the excuse.
Kil Jong knew that the American power grid was down, all except those controlled by the existing government. His desire was to reach the West Coast with an electromagnetic attack, wiping out key electrical infrastructure. His ability to make a surface-to-surface attack was not possible, and may not be an available option for at least another year of development. After having a sit-down discussion with his generals, he had learned that they could improvise a device that may not be able to reach American soil, but could be detonated off the American West Coast with an effective range up to 1,300 miles, reaching the states of Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado, providing they could at least reach a few hundred miles from the western coast of Oregon.
The option sufficed for Kil Jong Ho and he gave the go-ahead to make the preparations and to have the missile on standby, waiting for his word.
CHAPTER VIII
Bicentennial Park, Valparaiso, Indiana, December 12, 2032
Dawn came extra early for the men of Weapons Company 2nd Battalion, 24th Marines, Company C, 6th Engineer Support Battalion, and Company E, 4th Recon Battalion. Buchanan had sustained losses along their trek from Peoria to southern Illinois, and north to northern Indiana. What Buchanan thought was a small supply of treasure John James was bringing turned out to be a heavy supply of much-needed infantry Marines. 3rd Battalion, 25th Marines was made up of four companies of Marine Reserves, from Tennessee, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. They were the companies of India, Kilo, Lima, and Weapons. The 3/25 designator Buchanan had heard on the radio was lost in the excitement of meeting the commandant of the Marine Corps.
Charles was lacing his boots when he was approached by John.
Charles was just remembering the conversations they’d had the night before. He learned of the commandant’s secret Marine Corps regiment located in an undisclosed location in South Dakota. John was unwilling to provide him with the location, stating that it was of utmost confidential and classified information.
“Good morning, Charles.”
“Good morning, John.”
Belt came walking up to the commander’s table.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, Belt.
“John, I was thinking,” Charles began. “I know you’re trying to accomplish a very important mission objective by keeping the secret Marines name and location to yourself. But if something were to happen to you and Belt, that mission would go belly up. Don’t you think it’s wise to share this information with as many confidants as you can, to ensure mission accomplishment?”
“I agree with your comment, Charles, but the more people I tell, the more likely the chances to activate them get leaked. They are waiting for me, and me alone. The structure is complicated, and I would love to tell you details, but I must have your absolute and sole discretionary silence on the intelligence.”
“You have it.”
“Let’s take a walk,” John said to Charles. “Belt, you’re welcome to come along.”
Charles finished lacing his boots and stood up with John. He, John, and Belt went for a morning walk along the winding trails of the park.
When the men were a good enough distance from prying ears, John said, “Charles, Belt and myself have been in service to this country for decades. We have served faithfully and honorably every bit of that time. Along the way, there was a metamorphosis of the nation. It began to spiral out of control as the people became sheep, and the sheep became herds. They were no longer thinking as individuals, but were lost in the pack mentality. When I saw our country’s leaders exploiting them, I knew it was the beginning of the end. I met with Belt and we had a private meeting to discuss possible eventualities. We developed a plan B that included our own evacuation from the District. A day after our initial meeting, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and pondering how we could rise above the ashes.
“Well, being a Joint Chief and commandant of the Marine Corps are not without their perks. I began cooking the books, so to speak. At the end of the week, I had secretly reactivated an inactive Marine regiment and funneled finances and equipment to them under the guise of the Federal Emergency Management Act. The government had so much funding going out, it wasn’t being watched and nobody was being held accountable. When the spending came up for FEMA, it was approved for the budget. This went on for years. To make a long story short, the 21st Marine Corps Regiment was reactivated and is now fully operations capable. Their commanding officer, Colonel Edward B. Hensworth, a loyal patriot and Marine, was in full agreement when I appointed him. He now waits for further instruction, from deep within the secret South Dakota interior.”
Charles was both amazed and impressed at John’s perseverance through those times. He embodied the spirit of the Marine Corps.
“Well then, we had better head back and start gearing up for the trip to South Dakota.”
Black Hills Ordnance Depot, Edgemont, South Dakota
Colonel Edward B. Hensworth, or Hensy, as his friends called him, was handpicked by the commandant of the Marine Corps with a detailed and classified mission, to maintain a Marine Corps regiment in the southern pine-clad mountains of the Black Hills Great Plains region just west of Edgemont, South Dakota. The commandant, General John James, had spent days scouring through military files in search of the perfect candidate to help him reestablish the Constitution. When he found Hensworth’s file and saw that it was red-taped, he knew he was on to something.
Red-taping was a term the government began using in the mid-2020s. It involved placing a red piece of translucent tape on the file of military personnel. It was a way of quickly coinciding the personnel file with the names the government maintained in the red list. The red list was a list of personnel the government believed would be problematic in the event of a national crisis, where civil obedience would be enforced. To be on the red list, one would have to be a veteran or a currently employed member of the armed military; have outspoken views that are inconsistent with the government views; be a conservative; have at least once in their lifetime purchased a firearm; be the child of a person who has purchased a firearm; and also included all previous law enforcement personnel, including retired members of the FBI, CIA, NSA, DHS, etc. The government wanted to keep a close eye on individuals that had the training and capacity to resist.
In Hensworth’s case, he was red-taped because he was a very outspoken conservative and often discriminated against gays serving in the military and had made comments about homosexuals serving in his “beloved Corps.” These comments often reached the desks of his superiors and on at least one occasion led to a demotion in rank. Such a demotion usually ends the career of an officer, but Hensworth knew how to play the cards. Before he had reached the rank of lieutenant colonel, Hensworth was already on his way to being a popular voice in the Marines. When his demotion came, those under his command loved him even more. He once told them that he would eventually reach the rank of colonel, but they laughed him off. He didn’t take the laugh as a sign of disrespect, rather he took it as a challenge. Then Captain Edward B. Hensworth went before the promotions board and declared the reason why he was making anti-gay and inflammatory remarks about homosexuals was because he was also gay and was attempting to conceal what were otherwise considered unnatural urges from those under his command. Of course, the lie worked, and Hensworth
was reinstated as Major Edward B. Hensworth. Integrity is at the core of everything taught in the Marines, but he understood the significance of serving in the military and that the use of integrity was fluid. He lied, not because he was lacking in integrity, but because he saw what his country was becoming and he wanted to be poised in the right place at the right time when his government turned against its people. That was integrity in his mind: doing his part for America, seeing the gray colors and not just the black and white by-the-book mentality.
The Black Hills Ordnance Depot was once a munitions storage and maintenance facility run by the US Army. It was active decades prior but eventually fell off the books of record keepers. John James never forgot about the depot, but kept it quiet for such an eventuality. The bunker, now loaded for bear with munitions and Marines, was ready and waiting for Buchanan’s command.
“Where’s my lieutenant colonels?” Hensworth shouted from his bunker headquarters.
Five lieutenant colonels came walking into the bunker. He was wearing a radio on his back, as was customary for him. The colonel was never seen without it, and nobody knew why.
The winter snows had already come to South Dakota. So when the lieutenant colonels came walking in, they tracked in snow mingled with dirt onto Hensworth’s deck.
“Each of you are going to be supplying a working party to clean up your nasty animal tracks. Come on, you’re supposed to be officers of the Marine Corps, act like you have a little courtesy.”
The men followed Hensworth deep into the bunker, where he walked up to his desk and pulled out a chair and sat in it.
The men stood in the same formation once a week. The only difference this week was that they were called in a few minutes earlier than usual. This caught them off guard because they were used to a very stringent and ritualistic schedule when it came to their commander. Each of them were left wondering why the sudden break in routine.
The colonel had the 21st Marine Corps regiment divided into five battalions, each consisting of five companies. In the old world, an infantry battalion would consist of three primary infantry companies, or grunts, as they were called, a weapons company, and a headquarters company. The need for a headquarters company seemed like a waste to the colonel, so he set up a rotation system that required the use of just one platoon to maintain the munitions and the distribution of supplies and rations. The rest of that company could retain its combat readiness as an infantry unit. It was a heavy duty for just one platoon to support themselves and twenty-four other platoons, but it insured a readiness protocol, with effective numbers ready to fight should the rubber meet the road.
Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) Page 44
