Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1)

by L. Douglas Hogan

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “I was hoping this was all a bad dream.”

  “It’s a nightmare, dude. We weren’t done chatting. I thought it was rude when you dozed off on me.”

  “I really don’t know too much.”

  “That’s funny, because I remember you acting like you could barely speak any English at all, and then suddenly, BANG, you can speak perfect English, albeit a little accented, but still…”

  “If you promise not to kill me, I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

  “Can you hold that thought?”

  Tori stood up and walked out of the room.

  A minute later, Jess walked into the room and sat next to the man. “Okay, now what’s the deal?”

  “If you promise not to kill me, I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

  “I can live with that. Start talking.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Just start talking.”

  “My name is Nasrallah Gulestan. I have three children and a wife. I serve in the Iranian army and was assigned UN duty. I just do what I’m told, okay?”

  “Okay, so tell me what you were told.”

  “We receive shipments of Americans, supplies, and fencing projects. We set up temporary handling centers and put more Americans on each train until they are full. They are then shipped north. I don’t know where they take them, but I do know there are duty stations north of here that keep special Americans, and another duty station that…that…”

  “That what?”

  The man was afraid to reveal the last part of his comment, but when Jess pressured him to speak, he gave in.

  “That processes them.”

  “Processes how?”

  “UN Biocontrol Units inoculate them. Some of them resist the inoculation, and the others, not so much. Most of these people are sick before they get to the stations.”

  “What are you inoculating them with?”

  “I don’t know. We get our shipments with tags on the boxes from FEMA Bioengineering and Research. We do what we are told. I’m just taking orders. I’m a military man.”

  “One more question. Do you think it’s right to invade another country, capture its people, inject them with unknown substances, watch them get sick and then kill them?”

  Jess wired the question in a way the man was not suspecting. She picked up on his verb processes and figured they were killing the sick in some fashion. To be sure, and to have him admit to it, meant she had to approach it from another angle.

  “I am not allowed to disagree,” he answered, skirting the response Jess was looking for.

  Jess took out her knife and the man began to squirm and kick, but the pain was so much that he could barely resist.

  “Take it easy. I promised not to kill you.”

  She cut the rank from his collar and the UN name strip from his jacket.

  “Now you can agree or disagree. I’ve removed you from the bonds of UN and Iranian control. This is America, and in America you can say whatever you want.”

  The man looked sternly at her, thinking she was the weaker of the two interrogators, and said, “I am Iranian, not American, I have been killing Americans since I was a small boy. I do want to live, but I cannot betray my country by telling you I disagree.”

  Jess stood up and Tori walked into the room. When the man saw Tori, he began to squirm like he did when Jess had the knife.

  “I have a request,” Tori said. “Tell us how to access the UN communications network. We used to listen in, but they’ve done something different so that we can’t hear radio traffic.”

  “They are cycling a list of frequencies,” the man said with a shaky voice.

  “What are the frequencies?”

  “I don’t know, only the officers carry them.”

  “Well then, you’re of no further use to us.”

  Tori pulled her pistol up and said, “You’ve met Bubba, haven’t you?”

  “You promised me you wouldn’t kill me.”

  “No, she promised she wouldn’t kill you, but I was promised I could kill you. Comprende?”

  The man started to speak, but Tori put a bullet through his mouth as he opened it.

  Jess and Tori walked out of the room together.

  The group was waiting outside and everybody was standing up after hearing the gunshot.

  “What did you find out?” Banks asked.

  “They’ve been inoculating Americans with some kind of juice that either makes them sick or has no effect. From what we could tell, they are somehow killing the people that get sick from the inoculation, but doing something else with the people that have immunities against it,” Jess replied.

  “What about the radio comm?”

  Tori interjected, “They’ve been cycling through a list of designated frequencies and only the officers carry that list.”

  Nathan started walking towards his HMMWV. Stopping short of it, he turned around and asked, “How are we supposed to get an officer when we don’t know where they’ve gone?”

  “Chicago,” Jess said.

  “She’s right,” Nathan responded, looking over toward Banks. “If there’s a Human Handling Center north of us, it’s Chicago. It’s our destination anyway. I’m betting there’s UN officers overseeing the FEMA employees.”

  “Get that generator packed and start mounting up. We’re wasting time,” Banks yelled out.

  Everybody scurried to a vehicle. A few men ran over to the generator and loaded it into one of the five-ton trucks. After the group was sorted, they headed north, using Interstate 57, being under the assumption the interstates may very well be opened up, due to a recalling of UN soldiers. The highways were vulnerable to teams of brigands, but if the interstate was accessible, this would make for a quicker trip north.

  CHAPTER XIII

  “So tell me about yourself, Mr. uh…” Captain Richards asked, trying to get a name from Rory.

  “Forgive my rudeness. I’m Rory Price. I was a Pentecostal pastor before the Flip; now I’m just doing what I can.”

  “Where did you preach at?”

  “I pastored in Murphysboro, a small town in southern Illinois.”

  “No kidding? I have relatives down there, not too far from Murphy.”

  “Oh yeah, where at?”

  “Grand Tower, it’s a little town on the Mississippi. Even smaller than Murphy.”

  “Are you serious? I was just in Gorham a few months ago with some friends.”

  “Who are your friends?”

  “You probably wouldn’t know them. Our friendship was brief. I was under the yoke of a sick man just before the UN began to establish a heavy presence. This guy named Denny and a few others found their way into my home and got me out of that town. Then I met his best friend Nathan and Nathan’s girlfriend, Jess. I met so many good people.”

  “Nathan Roeh is the name of my family that’s from Grand Tower. He’s my nephew on my sister’s side.”

  “That sounds familiar to me. Was he in the Marines?”

  “Yes, a few years prior to the Flip. He was an Internet coder or something like that.”

  “I think we have the same guy here, Captain.”

  “Wow, it’s a small world, Rory. You can’t tell it these days, with the invasion and all. Makes things larger than life. What was Nathan doing when you saw him last?”

  “He was headed this way to the FEMA Region V headquarters in pursuit of liberating American prisoners. I’ve learned so much since then.”

  “Listen, Rory. We’re heading into battle. We captured several bits of intelligence from the blue hats. From what we can tell, they are mounting up a heavy force against a US military unit in South Dakota. We’ve been listening to their comms and communicating with other US military units around the Midwest. We are going to join the fight and hopefully win a decisive battle, maybe even a war. We have the home-court advantage.”

  “The Marines I was with were heading in that direction. They w
ere shady about what was going on, though. I was with a Marine lieutenant colonel, Charles Buchanan, when he met the commandant of the Marine Corps just a couple days ago.”

  “Commandant? Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. We spent the day with him. Authoritative and stern—I liked that about him.”

  “The commandant of the Marine Corps is like the equivalent of the Army Chief of Staff. He’s a member of the Joint Chiefs of the United States. This is big news.”

  “How so?”

  “It tells me that the Joint Chiefs are no longer commissioned as presidential advisors. It’s likely they stepped down or were fired. It provides hope for a strong unified front. We just need the opportunity to form the front.”

  The convoy was moving west when Rory saw the Illinois state limits sign. It wasn’t until they found themselves in South Holland that they ran into roadblocks and street signs directing them to the nearest Human Handling Center. Many of the street signs said MARTIAL LAW IS NOW IN EFFECT, and other signs directed RFID-chipped citizens to report to loading docks. Most of the street signs led them to makeshift train stations that were erected alongside the train tracks.

  The convoy seemed to be ignoring the warning signs and continued on the street that was labeled UN VEHICLES ONLY.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Captain. Don’t you think we should delineate off this road and onto another road that’s not so heavily labeled UN?”

  “Relax, Rory. Most of the streets we’ve seen labeled UN have been abandoned.”

  No sooner than Captain Richards had said that, a rocket struck the first vehicle in the convoy. Rory was gripped with panic as he ducked his head and took cover.

  Captain Richards picked up the mic on his radio and commanded the convoy to mow through.

  The second vehicle in the convoy became the lead vehicle, and blasted through the wreckage just like they had done in Gary, Indiana.

  “What’s going on?” Rory asked in a panic.

  “Seems you were right, preacher. If we make it out of this alive, I’m going to field promote you to chaplain.”

  “If we get out of this alive?”

  “Yeah, we’re being chased by UN APCs now.”

  “What’s an APC?”

  “Armored personnel carrier. They’re bad news. Like mini tanks. Those bad boys are fitted with .50-caliber guns. We need to take up an offensive position or we’ll get eaten up.”

  Richards held the mic up to his mouth again and said, “Take an offensive position up there behind those buildings. I want my Javelins to nail them when they break the threshold. We can’t mess this up, boys. Make it work.”

  The convoy split up into two teams when they reached the end of the road and took cover on the opposite side of the buildings. A few men jumped out and placed Javelins on their shoulders. Javelins were fire-and-forget-type rockets that were launched from the shoulders of military personnel.

  When the APCs broke the threshold of the buildings, they opened fire on the HMMWVs with their .50-caliber guns.

  The Army soldiers also attacked using their Javelins. The rockets launched into the air, taking a skyward trajectory, until they came down onto their intended targets and impacted onto the APCs, blowing them to bits. The men cheered, but the celebration was short lived.

  Many of the men slowed their cheers and took the time to look around, seeing they had lost at least seven more brothers to a UN attack. The loss of Americans always seemed to strengthen their resolve. Captain Richards felt like calling his men into formation, but the place was a battle zone and enemy UN personnel could be anywhere, perhaps even reinforcements.

  Richards felt that some things just couldn’t be put into words. His notion to speak to his men was piled into the back of his mind with so many other things that needed to be done and said. The words would come later, but for now, all he could say was, “Collect the fallen, then mount up. We’re still on mission, gents.”

  Rory had never had a rocket shot into a convoy he was riding in. The experience was surreal, to say the least. Words escaped him as he aided the soldiers in the collection of their fallen brothers, his fallen brothers, the men of vision for a liberty that they would never experience again.

  Rory felt the same strengthening resolve to see this through unto whatever end may come. Their deaths must never be in vain, he thought.

  Black Hills Army Depot, South Dakota

  Sergeant Rick Hammel, communications specialist, came running into the bunker where James was having his meeting with the brave and committed officers of the newly reactivated 21st Marine Corps Regiment.

  “Gentlemen, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have something to say of urgent importance.”

  Hammel was breathing heavily, as if he had just completed a two-mile run, and it may very well have taken that much endurance to run with the radio equipment he now had on his back.

  “Go ahead, Sergeant, speak,” the commandant commanded.

  “I’ve managed to pick up a frequency that FEMA and the UN ground forces share to relay information back and forth. They’re headed this way with an extremely sizeable force, and their intentions are not to take prisoners.”

  “They must have followed you here,” Hensworth said.

  “They didn’t follow,” Hammel said. “They had some kind of tracking system called Main Core.”

  James locked eyes with Buchanan. “This is exactly what I was talking to you about. We’ve all been rigged with GPS implants and everything FEMA wants to know about us can be found in these devices. The Main Core program is the culmination of the old Red Tape Program. They must have E-Tech that allows them to trace our location.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Buchanan replied. “Let’s hit the dirt.”

  “There’s a town not ten miles from here. We can meet them with some old-school urban guerilla combat,” Hensworth suggested.

  “What’s their location, Sergeant?” James asked.

  “Their location was not established over the radio, but their rally point is Independence, Iowa.”

  “Independence, Iowa?” Wright said with a half smirk.

  “It’s like they’re using our patriotism as a weapon against us,” Barnes said.

  “Do we have a time stamp on Independence, or are we going to have to guess it?” James asked, trying to keep the questions together and on the same track.

  “There was no mention of any time frame whatsoever, sir. We’re flying blind as far as time stamps go.”

  “Stay with us, Sergeant. I want you here if anything else comes over that frequency. Hensworth, I want the air support tucked away in that town you mentioned. Refresh my memory, what do we have in way of artillery?”

  “Thirty howitzers.”

  “I’m expecting these dirtbags to play hardball. They’re not operating under the Geneva Convention standard of warfare and neither are we. They’re going to come at us hard and they’re going to break all the rules. Buchanan, I’m making you a full bird, effective immediately. Each of you will command a battalion. Buchanan, exactly what did you bring?”

  “Weapons 2/24, a company of Engineers, a company of Recons, and some hard corps militia.”

  “Can you run seven companies?”

  “I’ll storm the gates of hell with seven companies.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. I’m giving you 3/25 India, Kilo, Lima, and Weapons. That’s two weapons companies under your command and the support they need to lay down some hurt.”

  James looked across the table at the other colonels and said, “That leaves a battalion of Marines with armor and air support for each of you. Let’s make this a dirty war, gentlemen. Buchanan, you’re authorized to shoot ground troops with .50 cals and whatever heavy guns you feel like shooting at them. Do you understand?”

  “Roger that, sir. We’re no longer fluffing pillows or riding the rainbow train.”

  Buchanan had picked up on the fact that the commandant was back in military mode, no longer call
ing him by his first name. He was more comfortable in fight mode than he was otherwise. For a moment, Buchanan gave thought to his old friends from Gorham. So much had happened since then. He took a second to hope that Nathan and the rest of the Posse was safe and found themselves still on mission. Buchanan had told Nathan that he would rally with them in Chicago, but a more pressing matter needed his attention. It was the game-changing moment when he had received a transmission from John James.

  Independence, Iowa, 17:56 Hours

  Independence was on full lockdown and cleared of all civilian population, by orders of Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin. Every road was blockaded and had UN checkpoints coming into and leaving the city. It was almost 18:00 hours in Iowa when the last of the reallocated UN ground forces came rolling through the checkpoints.

  Captain Rashoutan Siroosi, of the Advanced Weapons Systems Company, had arrived a little behind schedule, causing Captain Alexander Zacharov to confront him regarding the topic of insolence.

  “Captain Siroosi, how is it you came to command an advanced weapons company when you can’t even make it to a rally point on time?”

  “Relax, Russian, the executive commander will be here soon. As long as we arrive before he does, there’s no worry.”

  Zacharov knew that being called Russian was intended to be derogatory. The Russians had always had a high sense of pride and certainly did not like being ridiculed because of it. Siroosi held his peace and commanded his unit to post itself and to look presentable for the executive commander.

  Within the next hour, Muhaimin was looking out of the window of the helicopter and down onto the two regiments of ground forces that were moving into formation. He felt strong seeing a regiment of UN strength at his disposal, and was fully confident that two regiments of his men could defeat, humiliate, and dishearten the resistance. He needed this moment to be an example of his strength over the Americans so that no nation would dare resist his authority. Not only did he want the world to know he was capable of great feats, but also that he was not to be trifled with. He understood that should he lose, it would be the beginning of the end for his ambitions. This is why, not only was he matching his strength against the size of the Marine Corps Regiment in South Dakota, but he was doubling it to insure certain victory and to immortalize himself in the annals of history with the likes of Napoleon Bonaparte, Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, and Sun Tzu.