“Pull every unit that is yet available and have them report to their regional headquarters. I want to end this insurgency once and for all. With or without electricity, they will soon be a memory.”
“Yes, Executive Commander. It shall be done.”
“One more thing, Captain. I have an old friend, a member of my old special operations team. He was an enlisted soldier the last time I knew. Look him up; his name is Rasoul Konat. We called him the Fist. He has certain talents I have use for.”
O’Hare International Airport, Chicago, Illinois
Staff Sergeant Rasoul Konat was an Iranian special operations soldier. He served with Abdul Muhaimin in the Jihadist Wars. He was infamous for his brutal tactics that could only be matched by Muhaimin. He was a huge man with fists twice the size of a normal man’s, but that wasn’t what earned him his nickname. It was a special ops mission that required Muhaimin and his men to infiltrate a US and British base to capture POWs for negotiations and trades. The US and British administrations were trading ten or more POWs for one US or British POW. This policy meant snatch and grabs of US soldiers could yield high returns. During one of these ops, Konat had bound and gagged a US serviceman and returned him to their own base. When the US soldier attempted to escape, he was discovered and put up a fight. Konat knocked the soldier out with one punch and continued to punch the unconscious man until his face caved in and Konat’s fist became stuck in the man’s skull. From that day on, he was called the Fist.
The Fist had a scar across his left eye and running diagonally across his face. He had sustained it in a knife fight with a group of Marines. He had no conscience whatsoever and followed orders explicitly. Any operation he was involved in would leave a trail of bodies that usually led back to Konat. He hated rude people and sarcasm. These personality flaws usually ended badly for the cynical. It was for this reason he could not advance beyond the rank of staff sergeant. His unprofessional conduct and reputation were always preceding him. If the word sadist was the best word to describe him, it fell hopelessly short.
The Fist was stationed at O’Hare International Airport, also known as Region Five Air Logistics. He was in charge of security. When he was contacted by the District and notified of Muhaimin’s request to make an example of the patriot insurgency, he was more than eager to assist his old friend. The Fist lived for the opportunity to inflict pain.
He had his assault gear prepped and was boarding a private plane when he received word from his radioman that an insurgent attack was currently underway at the nearby Region Five Human Handling Center. It was just a short drive away and close enough for a quick response. Without hesitating, the Fist stepped down off the plane and onto the runway.
In the distance, he could see the city lights were coming on. He knew this was an action taken by the patriot resistance. To take back control of the power grid was a major undertaking and coordinated response. The act alone told the Fist that the size of the opposition might be greater than he had assumed. Maintaining security of the airport offered him almost no action. There were a few skirmishes here and there, but nothing worth his while.
With a smirk on his face and a mouthful of smokeless tobacco, the Fist sneered into the air, spat on the ground, and wiped his mouth clean of the string of tobacco spit that landed on his beard.
The Fist was surrounded by a few men that served with him in the security forces. They were a group of junior sergeants and lived to fight with Konat.
“Get the rest of the men ready and up to speed,” he said, looking at the junior sergeant to his direct left.
Without question, the junior sergeant left and rounded up a team of fifty men, each of them an abomination to anything ethical or moral. To work with the Fist required each of them to be contemptible in their own way. Men with high ethical standards and moral uprightness would not work with the Fist. Men of such high caliber had a tendency to come up missing. It was the soldiers that adapted to the Fist’s sadistically detestable ways that found their place in his security unit.
The Old Steelworks Plant, East Chicago, Indiana
“What kind of problem?” Nathan asked Tori. She had just returned from a self-appointed survey of the area in an attempt to lure in the patrolling grounds security.
“There are hundreds of security forces fighters out there. Each of them armed with Colt rifles,” she said.
“Well, now we know they’re being supplied by our own government, Denny said.
Nathan had a concerned look on his face that Jess picked up on.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The blue hat said that Adalyn Baker was dead. We no longer have a functioning government. That means that either our armies have been emptied out, or those Colts are being manufactured for them.”
“Wait. I’m done with the bad news part,” Tori interrupted.
The group looked at her, waiting with a sense of anticipation for her to spill the beans.
“They’re mounting up an armored convoy and loading it up with crew-served weapons. They’re facing the west gate. I think they know something’s wrong,” she said.
Nathan pulled out the walkie-talkie. “I have a plan. If Banks can get them to empty out, we can make our move.”
“They’ll never empty out if they know what’s waiting for them out there,” Jess added.
“True,” Tori said. “If they open those gates, they’ll find they’re easily outnumbered four to one.”
“I like those odds, boss,” Denny said with a voice of approval as he looked at Nathan.
Looking at Tori, Nathan asked, “Got a sitrep to share with Banks?”
“Ten hardbacks and forty fighters,” she answered.
Nathan pushed the button on his walkie-talkie to relay a message to Banks. “Banks from Roeh, come in, Over.”
“This is Banks. Go ahead, Roeh. Over.”
“The west gate is set to empty out ten crew-served hummers loaded with fighters. Over.”
“I copy. Thanks for the heads-up. Over.”
Tori took off again without communicating to the team her plan of action. This time they followed her. She led them to the position she had found earlier. It was about fifty yards from their original position behind a large metallic trash bin. Tori jumped up on the hard plastic lid and climbed onto the top of a shipping container, where she had a bird’s-eye view of the convoy. Nathan, Denny, and Jess were close behind. Once they were on top, Nathan took a moment to inspect the towers. The guards were dead on their catwalks, and the ground security crews were scurrying about to disembark.
“Now what?” Jess asked.
No sooner than she had posed the question, the sounds of the large metal gate being opened went screeching through the air. The sounds of HMMWV engines began to roar in the near distance.
“Now we do what we came here to do,” Nathan answered.
The front gate was a large solid steel wall about three-quarters of an inch thick. It had a small six-inch-by-twelve-inch peephole that could only be opened from the inside. The wall sat on a system of rollers and was pulled open by a motor with heavy-duty chains and pulleys.
Once the convoy was staged and every person was accounted for, they turned on their headlights, pointing them westward through the open gate. This was the perfect signal for Banks and his Marines. Waiting outside, in a concealed position behind the city buildings, he waited for the right moment to attack. Moments later, Nathan, Jess, Tori, and Denny watched as the convoy emptied out of the complex. The gigantic gate closed behind them.
“Let’s go,” Nathan said, as he crawled down off the shipping container.
In the near distance, not far from the wall’s perimeter, they could hear heavy gunfire. They knew Banks was engaging the convoy. Tori was excited to hear the sounds. She imagined the UN soldiers being caught off guard, killed, and their vehicles being blown to smithereens. She derived great satisfaction from the thought. It was only for the moment. She was in the rear as they followed Nathan when she stop
ped dead in her tracks. She saw a squad of UN security forces to their right, and their weapons were drawn on her unsuspecting friends.
“Tangos to the right,” she shouted, running back to her original position.
Nathan, Denny, and Jess reacted by pointing their weapons to their right. There were a dozen men dressed in black BDUs and blue helmets. The group of UN soldiers shot first while Tori shot back from her covered position, hoping to give her friends covering fire so they could find some cover of their own.
Nathan, Jess, and Denny returned fire and maintained a forward momentum towards their destination, which was a series of shipping containers across from their original position. Once they had reached cover, they looked back at Tori, who was no longer where they had last seen her.
“Where’d she go?” Nathan asked.
“Don’t know, boss. She’s a big girl. I reckon she can take care of herself for now. We’ve got bigger worries.”
Nathan made eye contact with Denny. He was glaring down at Jess’s abdomen. She was holding her left hand over a bullet hole. She had been shot, and she was bleeding badly.
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to reassure Nathan. “It’s just a scratch.”
Nathan went to remove her hand to get a better look at the wound, but no sooner than he touched her bloody hand, bullets began ricocheting near his head. Denny grabbed him and pulled him back to cover.
“We have to get movin’, boss. We can’t sit here.”
“Just go,” she said. “I’ll catch up. I’m not worth both of your lives.”
“We’re not leavin’ you, Jess.”
She had already slid down the side of the shipping container and was in a seated position. Nathan went to call for backup on his walkie-talkie, but it was missing. He patted himself down in a worried frenzy, but couldn’t find it. Things went from bad to worse.
A gigantic explosion rang out from the north. It was followed by a plume of dusty-looking smoke and debris.
“What was that?” Jess asked.
“Our ticket out of here,” Nathan assumingly responded. He believed a portion of the wall was blown out by Banks to assist them in their escape. “Let’s go,” he said.
Nathan pulled Jess to her feet, and Denny helped bear some of her weight. She was feeling weakened by blood loss, and her body was going into shock.
The gunfire that was behind them faded into the background, but eventually stopped altogether.
“Wait,” Jess called out.
“What? What is it?” Nathan asked.
“I’ve got to see what’s in these containers. If they’re people, we have to get them out of here.”
“We’ll come back for them, Jess.”
“No. I need to know now,” she demanded.
Nathan and Denny set her to the side and went to open a container.
There was a large metal locking device that they grabbed and lifted out of its locking position. Once unlocked, the doors were pulled open. A burst of air and toxic-smelling odors came gusting out of the container when the seal was broken. The visage was ghastly. There were at least two dozen dead bodies restrained inside the container. They were shackled at the feet and handcuffed over their heads. The devices were reminiscent of the train cars they had encountered in southern Illinois.
Some of the corpses had fallen loose from the wrist restraints. As their bodies decomposed, the weight of the corpses gave way to gravity. In some cases, the flesh of their hands remained attached to the restraints. It was disheartening to say the least.
Nathan and Denny closed the doors of the container and were met by a large group of UN security forces. There were at least fifty of them, and they had Jess in their possession. Each of the men had their rifles trained on the two stunned men.
Tori was off watching in the distance. When she saw the three of them were outgunned and separated from her, she went around a back way, hoping to find an element of surprise. She was too late. By the time she managed to find them, they were being taken away in a separate convoy that Banks was unaware of. Captain Richards had come down from his position when Banks had destroyed the first enemy group. Unknown to any of them, the Fist and his group were coming in from a covered position on the opposite side of the complex. The Fist had blasted a hole through the wall with a Titan 1 weapon system. They simply drove into the vacated Human Handling Center and made offensive weapon sweeping maneuvers until they located the intruders: Nathan, Denny, and Jess.
There was nothing Tori could do, at least not by herself. Knowing she was helplessly outnumbered and outgunned, she ran back to her original position and began shouting over the wall. It was a twelve-foot-tall structure, nothing designed to keep noise out, but nobody was responding. Frantic, she ran to the gigantic metallic gate and located the controls. It ran on a generator and had a two-switch toggle option: open—close.
She switched the dial to open and the gate began to shriek. It was the metal-on-metal screeching sound from before. It was a thousand times worse than the sound of one running fingernails down a blackboard.
Tori took a defensive position behind a shipping container and waited to see who would be on the other side of the gate. It was Banks and his Marines.
Tori stepped out and ran to the men.
“Where’s Nathan and the others?” he asked her.
“They’ve been taken by a rather large group of UN security forces members, and they have big guns.”
“Which way did they go?”
“There’s no time to talk; we have to move now. Tell them to mount up. I’m driving this time. You’re shotgun,” she asserted.
“Mount up,” Banks shouted to the others. Every Marine ran to their vehicle and followed after Tori.
Nathan was sitting in the corner of a musty-smelling room. The Fist had him gagged with a rancid dirty sock and handcuffed in the back with zip-ties. Denny had the same treatment, except he was hanging by his ankles from a rafter in the ceiling. Jess was missing, and Nathan had no idea where either of his friends were. Both he and Denny were blindfolded in a room that was now lit by electricity.
“Which one of you is the leader?” Nathan and Denny heard the grizzled voice ask.
Neither man responded.
“I’m guessing it’s you,” the voice said.
Nathan’s blindfold was removed from his face. For the first time he was able to look around the room and see his best friend, Denny, hanging by his ankles from the rafters. The rope Nathan had attached to his grappling hook was being used to suspend Denny from the ceiling.
Nathan peered into the eyes of a large intimidating man with a scar running from the left brow to the right cheek. The cut that at one time infected the man’s face had caused a serious laceration and a deformation of the man’s nose. No doubt the man had lost cartilage in the cut. It looked like he had been hit in the face with a scimitar.
The man walked over to Denny and used his left hand to grab him by the hair and pull him upward.
The large man was Muhaimin’s contact, the Fist. He punched Denny in the face and knocked him unconscious. Blood began to stream from his nose. It ran down his forehead and onto the floor. Denny’s mouth was open; although he was gagged, he had a passage for air.
“Forgive my negligence,” the Fist said in a cynical tone. “I’m asking you questions and I haven’t even removed your gag.”
He walked over to Nathan and pulled the gag down off his face.
The first thing Nathan said was, “Where’s the girl?”
“She’s assisting my men. Don’t worry about her. She’ll be useful to us for some time to come.”
Nathan knew what he was alleging, and the thought of Jess being raped, sodomized, or victimized or any other act of brutality was almost too much for him to stomach. He knew all too well the atrocities these jihadists were guilty of. The time he spent before the Flip, as a conservative blogger covering the Jihadist Wars and their decade-long illegal migration into the US, had exposed him to many such scenarios
. He was right about what he believed they were doing to Jessica. Nathan counted fifteen men were in the room with him. His fears put the other thirty-five in a line behind Jess.
The Fist saw the look that was in the eyes of Nathan. They were filling with tears of righteous indignation. He was filled with fear, hate, and sorrow. His heart was breaking, and there was nothing he could do about it.
There was a guard to his left and a guard to his right. Nathan tried to stand up, but with his hands behind his back, his motions were slow and easily detectible. The two guards just pushed him back into a seated position.
“She’s your girl, isn’t she?” the Fist asked. “Would you like to see her … to make sure she’s okay?”
Nathan didn’t answer. He knew that despite whatever answer he was going to give the man, he had already drawn a conclusion: that he was going to kill Nathan and Denny and, eventually, Jess.
The Fist looked over by the doorway. “Bring the girl to me,” he commanded.
Moments later, two men dragged Jess into the same room that he and Denny were in. The Fist walked over to Denny and removed his blindfold and began slapping him in the face. The Fist wanted both men awake for what he had planned.
Denny came to and began blowing blood from his nostrils. The effects were similar to a whale coming up for air and emptying its blowhole.
“Ahh, good. You’re awake,” the Fist said.
She was conscious but indecent. Her normally modest appearance was absent along with her will to live any longer. The men were chuckling and whispering under their breath while the Fist silently watched Nathan for a reaction. He was exhibiting a great deal of pleasure just watching his emotional response.
Jess had a very visible hole in her stomach. Blood had been streaming out of it and was smeared across her entire torso region, as if it had been smeared about because of her struggles.
Nathan’s breathing was laborious, and he could not take his eyes off Jess. Denny was even more helpless than Nathan. Tears were streaming down his forehead and mixing with blood; his already plugged nose could not contain all the moisture that was building up inside his head. It felt as if his sinus cavities were going to explode.
Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) Page 65
