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

by L. Douglas Hogan

  Unknown to the hovering overwatch, many of the enemy UN troops had changed their clothing, left behind their weapons, and integrated into what was left of the town. It was an issue the township would have to deal with in the future. For now, any and all remaining armed combatants had to be neutralized.

  Morning came early for the 21st Marine Corps Regiment. The dust settled over Hot Springs, and the inhabitants were searching through the debris for six missing residents. For the most part, collateral kills included only fourteen civilians. The civilian, commercial, and government property damages were massive. There were men and women wailing in the streets over the loss of their loved ones, and those searching for the missing were doing so frantically.

  General John James and his entourage of commanding officers were meeting in the upper elevated area of Hot Springs. It was the same location where Lieutenant Colonel Howard had positioned his Super Stallions. When he had heard from General James that they needed a rally point near Hot Springs, he had the choppers moved back a couple hundred yards to make room for a rally point. The commandant needed to debrief on the battle and discuss the next move. For John James, Hot Springs was a decisive victory, but Buchanan knew many had escaped. In his mind, he found comfort knowing that at least they had been temporarily neutralized.

  Summary executions had been authorized by the general. Any UN soldier captured in uniform was immediately put to death. This posed a serious problem for Ryan Lee, who was still watching from the hillside. He was equipped with communications gear that he had picked up for Cox, but to his surprise, Cox was gone when he had returned. His patriotic duty was to his country. In his heart, he wanted to get on the radio and report in to the US forces that he was coming down from the hills. He wanted nothing more than to rejoin his comrades and fight against the foreign invaders, but fear also enveloped his mind. He saw what was happening to the invaders and he wanted no part of it. To die at the hands of his own countrymen was not how he wanted to go.

  Lee bolstered himself and stood up. He had made his decision. He was going to hoist an American flag and call on his brethren to hear his plight for due process. It might have been a long shot, given the fact that he was unsure of the Constitution’s applicability in his case, as an individual, but was confident in its supremacy as the law of the land. Ryan was watching through binoculars when he made his decision. As he made his way to his feet, he heard the cracking sound of a breaking stick just to his rear. He turned around to see two Recon Marines pointing their weapons directly at his face.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Ryan said, scurrying backwards to evade the pointed muzzles.

  One of the Marines maintained a visual on Lee. He had his weapon trained on his head and was looking through the sight of a tactical holographic red dot. The other Marine slung his tactical sling around so that his rifle was shifted to his back. He zip-tied Lee’s wrists and ankles and then slung his rifle back around to the front and joined his associate in pointing his rifle at him.

  “You don’t understand,” Lee kept saying the whole time he was being secured. “I’m an American,” he pleaded. “Please don’t do this, please.”

  “You’re an American, huh?” one of them replied. “Then why the UN monkey suit?”

  “I went AWOL from my unit. I didn’t sign up to be UN, man. They made me go. They sent me. I didn’t have a say.”

  “Well, you should have went AWOL then,” the other Marine said.

  Both Marines used their thumbs to switch their rifles from safe to semi. Lee heard the clicks and knew he was about to die.

  “Wait a second, I get this one,” one Marine said to the other.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you got the last two, fool.”

  “Doesn’t count; you had four before that.”

  Lee pleaded with them one last time. “Please, I’m with you, I swear, I’m with you.”

  The Marine aimed down his sights and placed the red dot square on Lee’s forehead.

  Lee looked down.

  “No, don’t look down, dude. Look up at me.”

  Lee refused to look up.

  “Have it your way. You’ll swallow your own brain from this angle.”

  “Wait a second,” the other Marine said.

  “What now?”

  “We need to call it in. If they hear shots coming from up here, they may return fire.”

  “Good point.”

  One of the Recons grabbed his mic and said, “Bravo One from Echo Four Sierra. Over.”

  Lee looked up to watch the events unfold.

  Buchanan’s voice came back over the radio. “This is Bravo One. Over.”

  “Bravo One, be advised the hills will be hot for two rounds. We have a stray blue hat. Over.”

  “Bravo One copies. Over and out.”

  The Marine aimed back at Lee and began putting pressure on the trigger.

  Lee was numb in anticipation of certain death when the radio came alive with traffic for the Marine.

  “Echo Four Sierra from Oscar Five Charlie, come in. Over.”

  The Marine lowered his weapon. “This is Echo Four Sierra. Over.”

  “Echo Four Sierra, stand down. I repeat, stand down.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Cox had heard the radio traffic to Buchanan and remembered his ally in the hills of Hot Springs.

  Ryan Lee spent the next few hours being debriefed and discussing the structure of the UN forces with the victorious 21st Marine Corps Regiment. They discussed the infrastructure of the UN, some of the briefings Lee was privy to, the times he staged for invasion, and the times they were told to stand down. The most significant knowledge they gained was that the UN forces were receiving their equipment from Rock Island Arsenal in Illinois and that these forces were under the command of a man by the name of Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin.

  At the time of Lee’s deployment to the Hot Springs area, Muhaimin was still under the impression that NORAD was also under his command. Lee was briefed by the captain of his unit that NORAD and USNORTHCOM would be in the vicinity, softening the target, and that his unit was primarily being used for cleanup and post-combat security ops. He was told they were being sent to take out some rabble-rousers. He legitimately didn’t know the rabble-rousers were a reference to American resistance fighters, and better yet, a regiment of US Marines. With newfound knowledge at hand, General John James worked closely with Belt McKanty and all of the command staff of the 21st regiment for the following two days to determine the next best course of action.

  Captain Richards was nearing his destination, and a sense of nervousness was swelling in his chest. He knew that at any moment they could be under direct friendly fire from a concealed Marine fortification. With hypervigilance, he scanned the terrain in constant search of movement and anything out of the ordinary to include color and shape variations. Rory joined him in his observations; in fact, all the members of the large convoy were doing their part.

  Captain Richards picked up his mic and called back to the other units of the convoy.

  “We’re going to stop here and make sure Old Glory is hoisted high. If you have flags, make sure they’re visible,” he said with the authority of a confident commanding officer.

  The convoy came to a standstill while many Marines and militia members piled out of the lineup to provide cover and to maintain a watchful eye on the terrain.

  Sergeant Banks and Tori were both out of their vehicle. Tori’s mind was still on Nathan.

  “So tell me more about this Buchanan guy,” she said, trying to clear her mind of negative worries.

  “Well, it’s not hard to tell what he’s thinking; his lips are moving.”

  “So he’s very direct, eh? I can appreciate that.”

  “Yeah, I knew you would.”

  There was an awkward silence between the two of them as they both looked out into the distance.

  “Look,” Banks said, “I know we’ve had our differences in the past—”

  Tori interr
upted, “Just stop. If you want to confess, you should talk to the padre over there.” Tori motioned her head towards Rory Price.

  Rory had adapted well to his new environment, but he missed his wife and daughter terribly. The whole reason behind his leaving their side was to help bring freedom back to the country. It was something bigger than himself and he’d never had a hard time seeing the greater picture. For Rory, putting himself aside for others was easy. His temperament called for him to be patient and kind, but he wasn’t one to be buffaloed, bullied, or lied to. He preferred a head-on fight only after all other means for a peaceful resolution had been exhausted. In truth, he couldn’t wait to be at home with his loved ones, but the matter at hand was way bigger than anybody in the convoy.

  Tori looked back to Banks and made eye contact the best she could. The sun was barreling down into her face, causing her to squint.

  “How well did Nathan know Buchanan?” she asked.

  “We came across Nathan’s camp in Gorham back around October. He and Buchanan hit it off and struck a deal to head north to take out a FEMA camp. At the time we didn’t know it was actually a genocide.” Banks stopped talking long enough to look down and kick a rock. “I want to kill every blue hat we find. At first, I gave them the benefit of the doubt. I doubted the inevitable killing of Americans for the purpose of global control. It wasn’t until recently that I could see the importance of America’s place in the world.”

  Tori didn’t know that she had unintentionally stirred up a maelstrom of negative emotion with Sergeant Banks.

  “We’ll get them,” she said. “We’ll hunt down every last one of them until they’re eradicated from the face of our great country.”

  Banks squinted and looked back up to the rocky formations and hillsides that covered their environment then back at the convoy.

  “Well, looks like we’re ready to make the final approach,” he said. “Soon you’ll get to meet Buchanan, and we’ll both get our chance at killing blue hats and tangos.”

  Tangos had long since been the military term used to say terrorists. The first letter of a word was extracted and it was changed to a letter from the military’s phonetic alphabet. In this case, t for terrorist was called tango.

  A few years prior, the government had stopped using words that they felt might be offensive to the Muslim population, such as terrorist, and chose instead to use their own word Jihadist, because they were waging a religious war against the principles of freedom. The government found it impossible to pacify both the civil diversity in America and the growing Islamic population. In a typical move, it blamed the patriot movement. Nothing was done except the apprehension of gun-toting Americans. Eventually, it saw no other means to stabilize the country than to surrender its sovereignty to a global community run by totalitarian dictators in an organizational body called the United Nations.

  Now back at the depot, General John James had commanded every Marine in the 21st Regiment to be ready for deployment. He had made up his mind, after several hours of careful deliberation, that an all-out assault on the District was their only hope for gaining a tactical victory that would further offset the enemy and demoralize them. Buchanan and McKanty agreed that it needed to be taken while the enemy was mortally wounded. To wait any longer would most certainly prove a liability. The thought was that the bureaucracy and red tape of the UN would hinder quick action for supplies and reinforcements, and that was the weakness they were seeking to exploit. While the UN was deliberating on a course of action, the 21 st Regiment could make their move. A large enough move would motivate surviving Americans to unite under a single flag. For the commandant, the days of politics were over. Placating illegal immigrants and hatred of American values were over. A firm hand was to be delivered to any person or group, despite their sexual, religious, or political preferences, that opposed individual freedom.

  General John James took a copy of the US Constitution and the Bill of Rights and had them redrafted to include more references and emphasis to individual liberties. Delegates from each state were selected and signed the new draft, each paying careful attention to the letter of the word and reaffirming that individual liberty was the pressing issue.

  With a fresh outlook on the future and a new supreme law of the land in hand, the men and women of the 21st Regiment geared up and staged for the next big move in the operation that would define their future.

  Lieutenant Colonels Wright and Barker, with Buchanan’s Reconnaissance Marines, were assigned to take the howitzers and 1st Battalion Weapons Company to Rock Island Arsenal to seize it from UN control.

  General John James and the rest of the regiment were going to head straight to the District. Sergeant First Class Reynolds argued that the trip would be long and tedious, not to mention that without effective communications over such distances, it would be difficult to coordinate a simultaneous attack.

  Gunnery Sergeant Franks said that the trip to Rock Island would take about twelve hours and the trip to the District would be double that. He recommended each team wait an additional day before launching an attack to ensure both teams would be in place.

  Buchanan heard their concerns and recommended that each team stage an hour from their destination and that Wright and Barker’s team could use the time difference as a window of opportunity to gather intel on the arsenal. General John James liked the idea and added that each team could set a predetermined time of attack on the third day. By then, both teams should have reasonable amounts of intelligence on the area and a plan of attack.

  While all the men sat in the room, glaring at the large map that was spread out across the table, Sergeant Hammel came running into the room.

  “What is it, Sergeant?” the commandant asked.

  “Sir, we have more incoming, very similar to that of Buchanan’s arrival.”

  Buchanan stood up with anticipation.

  “Are they American?” Buchanan asked.

  “They have US flags hoisted from just about every vehicle of the convoy.”

  Buchanan looked back at John, who was still looking at Hammel.

  “Are they detained?” John asked.

  “Yes, sir. They didn’t make it through our perimeter security. One of the men, a Sergeant Banks, said he was with Buchanan.”

  Sergeant Banks and every member of the convoy were outside lying facedown in the dirt. Banks knew this was a routine security matter and reassured everybody present to maintain their positions until the security check was over. After several minutes of lying prone, the convoy had been fully vetted and Colonel Buchanan arrived in his HMMWV to personally welcome Sergeant Banks back to the fold.

  No sooner than he had stepped out of his vehicle and put his feet on the earth, Buchanan shouted out to Banks, “In the dirt like a real Marine. Welcome back, Sergeant.”

  Buchanan bent over and extended his hand to assist Banks back to his feet.

  “It’s good to be back, sir.”

  The District

  Executive Commander Muhaimin reached into his pocket and removed his cell phone. The idea of losing an entire division was a cost he was not willing to share with the UN heads. He had a roundabout way to get more men, if only his idea would work.

  “Captain Delwadewala! It’s Executive Commander Abdul Muhaimin.”

  “Hello, sir, it’s good to hear from you again.”

  “I was wondering if you still had ties with Ambassador Gohari in the UN?”

  “Yes, I do. Ambassador Gohari is loyal to our cause in America. What is it you need?”

  “I need you to let him know that I am cleaning up the remnants of the patriot resistance, and I need more troops to aid in the cause.”

  CHAPTER IX

  Chicago, Illinois

  Nathan, Denny, Troy and fifteen men belonging to Troy’s three-percenters group were all that remained after Captain Richards and Sergeant Banks left with Tori, Rory and the rest of the posse and Marines to join up with Buchanan in South Dakota. A small handful of the three-p
ercenters left with Banks to assist in the upcoming combat efforts. With such a small group, it was paramount that they maintain a low profile, especially since they were traveling through exceptionally dangerous territory. The Chicago area was at the height of historical crime rates when the Flip went down. There could be any number of bad characters yet residing in the streets of the city.

  Troy and Denny were trying to talk sense into Nathan. He had spent the last two days behaving like a focused bloodhound on the trail of an elusive raccoon. His words were small and his sentences were short. He wasn’t grouchy or unpleasant, just focused on the task at hand—finding the Fist and killing him. Tracking him was proving difficult because most of the remaining inhabitants were associating themselves with one of two primary factions—the Syndicate and the Jackals. Neither group was particularly friendly to outsiders.

  The Syndicate got its start right after the Flip. They were a local Hispanic gang that survived by pillaging, looting, and killing members of the community at will. The only way not to be a victim of the Syndicate was to pledge allegiance to the gang and thus work for them. This continued until they controlled several city blocks. After the UN moved into the area, they carried on with their business, sometimes conducting under-the-table transfers with the UN soldiers for females. This deal worked for the Syndicate and kept the UN from moving into their area of control and disrupting their business.

  The Jackals were quite different. They were a group of Iranian and Syrian refugees with ties to multiple terrorist organizations from before the Flip. The group also consisted of Iranian soldiers who had gone AWOL from UN services and found themselves recruited into the Jackals. Their knowledge of field combat and UN tactics were useful to the Jackals, who wanted to establish a caliphate in America. The UN’s concept of global community disrupted their ideals. Their vision for America lured many Iranian UN fighters to their faction.

  The details of these two groups were unknown to Nathan, Denny, Troy, and the others. The little information they had discovered was secondhand knowledge from their victims and the markings and graffiti on the walls, signs, and streets. Nathan still had his wits about him; he was just being irrational by placing personal feelings before duty.