CHAPTER XII
Navy Pier, Chicago, Illinois
It took NORAD and USNORTHCOM a little longer than expected to organize the deployment of ten thousand troops. USNORTHCOM had been prepared for several years to deploy upon its own citizenry, but this was on a much larger scale. Mock crises and martial law drills kept them on their toes for these types of eventualities; however, once the Flip happened, it progressed extremely fast.
The US government was heavily reliant upon local authorities, in partnership with global peacekeeping soldiers, to effect a legitimate control of the populace. When most of the military abandoned their posts to be with their families and the city cops resigned in enormous droves, it became an impossibility. NORAD maintained a watchful eye from their remote location in Colorado, and USNORTHCOM remained silent in the wake of all the happenings. Their alliance was to a free America, but there was no way to know what was to become of it, so they waited.
Admiral William S. Dixon was excited to finally meet the unit he had come to know as Whiskey Black. It was a derivative of the term Warriors of the Black Hills, which was what the Army’s 4th Infantry Division first called them. He had arrived with Iron Horse two days later than General John James had arrived with the 21st Marine Corps Regiment. When the commandant saw a force five times the size of his regiment, he was overcome with excitement. A sense of hope greater than he had felt in a long time swept over his being; and not him alone, but all of his men were elated and overcome with joy. They didn’t spend a whole lot of time with formalities. Both men understood the national crisis was near fatal and also that the threat was much bigger than the current unwelcomed occupiers.
There had been a large global stratagem to shut down the United States and to remove its influence from the global community. For years, global visionaries had seen the US as a roadblock to the new world order. Indoctrinated political candidates, who had been educated by the leading globalists of their time, seemed to always have the vote. Eventually, the weight of ever-increasing taxes, political correctness, illegal immigration, and terrorism brought the US to its knees. When the commandant and the admiral joined forces, they went right to work on a strategy to take back the US by force.
Now, both units were staged to shut down Goose Island. They had received confirmation from NORAD that Colonel Cox and his unit were in position to take Arsenal Island, which was just three hours away. With all of the pieces on the board, Admiral Dixon gave General John James command over all ground tactics. As admiral, Dixon took command over all intelligence that was being sent and received from NORAD and all airborne units. He had left the fighter pilots and most intelligence operatives that served under his command at their station in Colorado, with a modest supply of troops to provide security.
With new intel coming in all the time, John James and the rest were just hearing confirmation that there was, in fact, an EMP attack sent from North Korea that wiped out the West Coast. Unfortunately, there were several biocontrol and engineering facilities that were rendered powerless. Unforeseen consequences were sure to ensue as a result, but for now, the immediate threat was neutralizing Abdul Muhaimin and any UN occupiers.
The general’s plan was a progressively aggressive one, consisting of three phases. Phase one was to strike Goose Island, a formidably secure FEMA-UN facility, and to release any and all US citizens therein. Phase two was to contact the United Nations and declare the free state of America, giving UN contributors an opportunity to pull out all of their troops as a sign of goodwill. Phase three was to deport any remnants of undocumented aliens and hold tribunals for any remaining UN invaders.
Everybody agreed to a fourth phase, but considered it separate from the first three, in that it consisted of cleaning up the tyranny that had been prevalent from a time that extended backwards before the Flip. The streets needed law and order that focused on individual liberty. Any future laws would be written to protect the unwarranted intrusion of these personal liberties.
Nathan was all geared up and looking forward to a fight. It wasn’t that he was warmongering; it was just the opposite. He wanted peace, but he understood to get it, there had to be more bloodshed. “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants” was always one of his favorite quotes. Thomas Jefferson, Samuel Adams, and Patrick Henry were among his favorite forefathers. Nathan had spent the last couple of days resting and thinking about the American Revolution and how little George Washington had to work with. Washington was given the seemingly impossible task of organizing a war against tyranny using only a modest military and a mostly civilian militia. With prayers, an unlikely ally across the sea, and a bit of luck, he pulled it off.
The last couple days proved fruitful by way of knowledge. It would seem that the odds were stacked against them except for the fact the Russians now wanted war against Muhaimin. The global community had stabilized Russian patriotism with a common goal in the neutralization of American patriotism, but deeper strategic foresight had shown a common enemy in radical Islamism. The Russians were withdrawing what was left of their manpower from the Agenda 21 project in the US, and Muhaimin was systematically executing what he could of those left over, unwittingly giving an unlikely ally to the remnants—General John James, his modest military, and a highly motivated civilian militia. Those were the thoughts of Nathan Roeh as he watched an ever-streaming line of civilian militia groups joining the upcoming fight.
Buchanan had just concluded a meeting with the general to recommend Nathan be appointed Militia Company Liaison and given the rank of warrant officer, a specialty rank that answered to commissioned officers but was above noncommissioned officers. He would be the link between the continually growing militia and the upper echelons of military command; in addition, he would be responsible for coordinating attacks on the enemy, intelligence gathering, future training, and producing a network of patriot groups still bound by their oath to individual liberty that could assist in maintaining order without the restricting of said liberties. The general happily agreed.
Buchanan saw Nathan leaning against his HMMWV and saw a downtrodden expression upon his face. If there was one thing Buchanan was good at, it was reading emotion; this was a look of defeat.
“What’s wrong, son?”
“Nothing, sir. Just watching these new groups roll in.” Nathan’s arms were crossed and he was looking a little more comfortable than in recent days. “I was wondering if they’ve been as busy as us, if they’ve endured what we’ve endured, or if they’re fresh.”
Truth was, Nathan was not only thinking those things, but was also thinking about his sister, Katie, his girlfriend, Jess, and a host of many other friends and family he had lost to tyranny. He wondered if these men and women had lost as many as he had; it was a hard thing to measure.
“Why don’t you go ask them yourself?” Buchanan said.
“Sir?” Nathan responded with a question of curiosity.
“This thing’s getting too big for military officers to manage. We need somebody like you to step up and take the helm.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“We already talked it over. We want you to be the liaison of all of this,” Buchanan said, waving his arm in a motion over all of the civilian militia that was gathering in and around them. “We’re giving you the rank of warrant officer. If they won’t respect that, then we’ll consider a W-2 or maybe a W-3,” which were the next two higher warrant officer ranks.
Nathan looked back out at the large group. His mind was back home in Gorham. The best of the bad days had been in Gorham. They might have been living under the yoke of tyranny, but there was peace. He didn’t like that either. Freedom was worth the fight for Nathan. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice freedom for peace and safety.
“I’ll do it,” Nathan said. “Somebody’s got to manage this mob.”
“Good. I’m going to talk to Sergeant First Class Reynolds about assisting you in the areas of guerilla tactics
. He’s the only one among us proficiently trained in these things.”
They shook hands on it, and Nathan began calling in the leaders of the militia.
Captain Richards was watching from a distance. He hadn’t heard the conversation, nor knew what was proposed to Nathan, but he could see Nathan was taking charge of something. He was comfortable and happy knowing he was alive and had great leadership capabilities. He had managed to survive under martial law and had done so without a military until he joined up with Buchanan. That union was what brought about a series of events that reunited him with his uncle, Captain Richards. Rory Price was walking by Richards while he was watching Nathan.
“What’s going on, Captain?”
“I was just thinking about how far we’ve progressed and the decisions we’ve made that led us here, to this place, with friends and family.”
“I’m trying not to envy the fact that your family is here with you. At least one of them.”
Richards felt bad for bringing it up. He had forgotten that Price had a wife and two daughters back in Gorham. The comment made him feel terrible. “Look, I’m sorry for bringing that up, preacher.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was just missing them and pondering how long this will take before I get to see them again. It feels like we’ve been away for months. In fact, it’s only been weeks. I bet my girls are growing like weeds.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it for a second,” Richards said, turning Price towards Nathan. “Look at him. I think they gave him command over the civilian militia.”
“A modern day George Washington,” Price replied.
Banks wasn’t far away from Captain Richards’s position. He was sitting in his HMMWV with his head back on the seat. Denny walked by him and caught him sleeping.
“Hey, wake up, sleepyhead,” he said, knocking on the hood of the HMMWV with the padding of his fist. “It’s almost go time.”
Banks woke up from his little nap. It was enough to feel refreshed but not enough to satisfy him. He watched Denny as he headed back to Nathan, where a large group of militia members were coalescing. Buchanan was making his way back to the rest of the commanders when Banks caught him with a question.
“Colonel, what’s going on over there?”
“We made Nathan liaison to the militia and gave him a field promotion. He’s going to be their captain, in a sense. You can call him Warrant Officer Roeh now, Sergeant.”
Banks wasn’t bothered by the field promotion. Military men and women were used to summary decisions, and it didn’t matter whether you agreed or not, as long as you respected them. Banks both respected it and agreed with it. He knew Nathan was a man of good character and would manage his position with good choices.
About a hundred yards away, commanders were bivouacked and prepared to discuss the POA on Goose Island. The Marines began shouting and gathering around the commander’s canopy tent to hear the plan of attack.
Tori hadn’t gone anywhere. She had mingled with the militia groups and had found a place with the Chicago three-percenters. She shared with them her experience with the Southern Illinois Home Guard and was welcomed in. They needed her experience as a Marine, too. She had stolen a hat that somebody had left lying around. After adjusting it to fit her head, she pulled it down over her eyes and refused to make eye contact with anybody that would recognize her. She followed the crowd in towards Admiral Dixon as he gave his speech and shared with them the task that was ahead.
“Goose Island might be a formidable assignment for a bunch of civilian pansies, but you’re not a bunch of pansies. You’re a group of hardened Marines, soldiers, sailors, airmen, veterans of all kinds, and survivors. You’re here for a reason; you’re here by destiny. You have heard a patriotic call to liberate a country that has given you so much; you’ve sacrificed so much for it, as well. Our great-grandparents had great-grandparents that built a country for us to live free. Our forefathers established a document that was made the law of the land; that document was forsaken and trodden under foot by tyrants that the people of America entrusted to uphold it.
“Just a few minutes away, we have a place called Goose Island that was erected as a monument to house only certain Americans. The UN has sought to empty the rest of us from these lands under the Agenda 21 protocol. The United States is sovereign and is not controlled by a global community, and they certainly will not determine who among us will live or die.
“Goose Island is one mile in length and a third of a mile in width. It has tall walls with guard towers set every two hundred yards on its perimeter. Our intelligence shows many barracks-style buildings within its interior. It is our understanding that the civilians within its confines are treated well and are well guarded by a thousand UN security forces soldiers. The Americans there are considered to be of superior intellect and have good work ethics. They are healthy with strong immune systems. We do not know how they will perceive us or exactly how they have been indoctrinated to fill their role in the future global community. With all this said, I turn to General John James, commandant of the Marine Corps, to share with you his plan of attack.”
“I served as a Joint Chief of Staff under President Adalyn Baker. I watched as she perverted our country and set the pieces in order to make herself a totalitarian dictator, giving away our freedom to a global community of people that seek to take our lands and do with it what they may, so I made my move and began funneling money and resources back into a regiment of Marines that were already on our books but was inactive. I saw the need for a military in this dystopian America, so I raised the 21st Marine Corps Regiment from the dead and made them fully capable of restoring us to our rightful place in this world. We are not fodder and we are not vermin, but we do have those elements seeking to snuff out our light. We may not be smarter than those living blissfully within the walls of that compound, but I am confident we are the best trained!
“I have already sent out Reconnaissance Marines to take up sniping positions from across the Chicago River. They will be watching the towers and will take them out if they choose not to retreat at our approach. Weapons Company 1st Battalion is with Colonel Cox, so I will need Weapons Company 3rd Battalion 25th Marines to take up positions at the southeast entrance of the island. Weapons Company 2nd Battalion will take up positions at the northeast entrance. Weapons Company 3rd Battalion will take up positions at the north entrance. Gentlemen, it is your job to destroy any armor that exits that compound.
“The Stryker Brigade Combat Team will enter the compound at the west entrance and engage the enemy while Colonel Howard’s men provide aerial support with his Super Stallions. 3/25 India, Kilo, and Lima will enter on foot and provide ground fire with the Strykers. I want the 21st o-three eleven Marines Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, and India to split up and join the weapons companies at the entrances. Your job is to kill anybody that tries to stop you. Captain Roeh, your objective is to clean sweep the interior of the compound after the o-three elevens finish clearing it. Only one ROE, gentlemen—do not shoot civies! Do you understand?”
The whole crowd shouted a mixture of oorahs, hooahs, and yeahs. Marines, Army, and civilians had their different traditions, but the answer was a uniform yes.
“Then find your units. We deploy in fifteen minutes.”
O’Hare International Airport, Chicago, Illinois
A rusty blue flatbed truck was pulling into the airport. Its engine was sputtering as it came to a stop at the security checkpoint. Two aggressive UN soldiers stopped the vehicle until they saw Staff Sergeant Konat in the passenger seat; they gave them permission to enter. The driver took the truck as far as it would go, until it stalled just a few yards from a private jet. Eight of his soldiers were riding in the back of his truck. They each jumped out and followed their leader to the jet, where they boarded without incident.
Konat approached the cockpit area and commanded the pilot to fly him and his companions to the District. He secured the cockpit door and walked to
the back of the plane, where he joined his teammates. They were engaged in conversation about their conflict with the Americans. Konat never talked about his combat engagements. His men did most of the talking. A couple of Konat’s men were talking about him and his conflict with the man they were calling Shaytaan; the man that they had once made an example of. Konat bore the scars of their confrontation on the left side of his face; there were some third-degree burns from the fire, but he pulled his cell phone out and touched it to his face like there was no sense of concern over the injuries.
The District
Power had been restored to most parts of the Midwest and East Coast regions. However, it had not yet been restored on the West Coast, so the Utah Data Center was still inoperable. Satellite images and streaming options were available to Muhaimin in key locations within the District. His favorite place to view live streams was in the Situation Room. He had spent the last several hours watching satellite streams of locations of significant importance.
Muhaimin knew his area of control was shrinking around him. In his mind, Russia had betrayed him, his men were incompetent, the North Koreans were reckless, the UN was too bureaucratic and weak on insurgency, the Chinese were uncommitted, the French could no longer be trusted, and nowhere, in his equation, was any of it a fault of his own.
Muhaimin’s phone rang. He would have answered it after the first ring or two if not for the satellite streams. He was captivated by the growing heat signatures that couldn’t be seen the previous week. Large droves of people were congregating in various locations across the Midwest portions of America and on the East Coast. Looking at the heat signatures on the map only revealed to him that people were massing together. Without the assistance of the UDC, there was no way of knowing if these heat signatures were military forces, civilian survivors, or belonged to a third and less likely option, UN forces. The lack of central intelligence and information networking facilities brought about a sense of discomfort for the executive commander. He was beginning to realize that the inevitability of a successful campaign was falling from his fingertips. Every day revealed another stroke of bad luck.
Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) Page 73
