Last Stand: Patriots (Book 2)

by William H. Weber

  John couldn’t agree more. He’d had an idea before on the roof after rescuing Diane and it had to do with the speaker system the Chairman had trucked in to help subdue the population. What if they could use his own propaganda machine against him, the way he’d used their staunch defense of American values against them?

  “What are you thinking, John?” Diane asked.

  John turned to Rodriguez who looked deathly pale.

  “The speaker system,” he asked the radio operator. “How do I turn it on?”

  Rodriguez peered up at him through the slit of his right eye. “See that mic in the corner?”

  John looked over. On the far right of the control panel was a mic surrounded by a series of flashing lights.

  “They must have recorded a message,” Rodriguez whispered. “And been playing it back in a loop. If you press the lever right below the mic, it should give you a live feed.”

  John followed his instructions. For a minute he eyed the button, his finger hovering over it.

  “What are you gonna tell them?” Brandon asked him.

  “The truth.”

  John pushed and held the speak button. “This is John Mack from Knoxville, Tennessee. Like many of you in Oneida, I’m an American citizen, a father and a patriot.”

  Moss opened the back hatch and listened as John’s voice echoed over the speaker system.

  “Crank it,” Moss said, jerking his thumb into the air. “Let’s really wake this town out of its sleep.”

  John turned the dial up to max.

  “I’m here to let you know that each and every one of you has been the victim of a terrible lie. The United States is currently at war with Russia, China and North Korea. As we speak their armies are amassing along the banks of the Mississippi. This is a battle none of us can afford to lose. The man you know as the Chairman isn’t a special envoy assigned by the president, he’s a Russian agent sent here to enslave you and make you fight against your own people.”

  Moss was looking through the binoculars, jumping up and down. “I see people standing around listening, John, whatever you’re doing, don’t stop now.”

  “And his real name isn’t Charles Augustus Morgan,” John went on. “His real name is Jacob Golosenko and he’s a former KGB goon. If you still value freedom, the Constitution and everything else that made us great, then I appeal to each and every member of the militia in Oneida. Lay down your arms and help us expel the true enemy in our midst.”

  John was about to continue the message again when the walkie in his back pouch crackled to life.

  “Mole One, this is Eagle Eye, over.”

  John put the walkie to his lips. “Go ahead, Eagle Eye.”

  “Be advised, you have a large group of armed tangos heading your way. ETA fifteen seconds, maybe less.”

  “Close that hatch,” John yelled. “What about Marshall’s tactical withdrawal?”

  “Negative. The Patriots weren’t withdrawing. They were routed. I’m sorry, Mole One. You’re on your own.”

  Chapter 47

  The connection with Eagle Eye went dead at about the same time the first shots rang out. With no gun ports to shoot back from and no way to move to the driver’s area up front, their options were indeed limited. Added to that, opening the hatch to shoot back was an equally bad idea since it provided the enemy with a single target against which they could concentrate their fire.

  John got on the walkie again. “Eagle Eye, this is Mole One, do you copy?”

  There was no response.

  “Eagle Eye, do you copy?”

  “Forget him, John,” Moss roared. “He’s long gone, man, along with the rest of our men. You heard him. We’re on our own.”

  Rounds pierced the truck’s relatively thin armor and slammed into the radio equipment, blasting a spray of sparks and shattered components. John pushed Diane and Brandon to the floor.

  Soon they were all hunkered down as the enemy outside continued to shoot the truck up. The thin armor might help ward off pistol rounds, but the AKs’ large 7.62 rounds were cutting through these walls like a dagger through papier-mâché.

  “What do you say, John?” Moss asked.

  The semi-crazed look in the Patriot’s eyes told John he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. A romantic thought perhaps, but an incredibly selfish one that would accomplish little apart from getting them all killed.

  “I have a plan,” John said, calculating the odds of success in his head. They were slim. Maybe too slim, but anything was better than being drilled full of holes in the belly of this tin can. John pulled off his right boot followed by his sock.

  “What are you doing?” Diane asked. Clearly she was sure he’d lost his mind.

  He waved the grimy sock in the air. “We’re about to surrender.”

  •••

  A few minutes later, their weapons confiscated by the men outside and their hands bound with zip ties, John and the others were led out from the clump of trees and into the street where a crowd had begun to gather. Many of them wore black and in some cases dark blue cargo pants. Their faces were bloody, some with bandages wrapped around fresh wounds. Most looked weary and shellshocked. This was how the few surviving residents of Willow Creek had appeared after fending off Cain’s attack. John was sure they felt as if they’d thwarted a similar invasion by marauders. That was what made this situation so tragic and frustrating.

  Diane, Brandon and Moss stood huddled together in a growing sea of hostile faces. The occasional slap or strike from the mob was met with raucous cheers.

  John recalled his speech to Brandon, about how life was comprised of a tightrope walk between two equally painful choices. This was certainly one of those moments.

  It wasn’t long before the crowd parted and the Chairman appeared before them. He and John stood less than a foot apart. A snub-nosed .38 was in the Chairman’s hand, the same kind of pistol from that image of an execution following the Tet Offensive during the Vietnam War. John imagined it would be put to much the same use.

  The mob grew quiet as the Chairman leaned forward. “Why am I not surprised to see you mixed up in all this, Diane?” He turned to John with an almost pained expression. “The crowd wants nothing more than to tear you all limb from limb. After your heinous attack on our peaceful town I have half a mind to let them. Killing our citizens, hijacking our emergency broadcast to spread your lies.”

  “The lies are your own,” John replied. “You were sent here as a Russian spy and I can prove it.”

  “I have a special mandate from the president,” the Chairman shouted, waving the gun around.

  “Yeah, we’ve seen your so-called presidential commission and it’s so riddled with errors I’m shocked anyone believed it. In fact, I think the only one who questioned it was the mayor and look what happened to him.”

  “By the unilateral power invested in me,” the Chairman said, ignoring John’s accusations, “I hereby find each of you guilty of murder and sentence you to death.”

  The crowd didn’t move, not right away.

  John was gambling that many of the residents had heard his plea over the loudspeakers. Some would have dismissed it outright, but the goal had largely been to plant a seed of doubt in their minds. Facing the truth that you had been played for a fool and manipulated by the enemy was a hard pill to swallow. John needed to be the glass of warm water that would help wash the medicine down.

  “You came from Washington,” John said. “That’s your story, right?”

  The Chairman didn’t answer. He was looking about him, sizing up the mob, wondering perhaps why they were so eager to hear what John had to say.

  “And I can only assume you know about the Constitution. The Sixth Amendment. Are you familiar with that one?”

  “I don’t have time for this,” the Chairman said. “The Constitution’s been suspended anyway. It’s no longer relevant. Besides, what is this, primary school?”

  “The right to a speedy trial,” a man with a John Deere ca
p said from the crowd.

  Nearby, a woman holding a pistol spoke up next. “The right to a jury of your peers and a right to legal counsel.”

  The Chairman’s head was swiveling left and right as more and more voices spoke up.

  “‘Give me liberty or give me death,’” John said. “Who spoke those words, do you know?” He was looking straight at the Chairman’s forehead and the beads of sweat building on his brow. “You don’t, do you, Jacob? That’s your real name, isn’t it? Jacob Golosenko. Yes, we’ve been in contact with the military and they know all about you.”

  Diane spoke up now, her voice tense with fear. “You told me you served in the Marines as a medic, but I knew that wasn’t right.”

  “They’re called Corpsmen, Jacob,” John added scoldingly. “Medics serve in the army.”

  “And that word you uttered when I nearly broke your wrist. Biliat.”

  “It’s a Russian curse word,” a townsperson said to their left. “My mother and father immigrated here from the Ukraine.”

  “This is ridiculous,” the Chairman wailed. “You attacked our town and now that you lost you’re prepared to say anything you can to save your skins.”

  Just then the radio they’d taken from John when they were captured hissed with static.

  The Chairman’s eyes found it. “This is how you’ve been communicating with the leader of your little insurgency, isn’t it?” the Chairman asked. “Well, I’ve got something I want him to hear.” He grabbed the walkie and raised the pistol to John’s forehead.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Jacob,” John said calmly.

  The mob was starting to stir. It looked as though they weren’t so sure anymore about this little man who had suspended their inalienable rights and liberties.

  The Chairman regarded John defiantly. “Watch me,” he said and pulled back the hammer.

  He brought the walkie to his lips and depressed the button.

  From the corner of his eye, John caught the silent muzzle flash from the side of the hill overlooking the town.

  Then came a thud, like a fist slamming into wet dough, and the crack from the rifle as the sound finally caught up. John had a front-row seat to the entire grisly sight: the Chairman’s head coming undone, a gout of blood spraying the people beside him. His eyes remained open and staring, but they’d turned inky black. Whatever life force had once been in the man was now gone. Jacob Golosenko collapsed in a heap as though the invisible strings holding him up had been snipped by a pair of giant scissors.

  Eagle Eye hadn’t cut and run.

  For a moment, the men and women assembled around them stood stunned. John then turned to one of the Spetsnaz who’d been protecting the Chairman. “Tell me what you know about Paul Revere.”

  Chapter 48

  With the Chairman’s men either dead or in custody, John, Diane and Brandon set off at once to find the kids. After checking the apartment and finding it empty, they headed for the prison. There were still people in the cells, many of them cowering, wondering what was going on out there with all that gunfire. Several wept when John had the guard release them.

  He and Diane searched through the thin faces, not seeing Emma, Gregory, Natalie or Kay among them.

  Then someone heard voices coming from one of the first-floor offices that had been set up as interrogation rooms. The door was locked and John kicked it open to find Kay and the kids, clutching each other.

  “Oh, thank God,” Kay said, as thick tears streamed down her face. “I was sure they were coming to kill us all.”

  Emma and Gregory ran into John’s arms.

  “We thought you were dead,” Gregory told him.

  “I knew you weren’t,” Emma replied with typical sibling rivalry.

  It looked like some things never got old.

  “You have no idea how much I missed you,” John told them. “I prayed quietly every day that you’d be kept safe.”

  “Did you pray for me too?” Diane asked. “I’m feeling a little like chopped liver over here.”

  John laughed, stuffed a hand into his pocket and produced the silver necklace with the sapphire heart.

  Diane’s jaw dropped. “Where did you find it?”

  “Near the cabins. When the fear that I’d never see you again got too strong, this was what kept me going.” He put it around her neck and pulled her into a kiss.

  For his part, Brandon helped Kay off the floor, looking shocked and disturbed by the bruises on her face.

  “Who did this to you?” he asked angrily.

  She squeezed him tight. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Not anymore,” Diane said next them. “The man who did this can’t hurt anyone else.”

  Then Brandon and Emma exchanged a look.

  “You miss me?” Emma asked sheepishly.

  He gave her a hug. “You have no idea.”

  “You’re not blushing,” Emma observed, studying his face. “You always blush when we hug.”

  “A lot’s happened since you’ve been gone,” John said.

  Emma clutched her belly. “I’m starving. Is there anything to eat?”

  John and Brandon exchanged a glance.

  “I’ve got just the thing,” Brandon said, grinning.

  •••

  The next few hours were spent caring for the wounded on both sides. Another group was tasked with burying the dead. What a waste of life, John thought as he walked among them, helping to sort the more serious cases. He’d seen a similar scene played out back in Knoxville, but then it had been good guys versus the scum of the earth. Here it was more a case of the good guys versus innocent folks who’d been deceived and misled.

  Among the dead was one body which looked familiar. Thin and underfed, high cheekbones. But it wasn’t until John turned him over that he knew for sure it was Gary. He’d taken a shot through the neck that severed his spinal cord. He had probably been dead before he hit the ground.

  Moss appeared by his side, looking like the weight of seeing all this death was taking a toll on him. That was one of the unknowns of combat: how a man would deal with seeing friends, family and brothers in arms lying motionless before you.

  “Did you check on Rodriguez?” John asked.

  “Yeah, he’s fine. Cranky as ever, but fine.”

  “Good,” John said, eyeing a long-haired man with black cargo pants. “What did Marshall have to say?”

  Moss shook his head, like he didn’t want to speak.

  “Was he wounded?”

  “No. Dead.”

  Their eyes met and John put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s why the offensive turned into a rout. Once news spread that Marshall had taken a bullet, people got scared, lost the will to fight.”

  “I’ve seen it happen, even to professional soldiers,” John told him. “Losing a commander is often like losing a parent.”

  Moss looked up and John knew that was exactly how he felt. Marshall had been like a father to him.

  “I remember he wanted nothing more than to see his wife and child receive a proper burial,” John mentioned. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to be laid next to them.”

  Moss nodded, his hands folded behind his back.

  Glancing over, John couldn’t help but notice the concern on Moss’ face. “As his second-in-command, I guess that makes you leader of the Patriots now,” John said.

  Moss offered him one final glance, but didn’t say a word.

  Chapter 49

  “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine,” John was telling Moss the next day as he went over his speech. Moss was getting ready to address the townspeople of Oneida. As head of the Patriots it only made sense that he also lead the town.

  “Do I look nervous?” he asked.

  John smiled. “Apart from your green complexion, not really. Listen, the point you wanna get across is that we’re at war, but the US Constitution is still very much in effect and everyone will need to do his or her p
art in the coming days to ensure we’re not speaking a foreign language by the end of the week.”

  “Okay,” Moss said. “I’m ready.”

  The two exited the Mayor’s Office to the sound of rapturous applause. Close to two thousand people were standing before them. They represented the remaining residents of Oneida along with the Patriots who’d made it through the battle.

  Moss spoke for a few moments, his voice cracking once or twice from the nerves which still hadn’t settled. Eventually, he mentioned that an election would take place shortly for a new mayor.

  That was when someone from the crowd spoke up. “We’ve already conducted a vote,” the man said. “It was rather impromptu, but the tally was overwhelming.”

  Both men were stunned into silence.

  “With seventy-five percent of the vote, we’ve elected John Mack our new mayor.”

  John’s eyes grew wide. Publishers Clearing House could have emerged from the woods, handed him an oversized check and he would have been less surprised.

  “But I wasn’t running,” he told them. They’d seen the Chairman’s dramatic takedown and were attributing all the glory to him. Reese had been the one to take the shot and none of this would have been possible if the Patriots hadn’t launched that costly diversionary attack in the first place. John put his hands up, palms out. “I’m flattered by your vote of confidence, really I am, but I’m not the man for this. I have land and a cabin to—”

  The crowd started to chant his name and John waved his arms to make them stop. This was becoming too much.

  Next to him, Moss threw him an awkward smile. “Maybe I should call you Garth Brooks from now on.”

  A hand touched John’s elbow. He glanced over to see Diane. “Do I need to remind you that both cabins are ash heaps, honey? These people need someone they can believe in. Someone they can trust.”