The End

by G. Michael Hopf

  “I just don’t know,” Houston said. He rested his arms on his legs and put his head in his hands.

  “The information we’re getting from the Aussies isn’t conclusive. They’ve been told by one of the terrorists that they were trained in Iran, but they don’t know where the missiles or the nuclear warheads came from.”

  “Why won’t you tell the president that intel? You seem worried that he’ll nuke everyone but if you tell him we have evidence it was Iran like you say, then he’ll just respond to them.”

  “You’re right, he’ll respond and he’ll kill millions of innocent Iranians.”

  “But they just killed millions of our people and even more millions will die. I don’t understand the fucking problem.” Houston was upset with Griswald and frustrated by the conversation.

  “That’s just it, he’ll nuke them. Will he just nuke Tehran or will he nuke all the cities? Where will he stop, how big of a nuke? Once we unleash this type of weapon, where will it lead?”

  “Are you kidding me right now? That type of weapon has already been unleashed against us. What is your problem with doing something?” Houston shot back.

  “There has to be a different way, one that doesn’t up the ante and kill more people,” Griswald said. He was also getting frustrated with the conversation. He was now regretting that he had opened up to Houston about this.

  “Gris, I disagree with you one thousand percent. We have an obligation to protect this nation, or what’s left of it. We have a job to do. If our president says jump, we answer, how high?”

  “So you are not with me on this?”

  “I’m afraid not. Who else follows your line of thinking?”

  “I have six others who agree that we need to take more time and look at other options of retaliation, plus they have expressed desire to replace Conner.”

  “Well, you can count me out. I cannot go along with this. If we know that Iran was a party to this attack then we need to strike them now and the fact you’re talking about overthrowing President Conner is crazy.” Houston stood up. “This conversation is over.”

  “Where are you going?” Griswald asked him as Houston stepped by him to go to the door.

  “Gris, I need to inform the president of this situation. You are a good man but you are making a bad decision here,” Houston said, standing next to the door.

  Griswald stood up just then and walked up to Houston.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that, but I understand. You are a loyal and trustworthy officer.”

  “Sorry Gris,” Houston said, then turned around. He reached for the door handle but was stopped by Griswald, who put him in a stranglehold.

  Houston attempted to break free of the choke hold, but Griswald’s tall stature and strength prevented it. Griswald took Houston to the floor and began to apply greater pressure to the hold. Houston was kicking and punching but his resistance was futile. Griswald had a solid hold on him.

  “I’m really sorry. I truly am,” Griswald said softly to Houston as he applied more pressure.

  Houston continued to kick and punch, but his attempts to pry Griswald’s arms from around his neck would not work. The struggle seemed to last forever, but in reality Houston’s body went limp within twenty seconds. Griswald did not relent even after Houston’s body became lifeless. He wanted to ensure that he killed him, not just knocked him out. Griswald held him in this deadly embrace for another thirty seconds before dropping him to the cold hard concrete floor. Griswald checked for a pulse but found nothing. He was now fully committed to his plan to stop the president, even if it meant killing for it.

  USS Makin Island, Pacific Ocean

  “Hey Tomlinson, come here,” Sebastian called out. He was just finishing his dinner when he saw Tomlinson walk into the mess hall.

  Tomlinson nodded and proceeded over to his table.

  “So what’s up with this slop,” Tomlinson remarked, tossing his tray onto the table.

  “You should feel fortunate that you have something to eat,” Sebastian reminded him.

  “Not another pep talk, okay?” Tomlinson quipped back.

  “I’m just saying, there are people in our country starving now.”

  “Well, they can have this shit,” he said as he pushed food around on his tray with his fork.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something,” Sebastian said, looking around at the other tables to see who was in the mess hall or who might be listening. With the ship having to feed twice as many Marines as usual the mess hall was full and loud.

  Looking down at his food in disgust Tomlinson answered, “What about?”

  Sebastian leaned in close and whispered, “What do you think about all of this?”

  “What do you mean?” he said, looking up at Sebastian

  “I mean this whole mutiny thing, now that it’s been a week plus and the raid on DG, all of it. What do you think?”

  “I’m cool with it, it makes sense. Let’s get back to Cali and take care of everyone’s family.”

  “I was cool with it too until Diego Garcia. I mean, what’s next; we’re going to attack Hawaii? I’m not feeling too comfortable about it all.”

  “I trust the colonel, so I’ve got his back. Why you asking, anyway?”

  Sebastian looked around again before answering. “As soon as we hit California soil, I’m gone.”

  “Why?”

  “I just don’t like this anymore. If our country is gone, then I don’t want part of all of this.” Sebastian gestured with his arms, pointing to everything around him.

  “You’re fucking crazy, Corporal Van Zandt. I always knew you were,” Tomlinson responded. He shook his head and went back to picking at his food.

  “I’m serious, shithead, this isn’t a joke. I’m asking you if you want to come with me.”

  “No way, man. If you want to take off and go UA that’s your choice. My family lives back east and I don’t much like them anyways. The Corps is my family, so I won’t be going with you. Hey, I’m not hungry so I’m going to take off,” Tomlinson stood up, grabbed his tray, and left.

  Sebastian watched as he walked away. He then caught Gunny looking at him from an adjacent table. Gunny was just staring at him. Sebastian looked at him briefly, nodded, and broke his gaze. He picked up his tray and started to head for the exit when Gunny called out.

  “Corporal Van Zandt, you gotta minute?”

  “Ah, yeah,” Sebastian answered nervously.

  “Sit down, Corporal,” Gunny said, motioning toward the seat across from him.

  Sebastian took a seat. “Yes, Gunny?”

  “You okay, Corporal?”

  “Yeah, Gunny, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine. It looked like you and your spotter were having a lover’s quarrel over there.” Gunny was talking with food in his mouth.

  “Ah, no, Gunny, we are five by five, all good.”

  “This new mission should make you happy. Now you get to go home and check on your big brother,” Gunny said, taking another fork full of food and stuffing it into his mouth.

  “Yes, Gunny, going back to California is exactly what I wanted.”

  Gunny stopped chewing and looked at Sebastian. He stared into his eyes. Sebastian forced himself not to look away.

  “You sure you’re all right, Corporal?”

  Sebastian paused. He wondered if he should open up to Gunny about his reservations about what took place on Diego Garcia and his uneasiness with the direction the new mission might be going.

  “Gunny, I’m fine. Just tired.”

  Gunny Smith stared again for a few seconds, then said, “Okay, Corporal, that’s all. Go hit the rack and get some shut eye.”

  Sebastian said goodbye and got up. His instincts told him Gunny knew something was up. Sebastian walked quickly for the exit, praying that Gunny woul
dn’t call him back.

  San Diego, California

  Dan had gathered all the men from the scavenger teams in the central park. He was excited that Gordon had listened to him and was going to act on it.

  As Gordon stood in front of them, he thought that every day he sent them out into harm’s way. This new mission would be different. They needed to have a plan; they needed to train and be prepared for this. He could not risk sending them into this situation unready. He wasn’t dealing with highly trained Marines, he was dealing with attorneys, accountants, shop owners, sales people, realtors; many of them had never picked up a gun before the attacks, much less trained for close-quarters battle.

  “Here is the situation. Dan located what appears to be some type of operating base of the Villistas. They have occupied the Lowes on Mira Mesa Boulevard and I-15. Now, we don’t have much more information than that. We know they have cars going in and out. More than likely they have stores of food and other supplies there which we need desperately now. We need this to go well, gentlemen. With what happened last night we need this.”

  All eyes and ears were on Gordon. They all knew the gravity of the situation. They weren’t just scavenging; this was to be an assault.

  “I know this mission could result in us having armed conflict with these Villistas, and by what we’ve all found on the roads; these people are not nice. However, this is the world we now live in. If we don’t do something soon to find a large cache of food, then our nice little community will soon turn on itself. I’m not ordering you all to go, I am asking. If we conduct this raid there is a chance that some of us will not come back. What I am asking now is for you to think about it. After today’s runs I want us all to meet up again here, and you tell me if you’re in or not. For those that are in, we will begin to train. I will personally go to their location and recon the area. I will not send you into something unless I feel we can accomplish it. Does anyone have any questions?”

  Jerrod raised his hand and asked, “If this mission becomes a green light, when do you estimate we’ll go in?”

  “I plan on going out there today with three teams to start the recon. I would like to conduct this raid in three days. That should give us enough time to get a feel for the lay of the land and to train. Anyone else have any questions?”

  “What happens if we don’t volunteer for this mission?” a member of one of the teams asked.

  “Nothing; I don’t want you unless you’re fully committed. I appreciate what you all do now and it’s risky, but what I’m asking now is for you all to become soldiers.”

  “You can sign me up for anything. I’m in!” said a familiar voice from the back of the room.

  Gordon looked back and saw his good friend Jimmy.

  Gordon smiled and responded to Jimmy, “Good, because you and I are going out there today.”

  “Well, the truck is fueled up and ready,” Jimmy said. He walked up to Gordon and gave him a big hug.

  “Good to see you buddy, really good to see you,” Gordon replied.

  “I’m ready to get back in the saddle, as they say.”

  “Does anyone else have any questions?” Gordon asked again.

  He paused to see if anyone did, but their silence provided the answer he was looking for.

  “Okay, good. I need a team to volunteer to go with us,” he said to the group.

  Jerrod raised his hand. “Count me and Eric in.”

  “Sounds good. Dan you’re coming too, get your team ready. Everyone else, go out there and do your runs today. We’ll meet up afterwards.”

  All the men got up and left the room.

  Gordon turned to Jimmy and said, “Damn glad to see you.”

  “Same here, buddy; sorry I took so long,” Jimmy said.

  “No problem at all, you needed the time,” Gordon replied.

  “After last night, I thought you could use the help.”

  “You’re right. I need you out there with me today.”

  “I missed what’s happening,” Jimmy queried.

  “I’ll fill you in on the way there.”

  Gordon briefed the teams on how the recon would go. He wanted Dan to lead them there. Once on site, he would split the teams up so they could go set up and gather information from all sides of the Villistas location.

  With everyone knowing their responsibilities, the three teams headed out. All were nervous but all were equally determined to provide for their people no matter the personal cost to them.

  The drive took them south along Interstate 15, which had become a graveyard for cars and a migration route for starving San Diegans. As they approached the exit Gordon could see the smoke plumes coming from the vicinity of the Lowes. He wondered what they were burning.

  Dan put his arm out the window and pointed to the exit for Mercy Road. He wanted to approach the Villista hideout carefully. They drove down Mercy Road and took a left onto Black Mountain Road and headed south. As they drew closer he saw more and more Villistas graffiti spray painted on the sides of buildings, houses, and retaining walls. They definitely were in the Villista territory now.

  With Dan’s vehicle in the lead, Gordon and Jimmy were second, followed by Eric and Jerrod. They had slowed their speed considerably; to Gordon it felt like they were barely crawling up the hill.

  “Why is he going so slow?” Gordon asked, curious as to why they were going unusually slowly.

  “I don’t know why, we’re still a good mile from our destination,” Jimmy said to Gordon’s question.

  They were slowly weaving around abandoned cars. The smoke plumes were getting closer and closer. Gordon noticed he hadn’t seen anyone walking since they turned onto Black Mountain Road. The whole area made him feel uneasy. Gordon was beginning to have a sense of déjà vu from Fallujah. Up ahead he saw movement; some people were standing on a pedestrian. Gordon leaned forward as if getting a few inches closer to the windshield would help him see better.

  “What are they—?” he asked but was interrupted when Dan’s car veered off the road and sped off.

  “What the fuck?” Gordon yelled as he watched Dan’s car accelerate down Longridge Road.

  When he put his attention back to the people on the bridge he knew then they were Villistas and that they had been led into an ambush.

  “Turn around now!” he yelled at Jimmy.

  But before Jimmy could make the turn, a rocket-propelled grenade exploded in front of them on the street. The explosion threw asphalt and debris onto the truck. Gordon couldn’t see anything. The shock of the explosion made Jimmy hit the accelerator. Blinded by the blast and smoke, Jimmy jerked the truck hard to the left and hit the median curb.

  “Go, go, go!” Gordon yelled.

  Gunfire began to rain down on them. Gordon could hear the bings and bangs of the truck being hit. Jimmy hit the accelerator again and jumped the curb. Crossing over to the northbound lane was difficult but they cleared the median. As he made the turn to head north, another rocket hit the bed of the truck. The force of the blast threw Gordon and Jimmy into the dash of the truck.

  “It won’t move, the truck won’t move!” Jimmy screamed in anger.

  “Get out! We have to make a run for it!” Gordon opened the door and stepped out with his M-4 ready. He placed it in his shoulder as soon as both feet met the pavement, turned, and immediately started to fire upon the people on the bridge.

  “Jimmy, let’s fucking go!” Gordon commanded, not looking away from the targets he was engaging.

  “My door won’t open!” Jimmy cried out in a panic.

  Gunfire was now coming from both sides of the street and the bridge. Gordon managed to get a few shots off before he felt the sharp burning pain in his side.

  “Damn it!” he screamed in pain. “They shot me!”

  He turned to locate the shooters on his left in the houses but he could not see
anyone. All he could hear was the cracking of gunfire and whizzing of bullets as they passed by him.

  “Jimmy, come on!”

  Jimmy stopped his futile attempt to open the driver’s door and crawled across the bench seat and came out the passenger side. Jimmy had a pistol in his hand and immediately started to shoot at the people on the bridge.

  “Where is Jerrod?” Jimmy asked while shooting.

  “Go take cover behind the truck!” Gordon commanded, not answering Jimmy’s question.

  The slide on Jimmy’s pistol locked to the rear. “Damn it! I’m out of bullets!”

  Gordon, using his left hand, reached in his pocket and handed Jimmy another fully loaded magazine. Jimmy took it and reloaded quickly. Gordon had managed, even though wounded, to hit a few of the Villistas. The gunfire was coming from everywhere now; Gordon didn’t know who to engage because there were so many.

  “Jimmy, I’ll cover you. Run!”

  Jimmy listened this time and started to run north down the street, away from the gunfire.

  Gordon saw more men on the bridge. Reinforcements were arriving.

  With all the confusion, he had lost track of where Eric and Jerrod had gone. He slowly started to walk backward, still shooting as he went. Feeling the warm blood flowing down his side was not a welcoming sign. The pain was also increasing in intensity. Reaching in his cargo pocket he grabbed another rifle magazine and pulled it out. The second bullet hitting him made him drop it. The impact felt like someone had smacked him with a bat. His left arm went limp.

  Gordon started to think to himself, Is this it? Is this how I go out? What about my family?

  More determined than before, he tactically transitioned to his pistol. His rifle lay slung to his chest. Taking aim, he managed to shoot a couple more Villistas.

  Like the 7th Cavalry, Jerrod and Eric came across the median about twenty feet in front of him. Eric was hanging outside of the car with his rifle taking shots. Jerrod turned the wheel hard left and accelerated just as another rocket came screaming in from the bridge and smashed into Jerrod’s car. The rear of the car exploded, throwing Eric from the car before it flipped over onto its hood.