Fighting for War

by W. C. Hoffman

  The side door slid open, and two riflemen hopped out. General Hopper motioned for them to grab Collin. Denard jogged over to the helicopter and climbed in.

  Collin let his shoulders slump. He looked down at his feet and hunched his back.

  The soldiers approached Collin with their guns up. They both slung their rifles before grabbing him. Thank heaven for amateurs.

  He kicked one man’s knee, snapping it loudly. Holding the unlocked cuff in hand, he used the wrist shackle as a hook and tore out the other man’s throat in one ruthless swipe. Blood flowed out of the gash like a fountain, splashing on Collin’s arm. The first guard pulled his 1911 pistol out of the thigh holster on his broken leg and began to draw a bead on him. Collin saw it out of the corner of his eye, grasped the man clutching his neck fountain, and twisted him to the side as a shield. The body jerked, and his hands fell away as two rounds ended his suffering. Collin shoved the body at the shooter and dove for the pistol. The man tried to crawl away, but Collin clamped his hand down hard on the guy’s wrist, snapping it with a swift jerk, and wrenched the gun free. He brought the pistol up and shot the guard twice in the chest. The body spasmed underneath him, wide eyes staring up at him in disbelief. Collin pushed off the two bodies, rising to a knee as he continued raising the pistol and shot the man holding Hunter.

  It happened so fast, and the fight was so brutal, that Hopper hadn’t reacted yet. He was just some paper-pushing jerk off, probably a human resources officer. Collin was a Marine, and Marine Recon on top of that. He was the spear point piercing the enemy’s heart. He was the sword of justice, death from above, and the devil’s worst nightmare.

  General Hopper aimed at Hunter. Collin aimed at General Hopper.

  One shot fired.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Time seemed to freeze. Everything moved in super slow motion. It was all so surreal that Collin wasn’t even sure what happened.

  The helicopter was starting to lift off, the wind buffeting them. General Hopper was scowling. Collin was shouting. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hunter flinching.

  In the blink of an eye, reality slammed back into Collin. The noise was overwhelming. His nose tingled with the scent of exhaust from the chopper and spent rounds. Grit scratched his eyes. He blinked several times and realized he was aiming the pistol at nothing.

  Hunter shouted something unintelligible. Collin looked and saw General Hopper’s body had crumpled to the ground. The man screamed while blood spurted from his shoulder joint. Collin looked at Hunter, and relief flooded him. His grandson looked okay.

  Hunter rushed over, and Collin pulled him into a tight hug. He held on for a second before pulling away.

  “Wait here.” He raised his hand to ruffle the kid’s hair, but it was blood stained so he thought better of it. Instead, he gave him a quick smile.

  Collin walked over to watch as the spark of life fled Hopper’s eyes. He kicked the general’s pistol out of his hand, just for good measure. It skidded across the pavement, smearing the blood still leaking from the general’s body. Movement near the shack caught Collin’s eye. He whirled to see a guard emerging. Collin shot him in the face.

  Anyone else lurking around looking to take a pot shot? He scowled and scanned the area quickly.

  The Blackhawk had continued to rise away from them. Denard’s wide eyes looked down at him from the door. A low growl rumbled in Collin’s chest. That bastard couldn’t get away. Collin raised the pistol and fired meekly at the chopper.

  “Hey, look!” Hunter said, pointing into the trees.

  Collin followed the direction and caught a flash of color in the distance. Half a dozen vehicles burst through the trees at the end of the field. He knew it had to be his people. But how had they found them?

  Hunter ran over and hugged Collin again. “Good job, Grandpa.”

  Collin grunted as Hunter jostled his cracked rib. He looked down at the boy and put an arm around his shoulders.

  Machine guns began to fire up at the helicopter. Collin stared at the lead Humvee.

  “Oh shit, that’s Koby!” he said, laughing. His little friend looked funny holding onto a weapon that nearly matched his size. His mouth twisted into a happy growl as the fifty-caliber machine gun threw a lead storm up at the Blackhawk.

  A loud clunk and high-pitched whirring drew Collin’s attention. The chopper was hit. It lurched to the side and spun a few times, trailing smoke. A body that could only be Denard’s flew out of the open door. It plummeted to the ground like a rag doll.

  Collin lifted his hand to block Hunter’s eyes, but couldn’t help the grin on his own face. That bastard deserved his fate.

  The pilot regained control and spun around, firing at the vehicles. A machine gun tore a path across the runway and shredded through the Humvee Koby was in. Then, a swarm of tiny rockets fired from the stubby wings.

  Collin had only seen Blackhawk’s carry heavy armaments a few times in his career. He watched in horror as the rockets streaked through the air and erupted against Koby’s ride in a blast that knocked both Collin and Hunter to the ground.

  “Noooo!” he shouted even as he fell and scrambled back up.

  The other vehicles were all unloading on the chopper. The pilot must have known it was too late for him and decided to take others down with him. Streaks from more rockets roared through the air. Two more vehicles burst into flames throwing pieces of metal and bodies sky high.

  Without warning, the Blackhawk banked hard left and then nosedived into the ground. It burst into flames just after impact, sending a huge cloud of black smoke into the sky.

  “Holy shit,” Hunter said.

  Collin couldn’t believe the devastation before him, too dumbstruck to tell the boy to watch his mouth.

  A pickup truck pulled up in front of them, turning sideways just ten feet away. Collin pulled Hunter back with him and brought up the pistol.

  “Collin, it’s us. Get in!” a familiar voice said.

  He saw Julie race around the back of the truck. She lowered the tailgate and then hurried over to help them up.

  “We lost Koby,” Collin mumbled. His mind felt hazy and numbed by the loss of his best friend.

  Tears swam in Julie’s eyes. “I know,” she choked out. “Come on.”

  They climbed into the bed of the truck. Julie climbed into the back with them. Just as he sat down beside Hunter, the truck’s radio crackled. Collin heard a loud conversation.

  The driver shoved the rear sliding window open and held the radio out to him.

  “You’re not going to believe this shit,” he said.

  Collin couldn’t take any more bad news. He didn’t want to take the radio, but the driver shoved it at him. Reluctantly, he took it while the pickup pulled away. They drove past Hopper’s body, the burning husk of Denard’s Blackhawk, and the remains of Koby’s burned out Humvee.

  “Yes,” Collin said into the radio. He stared out at the place where his friend died with tears blurring his vision.

  “Identify yourself, over.”

  Collin glared at the radio. A tear streaked down his grizzled face. He didn’t have the energy to argue so he simply complied. “This is Collin War. Who are you?” He pressed the button again and added, “Over.”

  “President War, this is General Osbourne of the US Air Force. We received a radio message with your coordinates. Are those still accurate, sir?”

  Collin couldn’t believe it. Surely it was a sick joke. After all these years, after the day’s battle, they couldn’t really be calling him. There was no USA, no Air Force. Right?

  Collin played along.

  “You have some kind of timing, General,” Collin snarled. He handed the radio back to the driver and slid toward Hunter. He bit his cheek and paused a moment before he could talk. Then he let out a breath and asked, “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. They didn’t hurt me,” Hunter said. “Are you okay?”

  Collin’s eyes blurred at the boy’s strength and e
mpathy. Blinking back his emotion, Collin nodded. “I’ll survive, kid. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’m going to miss Koby.” Hunter leaned against Collin.

  “Me too,” Collin said softly. “Me too.”

  A few seconds later, a pair of A10 Warthogs streaked by overhead. They wobbled as if waving at them. He knew it was a sign they’d been spotted. It also provided credence to the man on the radio. But why now, why after all this time?

  Their timing was shit, nearly rage inducing, but seeing them was also strangely comforting. He couldn’t wait to hear the general’s explanation. A sense of the long road ahead of them filled Collin. So much work left to be done. He was up for it. More than ready to move forward. For Koby.

  I’ll miss you, buddy.

  For the time being, he took comfort in his grandson’s presence and the wind in his hair.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  One Week Later

  COLLIN WAR SAT AT THE table with his friends and family. Julie sat to his left with Brady and Hunter. Admiral Hank Walters sat on his right hand side, followed by Frank and Hannah.

  They were finishing a generous spread of food, something special cooked up by the ship’s head chef. The feast included turkey from Hawaii, mashed potatoes, and corn. Collin was skeptical about the mashed potatoes but after his first bite, he knew even these would have made Doris proud. Fresh made bread with butter and a glass of cold milk sat comfortably in Collin’s stomach. Not since his old friend Doris manned the kitchen in Goshen had Collin eaten a meal so delicious. He savored every bite.

  The Admiral had entertained them with the story of how Hawaii had survived the fever. Following the collapse of the mainland’s government, the military locked down the island. Nothing and no one came in or went out. Things had been tough. Food was in short supply, but they made it work. Then, they slowly relaxed the rules out of necessity. Recently, they had begun to send out surveillance planes to gather intelligence. Until one week ago, what was left of the world was nothing much to be proud of.

  Since the airwaves had been dead silent, a routine observation flight easily picked up the message Charlie had setup. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did, but he would always be remembered. The revolt against HAGS wouldn’t have been as successful without the years of groundwork he laid. Collin made sure the Admiral knew of Charlie’s accomplishments, and they agreed he would receive the highest commendations available.

  Admiral Walters filled in some of the gaps from things that General Osbourne hadn’t known. Collin couldn’t believe how things changed from just a week ago. Everything had changed.

  Collin thanked the Admiral and the cook for the great meal. He excused himself and left. For a while, he just wandered. Then he found himself on the deck of the ship.

  The massive deck of the aircraft carrier spread out before him. It carried nearly a full crew and complement of aircraft. No sorties were going out. They would tomorrow, though.

  While they’d had a brief respite following the battle at HAGS headquarters, they still had to dismantle the Republic of California. Collin’s war with HAGS had ended, but the larger war of The United States of America versus the Republic of California was just beginning. An assortment of unbelievable things had happened since Collin emerged from his sixteen year-long fever induced coma. This war was by far the most out there.

  The salt air refreshed and energized him. Cloth flapped in the breeze overhead. He looked over his shoulder and up a ways. It had been one of the most startling features of the ship. Underneath the control tower in bright white block letters it read U.S.S. Collin War.

  They named a ship after him. Collin smiled at the absurdity of it. He felt honored, of course, but it seemed like too much. He hadn’t been elected. It was dumb luck that had made him president, and even more luck that he’d survived the fever. He felt like an impostor, as if everyone would eventually catch on that he didn’t deserve the title and responsibility.

  A seaman approached on the walkway. When he noticed who it was, the seaman saluted. “Good evening, sir.”

  He saluted back and smiled. “Good evening.”

  He went about his business. The seaman looked so young. Did he even know a life before the fever? Collin had his doubts.

  Admiral Walters appeared beside him, staring out at sea.

  “At ease,” Collin said quickly, hoping to avoid having to salute again.

  “How do you like your ship, sir?”

  “She is a beauty,” he said, looking around and taking it all in again.

  “The best in our fleet Mr. President,” Admiral Walters replied. “We have air support en route to fly you and your immediate crew back to Pearl Harbor, sir.”

  “Fly?” Collin said, clearing his throat. “My last presidential flight didn't go so well.”

  “Aye, sir. I can see if other arrangements can be made.”

  “How about we float on back to paradise under your watch?” President War suggested.

  “Negative, sir.”

  Collin was still not used to being president, but wondered how often someone told the president no.

  “Really? You have plans tonight Admiral?” Collin asked with a sly grin.

  “Well, yes, Mr. President. I do.”

  Collin grew annoyed, “Out with it then.”

  “Given that you were essentially held as a POW by separatist traitors, not to mention the egregious crimes against humanity that have happened on the mainland, Congress has unanimously voted to declare war. The Republic of California will feel our wrath. Succession will never be tolerated, sir.” His words were resolute and full of conviction. “These are the United States, after all,” he added with emphasis on united. “As such, we are making our way to the West Coast to parlay with Sacramento for some—aggressive negotiations.” He grinned.

  Collin nodded as he ran through the implications.

  Whoever ran the ROC would certainly pay a steep price. The remnants of the mighty American military would see to that. The fact was not lost on either man as they stood there on the precipice of America’s second civil war.

  Collin looked at the Admiral, knowing this decree would mean nothing but more death for the people in the republic. The people left in the ROC were still Americans. Many of them may not have known there was another option, a better option. Most were innocent people caught on the wrong side of right, people under the control of a rogue chancellor and not a president. Once again the darkest of times would fall upon America. Collin was confident this would be the last time countrymen would be forced to kill each other. As the stars and stripes flew overhead whipping back and forth in the sea breeze, Collin sighed.

  “There truly is nothing civil about war.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Tim Moon is a writer and avid hiker from Washington State. Tim was an editor for the Salmon Creek Journal at Washington State University, where he graduated with a BA degree in political science and a minor in psychology. Tim is a lifelong fan of science fiction and fantasy and primarily writes in those genres. He loves to travel, go backpacking, play with his dog, and watch movies. After five years working airport security, Tim moved to South Korea to teach English and wrote Dead Apocalypse. Tim currently lives in China with his beautiful wife. For more information about Tim Moon and his books, visit his website http://www.timdmoon.com

  W.C. HOFFMAN is a lifelong resident of Michigan.

  If you took a guy who loves to hunt and fish and then made him a professional magician with a decade long career in law enforcement who also enjoys his work as an ordained wedding officiant you would have W.C. Hoffman. A loving husband and father of two, his writing utilizes the outdoors knowledge he has gained over the years he has spent chasing game in the wildest areas of North America. Hoffman's unique life skills are often evident in his novels. For more information about W.C. Hoffman and his books, visit his website http://www.wchoffman.com

  War