by Bobby Akart
The sound of a gunshot could carry for miles when the terrain was flat like what was typical for West Texas, especially on a clear day with little wind. Duncan and Sook had extended their travel day as they crossed through the land of a thousand wells on a nearly identical path as taken by his younger brothers and sister.
He and Sook continued their conversation with the sergeant at the border checkpoint over coffee and cellophane-wrapped cheese Danish. The food and coffee were heavenly and reenergized them both.
As did news of his family. The sergeant recounted everything he could remember from their conversation of the day before. Duncan was proud and amazed that the three of them had traveled across the continental U.S. from Canada to make it back to Texas. After allowing their horse some fresh water and to feed on some hay bales which were used for ballistic protection at the checkpoint’s water tanks, Duncan and Sook took off with a new sense of purpose.
They were chatting about countries Duncan had visited during his special ops missions when they heard the gunfire. It was impossible for Duncan to gauge distance and direction under the circumstances. He immediately became apprehensive and removed the Barrett from the scabbard. He rested it in his lap as they continue to ride east.
Duncan whispered a thank-you to the sergeant for allowing him to keep the weapon, which had become a part of him since that ill-fated attempt to assassinate Kim Jong-un.
As darkness approached, Duncan saw the same oil storage facility found by his siblings the night before. He approached with caution and quickly dismounted, leaving Sook a safe distance away. After he was satisfied it was clear, except for the dead body in the back of the Peterbilt, they made a place to sleep in the toolshed.
Duncan had been warned by the sergeant that looting, assaults, and murders had grown exponentially across Texas in the last week to ten days. Lack of food and an overall loss of confidence in Austin was eroding the initial euphoria that Texas had been spared from both the EMP and nuclear attacks.
The word Duncan had used in response to the sergeant’s revelations was ungrateful, but they both agreed that you can never underestimate the depravity of man. With that in mind, the execution of the truck driver sickened Duncan, but did not surprise him.
His concern immediately turned to his family. It was dark, but he felt compelled to ride on in hopes of catching up to them. He told Sook as they fell asleep that night that he could never live with himself if they were so close and might be killed or injured while just out of his protective reach.
*****
Duncan survived a night of restlessness, barely sleeping an hour or two. As soon as Sook stirred before dawn, he readied the horse so they could continue their journey. The sun was rising in front of them, and as it crested the horizon, its brightness blocked their vision somewhat.
It did not prevent a reflection from blinding him slightly. It was the shiny, apple red truck described by the sergeant as belonging to the rodeo kids.
“Hold on, Sook,” Duncan said, and she responded by grabbing him firmly around the waist. He dug his heels into the gelding and shouted, “Hah!”
The horse broke into a gallop down the center stripe of the highway, quickly closing the gap between the riders and Red Rover. As they approached, Duncan pulled his rifle and held it with one arm to study the scene through his scope. There were two bodies lying facedown next to the truck, and a third was sitting on the ground, slumped over.
Duncan stopped a hundred yards short and jumped down from the saddle, leaving Sook alone on top to slow the horse’s progress. Duncan raced ahead, concerned that three bodies appeared to be dead next to the truck that had carried his three siblings so far.
As he got closer, he slowed to a fast walk and readied his rifle, scanning the road from side to side, looking for any signs of movement. He began walking as a relief swept over his body. The two dead men were not Cooper and Riley.
He moved cautiously toward the man tied to the street sign. Duncan kicked the man’s leg to wake him up.
While the man stirred awake, Duncan walked backwards toward Red Rover and looked inside and underneath before carefully rolling the bodies over to confirm they were dead. He’d heard of insurgent activity used in some countries where a car accident or shooting was staged to catch anyone approaching the scene off guard. The same scheme had been used in America by carjackers. A phony two-car accident would be set up on a remote road. When a Good Samaritan came along to help, he or she would be attacked, robbed, or worse.
Satisfied they were alone, he waved Sook forward and returned to the only survivor of the attack. He grabbed the man by the hair and pulled his head up. “What happened here?”
“Hey, man. Can you cut me loose? My arms are really sore.”
“First, you answer my questions, got it?”
“Yeah, sure,” the man replied as he tried to raise himself up to lean against the road sign. “We came along this dude by himself and asked him for a little food or water, that’s all. He told us no and, well, you know, that wasn’t fair, so my buddies asked him again.”
Duncan looked in the man’s eyes. “Let me guess, your buddies didn’t say pretty please.”
“No, man. The guy wasn’t sharing, you know. We’ve all got it tough right now. All he had to do was share and nothing would’ve happened.”
“Back to my first question. What happened?”
The man began to cough up some mucus and attempted to wipe his mouth but forgot his arms were tied behind his back. He then attempted in vain to reach his shoulder.
“Well, I decided the guy wasn’t being fair, so I kinda jumped him while my buddies over there helped themselves in the back of the truck. The next thing I knew, the guy was twirling in circles like a crazed lunatic and slammed me into the side of the truck. That’s when his friends showed up.”
“What did they look like?”
“Man, I dunno. It all happened so fast. I guess my buddy came at the guy with a hammer, because the next thing I knew he was falling backwards with two bullet holes in his chest. I crawled under the truck, and the guy with the rifle ran up on us. The next thing I know, my other friend had a bullet in the top of his head.”
Duncan stood up and walked away from the man. His grin stretched from ear to ear. While he was concerned for their safety, he’d just learned they could hold their own. Duncan took one more glance into the back of the truck to see if there was anything left behind he could use. He turned without saying another word and shoved his rifle into its scabbard. Sook scooted back on the saddle to allow Duncan room to mount their horse.
He flicked the reins, and the gelding began walking through the human debris scattered on the highway.
The man shouted at them, “Hey, aren’t you gonna cut me loose?”
Duncan replied with a smile, “Nah, man. Be glad I didn’t shoot you.”
Chapter 60
December 22
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, DC
Former Defense Secretary Montgomery Gregg, now the vice president-designate of the new Republic of Texas, was the first representative to make an official visit to foreign soil, although there was nothing foreign about Washington or the Oval Office to him.
His arrival at the White House was met with some formality, but nothing like he’d observed other foreign dignitaries receiving. He wanted to give the president’s team the benefit of the doubt that they were still finding their footing after just under two weeks of returning to DC. Or it could be they didn’t think he deserved the show of respect afforded others. Either way, he didn’t care. If they wanted to play hardball, he had something for them.
After he cleared security, a formality they obviously hadn’t abandoned despite everyone knowing who he was, he was led to the Oval Office, where he was to meet with President Harman and her number one henchman, Acton.
As he entered, he waited for the door to be closed behind him. The president stood gazing out upon the South La
wn while Acton stood stoically, like a statue, next to the bust of Martin Luther King Jr. For an awkward moment, nobody spoke.
Monty chuckled to himself. There seems to be a chill in the air. Trust me, I’ve faced tougher opponents than you two.
The president turned toward him and approached the chair near the fireplace, which was her customary seat. “Welcome back, Monty, um, Mr. Vice President-designate.” She stretched out her pronunciation of his title through gritted teeth.
“Thank you, Madam President. I’m glad to see you’re well. May I sit?”
Gregg approached the chair opposite her, which left the cocktail table in between them.
“No, here,” gruffed Acton, pointing to the settee closest to the president. “We still follow protocol around here.”
Fine, Jimmy. Careful. This old general can still pack a punch.
“Monty, please. Sit where you’d like. I’d like to get right down to business.”
To spite Acton, he sat in his customary chair opposite the president.
“Madam President, I don’t want things to be awkward between us,” started Gregg. “President Burnett intentionally sent me to discuss the relationship of our two nations going forward because she thought our past dealings would be conducive to an open and honest conversation.”
“Honest?” asked Acton, whose attitude was getting on Gregg’s nerves. “I believe the issue of treason on the part of the governor and her associates should be addressed before any conversation should commence.”
President Harman raised her hand and motioned for Acton to sit. “Now, James. Marion Burnett is now the President of Texas and Vice President Gregg has come here in good faith, not under false pretenses, am I right?”
“Absolutely, Madam President,” he replied, but not before shooting a glare at Acton, who finally took a seat on the settee, with a noticeable pout. “I believe we can discuss several arrangements that might be mutually beneficial to us, for starters.”
“Well, Monty,” she began, “may I still call you Monty? If so, I’d prefer you call me Alani.”
What is this? Good cop, bad cop?
“Sure, Alani. Absolutely, when in private.”
“Thank you, Monty. James reached out to President Burnett in a spirit of cooperation to arrange for the delivery of relief supplies and components necessary to rebuild our power grid to your unused airports around the state. I mean Texas. We generously offered a portion of the food supplies meant for Americans to survive as payment for this accommodation. President Burnett rejected our offer out of hand.”
Gregg nodded his head to indicate he was familiar with the offer. “The deal, quite frankly, was very one-sided, and it required our military personnel to leave the state that they’ve sworn an oath to protect.” As soon as he made the statement, Gregg immediately wished he could take it back.
“You mean like the oath you, and your military personnel, swore to the U.S. Constitution?” sniped Acton.
Gregg didn’t respond, instead choosing to focus on the president. He was charged with the responsibility of opening trade channels with the U.S., and he hoped to strike a deal regarding the relief supplies to get the ball rolling. But he was damned if he’d allow Acton to pop off every chance he got.
“Listen, that was a poor choice of words, for which I apologize,” said Gregg humbly. “Can we get back to the basic differences between us on your proposal so that an accord can be reached?”
“Yes, please,” said the president as she frowned at her chief of staff. “I understand the need to protect your borders, especially after the debacle that happened at the Red River under your watch. However, I don’t think you want us to send our military personnel into Texas to retrieve the foreign aid, do you?”
“We were thinking civilian cargo aircraft, which we’d agree to load under your representative’s supervision, of course,” replied Gregg.
“Fair enough,” said the president. “We’d need to reach an agreement on refueling.”
“Minor details that can be worked out between your staff and mine,” interjected Gregg. “However, there is still the matter of the percentage of food supplies to remain in Texas for us allowing this accommodation.”
Acton jumped in once again. “What? Why? You’re not doing anything. The pallets are dropped off and we pick them up. Why should you get a payment?”
“There are logistical matters on our end, personnel, equipment, etcetera. We’ve already accepted hundreds of pallets of aid without an agreement with your government.”
Acton was unconvinced. “That’s like giving a tip to a waitress on a to-go order. She didn’t do anything but deliver the food from the kitchen to the front door in a plastic bag.”
Gregg was over his insolence. He thought about asking Harman for permission to take this outside and settle it like men, but he took a deep breath and remembered that he was a diplomat now. Be diplomatic, at least as long as you can stand it.
President Harman disregarded Acton’s latest outburst. “Monty, can we keep the percentage the same if you’ll agree to load the supplies and refuel our aircraft?”
“That’s doable,” he replied.
“However, there is one more thing I’d like to ask,” added the president.
“Go ahead.”
She sat forward in her seat and stuck her jaw out. “I’d like to seek reparations for the families that your military slaughtered on that bridge. What you did was barbaric, and frankly, Monty, I’m appalled that it happened under your watch.”
Gregg chuckled and made no effort to hide it.
“Is there something funny, Mister Vice President-designate?” asked Acton sarcastically.
Gregg had had enough. “Do we have an agreement on the relief supplies?”
“Subject to your administration’s agreement to pay reparations and issue a formal public apology,” replied the president.
The old warhorse leaned back in the chair he’d occupied so many times over the years when advising the presidents of the United States. Over time, he’d learned to swim with the sharks and soon became one of the biggest, baddest sharks in the ocean.
He slowly reached into his pocket and retrieved a stack of four-by-six photographs. He reached forward and set them on the table between them. The president and Acton looked at one another, but did not move.
“What’s this?” Acton finally asked.
Gregg relaxed in his chair and exhaled. “Please, take a look. Seriously. Go on now.”
They picked up the photographs, and the president, repulsed by what she saw, threw them on the table.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“Oh, Madam President, here’s the meaning of this,” Gregg started as he picked up several of the photos.
He pushed the photos one by one in the direction of the president and Acton. “This severed arm, identified by the fingerprint on one remaining finger, belongs to Specialist James ‘Jocko’ Cameron of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency at Fort Belvoir. This next one is the upper half of the body of Specialist Lawrence Klingman, also of the DTRA. This one is the severed leg of an unknown African-American operative who was wearing the exact same footwear of the aforementioned special operators, who were Caucasian. The rest of the images represent the weapons used by these operatives, which are made by Israeli Weapons Industries. When I saw these photos, I instantly recognized the Tavor carbine because I approved it for use by our black-ops people!”
“This doesn’t prove—” began Acton before he was cut off by Gregg.
“It does prove something, Jimmy. Your people orchestrated this false-flag attack on the sovereign nation of Texas to disrupt our border security. It doesn’t take much imagination to lead me to the conclusion that this false flag was intended to use as leverage over our new administration in some way. Well, you’re both busted. You can cut the act, Acton. I’m tired of your mouth and, Madam President, from now on, we’ll deal in good faith and on a level playing field. Agreed?”
Chapter 61
December 23
Carlsbad Caverns
Carlsbad, New Mexico
Holloway, Lee and two of his top commanders huddled around a fire built near the opening of the Big Room, the largest of the Carlsbad Caverns. Holloway, whose reputation as a leader and killer preceded him, was readily accepted by Lee upon his arrival. To solidify the newly formed relationship, Holloway graciously turned over the bounty from their raid of the National Guard Armory in Roswell. Four vehicles, including the MPs’ Chevy Suburban, were added to the fleet of older model cars and trucks brought to New Mexico from around the country.
The weapons and ammunition bolstered the already impressive arsenal of the Lightning Death Squads. U.S. military uniforms, rocket launchers, grenades, and communications equipment, which had been protected from the EMP blast, were all welcomed with open arms.
The automatic weapons manufactured by the Mexican drug cartels for the commandos were impressive. The amount of ammo brought to the meeting point by the DPRK commandos filled up its own cave. The high-tech gear delivered by the new arrivals who came through Mexico on Indonesian-flagged freighters provided them the ability to fight on par with the U.S. military.
Most importantly, Holloway brought his knowledge of the American military’s tactics. He’d learned of the state’s secession, but he advised Lee that the military was still American trained. This made him a valuable asset under Lee’s command.
There was one drawback, however. The North Koreans were reluctant to follow Holloway’s lead because he was an American. He was assigned a small fighting force of twenty men who were associated with the Fullerton Boyz. Holloway, therefore, asked to be given unusual, covert assignments, which enabled him to use his skills learned as a special operator, later as a mercenary, and, ultimately, as a hardened criminal.
