Texas Strong: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

“Manse! Manse!”

  The term had often been used as a tribute to wish Kim Jong-Il a long life, and it was also used for Kim Jong-un. Similar to the term banzai used by the Japanese during World War II, manse was often used by the Korean People’s Army as the Korean equivalent of victory.

  The commandos were fearless as they raced past Holloway and charged the soldiers pinned down behind the Humvee. When a rifle was raised to shoot over the hood, the fearless commandos shot it out of the gunner’s hands. If a body part broke cover, it was torn to shreds by a salvo of bullets.

  Their approach was relentless, and the three soldiers were quickly dispatched. By Holloway’s count, there was one last man hiding in the barracks. He ordered the building surrounded as refugees ran past him down the center of Seminole Highway. Approaching vehicles grabbed his attention, and he swung around to find the source of the rumble.

  A caravan of U.S. military trucks approached, passed through the gates, and slowed to a stop next to him.

  “Excellent, Holloway!” shouted Lee.

  “We have one more to—” began Holloway as automatic gunfire exploded behind him. The last of the military guarding the Hobbs checkpoint was killed as he exited the barracks.

  Holloway stood on the running board of the M35 and held onto the side mirror bracket. “Get to your rally points! Watch for the roving patrols!”

  “What about their weapons?” shouted one of his men.

  “Leave them for the refugees,” he yelled in response. “Go!”

  Lee’s driver paused while some of the commandos returned to their truck. As the men loaded up, Holloway asked Lee to drive him to his pickup and accompany him to Patricia. There was a lot to discuss.

  Chapter 57

  January 16

  West Texas near Hobbs, New Mexico

  “Welcome to Texas, General,” said Holloway with a chuckle as the men settled in for the ride back. The first twenty minutes in the truck were spent checking in with their teams. The surprise attacks on the three border checkpoints were a success. No casualties or injuries were reported. As expected, the border patrols raced to assist their comrades at the checkpoints only to be greeted by thousands of refugees blocking their path. One of Holloway’s men reported that the refugees fired upon the military vehicle using the guns his men had left behind after their successful assault. This resulted in a massacre of refugees as the military returned fire indiscriminately out of anger.

  Holloway checked his watch. It was seven a.m. He looked out of the passenger’s side window, where he was seated, and scanned the sky for chopper support. Only clear blue skies returned his gaze. Just as planned, he thought to himself with a smile.

  “Texas is flat here, and we’re in open view of their forces,” said Lee.

  “General, not to worry. The Texans have much bigger refugee problems in other parts of their territory. They have only recently established a military base in Lubbock to our northeast.”

  “Will they not hunt for us?”

  “Eventually, but you and your men are going to move on before then,” replied Holloway. “Today, we focus on getting the Lightning Death Squads to safety at a location I have picked out. I have identified the power substations around Texas to attack. We will establish a plan of attack for those.”

  Lee looked at a map provided by Holloway. “The biggest cities are many miles away. We will need days to reach them and prepare our attacks.”

  “That is true, but the Texans will be preoccupied with the West Texas border. We should be prepared for one new wrinkle.”

  “Wrinkle?” said Lee inquisitively.

  Holloway remembered he should avoid American idioms. “Wrinkle. You know, a minor problem.”

  “Yes, what problem?”

  “The refugees may be captured and tell the Texas military about the Koreans who entered the country with guns and military trucks. Your men will have to disguise themselves to avoid detection as they travel. It’s likely that roadblocks will be established on the major highways.”

  “What do you suggest?” asked Lee, who had spent a decade smuggling North Koreans into America but who never had to caution them about hiding their race from others.

  “As they travel to their destinations, tell them to avoid traveling in large groups, which might draw attention. Find clothing, which includes hats and sunglasses. Avoid the locals, and make every effort to avoid any more gun battles.”

  Lee looked out the back window of the Ford pickup and watched the convoy of vehicles rumbling along behind them. “Good advice, of course. The timing of our attacks is just as important as the assaults on the soldiers today. Once the first power plant is taken down, then the military will move quickly to defend the others.”

  “Correct, but if the ERCOT employee who educated me was telling the truth, not all of the substations will need to be destroyed. He called it a cascading effect. The power stations will go off-line, as he called it, but the other substations will continue to make power until they are overloaded. The failure in the system of a few parts will trigger the failure of the other parts.”

  Lee nodded his understanding. “Maybe the failure of the Texas power grid will destroy the Texans’ will to fight.”

  Chapter 58

  January 16

  West Texas

  The shooter had endured three nights sleeping in a car and spending his days studying the target’s surroundings. Before dawn, he took up his customary position leaning up against the oak tree with his spotter seated to his right. He looked at his watch. It was 6:30. He rolled his neck on his shoulders to work out the kinks. He didn’t need long-range optics to describe the scene unfolding below him.

  “He’ll be walking out any minute with a mug of coffee in his hand. He’ll make small talk with someone, anyone who might wander into his path. Maybe he’ll stretch to loosen his body, but eventually he’ll make his way to the barn and locate his horse.”

  The spotter studied the area near the barn with the high-powered optics. Periodically, as the shooter spoke, the spotter would look over in his direction to see if he was somehow cheating and using his rifle scope to observe the target for himself. He nodded and shrugged, amazed at the shooter’s uncanny ability to predict the target’s routine and movements without observing him.

  The shooter continued, clearly enjoying his musings. “What is it with these Texans and their horses. The stereotypes that define these people are spot-on. Tumbleweeds blowing down a deserted highway until they lodge on a front porch of a ramshackle house abandoned on the side of the road years before.”

  The spotter continued to watch the target as the shooter spoke more words than he had since their arrival. A woman joined the target for some conversation. This was out of the norm compared to the last couple of days and created some interest for the spotter.

  “They’re boot-loving, gun-toting cowboys who ride horses to oil-drilling jobs, or to rustle cattle, or out of sheer boredom. Anyone who doesn’t work in an oil field is either a farmer tilling this rocky dirt, or he’s fighting banditos who managed to wander onto his ranch looking for a better life.”

  The spotter, who was a Texan, rolled his eyes but maintained his composure. He was warned about the ego of the shooter, but he never thought he’d have to listen to his incessant ramblings. This was an unwelcome change in their joint assignment.

  “And look at this wasteland. The only trees are scrub oaks like this one or tall cacti. Really. I don’t get it.”

  The shooter suddenly became quiet. He sat a little taller against the tree and pulled his McMillan TAC-50 rifle into his lap. This was his weapon of choice for long-range operations like this one. A manually operated, bolt-action rifle, the TAC-50 was a sniper’s favorite because of the rifle’s relative light weight to comparable rifles and the ability to use five-round magazines.

  The optics were state of the art. The Nightforce NXS 8-32x56 telescopic sight could bring the target into the shooter’s eyes, making the kill up close and personal.
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  Like its counterparts, the fifty-caliber round packed a heckuva punch on impact, traveling faster than the speed of sound, as it was capable of flying a mile in just two seconds. At the shooter’s present range from the target, he was near the one hundred percentile in success probability for his skillset provided there were no unexpected obstacles.

  He slowly moved the rifle so that the barrel rested on the top of his foot in the direction of the target. With his left hand, he pulled a few blades of grass and slowly dropped them from his fingers. They fell straight to the ground. He reached for a few dead oak leaves and crumbled them in his palms and repeated the process. The dried remnants fell directly below as he unfurled his fist. This drew a smile from the shooter.

  Finally, he looked toward the sky, not seeking guidance from above, but to study the movements of the clouds. His smile widened as the perfectly clear baby blue skies reached into the heavens.

  “Hey, something’s happening,” said the spotter. The urgency in the man’s voice would startle most anyone else in this situation, but not the shooter. It was as if he expected the proclamation.

  Chapter 59

  January 16

  The Gregg Ranch

  West of San Angelo, Texas

  In the several days Vice President Gregg spent at his ranch located twenty miles to the west of San Angelo, he’d tried to reconnect with his wife. The once vibrant woman who had grown accustomed to their Georgetown surroundings and the Washington social scene was now withdrawn and distant. Their home was decorated in antiques and bore little resemblance to the traditional-style Texas homes surrounding San Angelo. Over time, his wife had abandoned her Texas roots for Washington, using only the occasion of the EMP to force her out of Raven Rock and back to San Angelo.

  For the first couple of days of his vacation away from Austin, he and his wife had ridden around their spacious four-hundred-acre ranch. No longer an operating ranch, it had become a large parcel of property with a handful of horses and their home.

  The rides were enjoyable although the conversation was not. On the third day, he awoke in his separate bedroom and readied for their ride, but stood standing near the horse barn alone, as she never emerged from the house. Gregg decided he would ride nonetheless, finding the time alone as he traveled around the perimeter of his property to be very therapeutic.

  It provided him an opportunity to change his perspective on the current state of his career and the relationships he’d lost as a result of his move to Texas. In hindsight, he felt like he’d betrayed the country he once loved and protected with his life. He was a highly decorated leader, respected by all whom he commanded, and revered by those who worked closest with him.

  He recalled when he was first drawn into the dark side of the Washington political apparatus, the so-called deep state, which existed like the Mafioso of the mid-twentieth century. Working in the shadows, career employees of the government made decisions that changed the course of a nation. With the decision to assassinate Kim Jong-un, Gregg had made a dangerous play, one that had backfired and ultimately led to the collapse of the greatest empire in human history—the United States.

  Gregg stared at the house, wondering if his wife would stand him up two days in a row. As he waited a few more minutes for her to emerge for their morning ride, he began to nervously kick at some rocks in the dirt. He popped open the lid of his travel mug and gulped some of his lukewarm coffee.

  His mind wandered back to his regrets as he continued to self-analyze his actions and punish himself for his transgressions. The failed attempt on Kim’s life was a defeat every bit as harsh as a loss of men on the battlefield. It was a failure he’d regretted every moment since, but not just because Kim survived the attack or the resulting decimation of America.

  When former General Montgomery Gregg sent his men into battle, he watched over them by staying in constant contact with the commanders in the field who were responsible for monitoring the troop movements. When his men died, he took it hard and personal, often taking the time to greet the remains when they flew in through Andrews Air Force Base. And if he couldn’t be there in person, he’d certainly find a way to speak with the families by phone.

  Gregg looked toward the house and then at his watch. He realized his wife had stood him up for a second day in a row. He called for his ranch hand, who retrieved his wife’s horse to return the mare to the stable. Gregg took a moment to rub the muzzle and forehead of his prized Lipizzaner stallion, one that was nearly identical to General George Patton’s white steed.

  “Old buddy, I sent two men into battle and left them behind. On my orders! One died and the other came back, and now I’ve ordered his death. What’s wrong with me? How could I have committed such an act of betrayal? I’ve got to call it off. I need to tell Yancey to stop the hit on Armstrong.”

  Gregg was becoming emotional and considered forgoing his ride. He hung his head in shame for a moment until his thoughts were interrupted by his wife screaming his name.

  “Monty! Monty!” she yelled as she raced off the front porch, holding her housecoat together with one hand and the satphone high in the air with the other. He walked toward her, leaving his horse behind.

  “What is it, dear?” he asked in his normally calm demeanor.

  “It’s Austin. Something has happened. They need you!”

  Gregg took the phone and began to raise it to his ear. His wife turned to walk toward the house, but he reached for her arm. “Dear,” he began as Gregg suddenly felt the need to receive absolution. He had to seek the counsel of his wife. “Will you wait with me? I need to tell you something.”

  She nodded, pulled her housecoat together, and quickly returned to his side. After giving her a smile and a nod of thanks, he addressed the caller.

  “This is Vice President Gregg.”

  Chapter 60

  January 16

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  Duncan walked out of the house after filling his belly with Miss Lucy’s biscuits, grits, country ham, and red-eye gravy. His mom had a way of making gravy that was very different from what you might find in restaurants. After she cooked the ham, which came from the wild pig his brothers had hunted, it was removed from the pan. She then added a mixture of coffee and water, stirring it with a wooden spoon until there was a good consistency. Finally, she worked in butter and a beef bouillon cube for more flavor. It was a delicious breakfast that had always been his favorite, so Lucy thought it was appropriate to fix before he left for his first official day as commander of the TX-QRF.

  Espy wanted to spend some time in the barn with the ranch hands to watch how they readied the horses for the day. Duncan told him that he wanted to take a ride with Sook before they headed for Camp Lubbock, and his new aide-de-camp seemed to have no problem being tardy for their first day of work together.

  Duncan really liked Espy on a personal level and felt like he could trust the younger man as they put together a unit capable of protecting their fellow Texans.

  He reached his hand inside his fleece-lined jacket to a pocket next to his heart. A small box was there, which contained the engagement ring Pops had given Duncan’s grandmother after World War II. Major and Lucy had kept the ring for use by the boys in the event they found a bride. After Duncan’s conversation with his dad the night before, he wasn’t surprised that his mother had embraced him this morning, teary-eyed but full of joy.

  She’d retrieved the engagement ring from the safe and reintroduced it to Duncan. It was simple in its design, but its significance to the Armstrong family was priceless. He patted the ring against his heart one more time as a symbolic gesture to combine Pops’s love of his bride with the love Duncan held in his heart for Sook.

  He finished off his coffee and snapped the lid shut on the travel tumbler. After shoving it in his jacket, he turned toward the house as he heard Sook emerge through the front door.

  She was adorable as always, bundled up in her blue jeans jacket an
d scarf, which had been given to her by Palmer. Sook never once complained about the slightly ill-fitting clothes. She’d gained some weight, filled out, as his mother lovingly observed, which made the hand-me-down clothing fit better.

  Duncan rubbed his palms, which were sweaty despite the chilly morning temperature. He never experienced this type of nervousness when he was on a mission. That was work, this was life.

  “I’m ready,” Sook announced as she playfully skipped toward him before wrapping her arms around his neck. She squeezed him so tight he was afraid she’d notice the ring box under his jacket.

  He enjoyed the embrace for another moment until he called for their horses. Instead of the horses, Espy came running out of the barn.

  “Commander! We’re needed back at the base!” he shouted to Duncan.

  Espy ran to Duncan and handed him the phone. “There’s been an attack on the westernmost perimeter checkpoints to the north and south of Hobbs. It’s all hands on deck, sir.”

  Duncan took the phone and immediately noticed Espy had reverted to Corporal Esparza.

  “Get the truck ready!” instructed Duncan as he took the phone. He looked at Sook, who appeared dejected. In that moment, Duncan wondered whether he’d made a mistake taking the position. He hadn’t even left for his first day and the love of his life was disappointed, not to mention his plans to propose to her were derailed.

  He looked down into her eyes, which had begun to well up in tears. “Sook, I am so sorry. I have to deal with this.”

  She sniffled and pouted a little, but Duncan knew it wasn’t to make him feel guilty for leaving. She genuinely looked forward to their time together, and out of love, she wished they never had to be apart.

  “I understand, Duncan. You are a soldier again and must protect your country.”