TYRANT: The Rise

by L. Douglas Hogan

  “There will be time to mourn the loss of American life after we’ve sent those Blues to the deep,” Buchanan said.

  The exchange of gunfire continued from behind and in between the shipping containers, as the UN troops were using the bulky steel boxes for cover. The gunfire slowed as the bow of the barges gave rise over the top of the sinking tugboats. The weight and velocity of the barges, even loaded with tons of steel and Americans, were no match for the mighty Mississippi River. Since the ships were headed north, they were moving slowly against the river’s current, but that was changing now that the decks of the tugboats were in direct opposition to the flow of the river. The barges were crashing against the half-sunk tugs and the bows of the barges were rising as they crashed into, and upon, the tugs. The UN troops were now either dropping their weapons to hold onto something stable, or they were jumping off the deck and into the river.

  “Cease fire, cease fire,” Buchanan called out.

  The Marines watched in silence as men jumped ship and disappeared beneath the infamous undercurrents of the river.

  Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan watched as the barges were coming to a stop against the river’s flow. They were softly colliding with one another in what looked like a classic highway pileup. At first, Buchanan wasn’t sure how to retrieve the shipments, but as opportunity presented itself, he yelled to the Marines, “Prepare to board.” Every Marine ran to the banks of the river, where the vessels were piling up and colliding into one another. The window of opportunity was small, because soon the barges would be heading south down the river. Time was of the essence.

  “I want ten Marines on every barge. Drop your flaks, rifles, helmets, and sacks. Get on those barges and get us some Americans.”

  Marines were running into the shallows of the river and preparing to board the barges when they heard the well-known sound of Black Hawk helos. The sound of the helos was distinct but seemed to be camouflaged in the sound of more unknown helos. This made Buchanan, Franks, and Riley nervous.

  “Sir, we should take cover,” Franks recommended to Buchanan.

  “Just wait a mike,” Buchanan ordered as he stood there listening.

  Marines were boarding the barges when the helos came into view.

  “Take cover,” Buchanan yelled as Marines began to run into structures on the back side of Front Street.

  Buchanan, Franks, and Riley couldn’t believe their eyes. Two Russian Mil Mi-24 attack choppers labeled “UN” and three US MH-60 Black Hawks were flying in a strafing pattern toward their location.

  Marines and freed American prisoners were evacuating the barges and coming out of the river when the attack choppers began their assault. Two of the Black Hawk MH-60s opened up with their miniguns and rained 7.62mm chainfire down upon the Marines and escaping prisoners. Buchanan took note that the third had not opened fire and remained withdrawn. The other Marines that were ashore began opening fire with their assigned weapons. Some shot their machine guns and others shot their rifles, but all were shooting on the helos.

  “Concentrate your firepower and get me some heavy gunners back on that roof,” Buchanan yelled. “Gunny, can you jam their receivers?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll coordinate that with your TOW gunners,” Franks yelled back.

  About the time Franks was on his radio communicating with Weapons Company, one of the Russian helos opened fire on the structures several of the Marines had taken cover in. Franks noticed the Marines were shooting from that position and it had alerted the gunners on the Mil Mi-24s. The helo was shooting a 30mm cannon at the structures and the ground fire from that location went silent.

  One of the Russian helos began to blow black smoke right before it started a nose dive onto Front Street, where it landed and exploded.

  Several Marines had run into the building with the flat roof and returned to the ladder leading to the top of the building. The helos were engaging ground forces and seemingly not paying attention to the rooftops. One of the TOW gunners launched a missile at one of the MH-60s. The helo canted heavily to avoid the missile impact and successfully avoided being hit by it. The laser warning receiver that was equipped on the helo had done its job, but unfortunately for the flight crew, the helo had banked too hard and nearly upturned it. It crashed in the dirt alongside the river.

  The Weapons Company radio rang out, “Weapons Company from FORECON. Over.”

  “Weapons Company, go.”

  “Tango East is jammed. Over.”

  With that, TOW gunner-1 yelled out, “Secure back blast area.”

  “Back blast area secure,” a voice returned from the rear.

  A missile launched from the TOW’s tube and propelled a short journey to its Russian target.

  The two remaining MH-60s were still engaging people on the ground when the .50-caliber machine guns began to ring out from the rooftop of the building. It wasn’t long after they began shooting at the target that a missile from the rogue Black Hawk struck it and the Marines watched it as it just fell to the ground, as if it had been swatted out of the sky. The assisting Black Hawk retreated southward. It landed alongside Highway 100 in a subdivision area just south of their location.

  “Captain up,” Buchanan requested.

  Captain Riley was working with the Combat Engineers setting up a place for the fallen Marines and civilians.

  “Yes, sir?” Riley said as he was headed towards Buchanan.

  “The fallen will be there twenty minutes from now. Those prisoners are going to head south, down the river, if they aren’t freed.”

  “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  “Gunny up,” Buchanan called out.

  The gunny came walking from around the back side of a building and said, “I’m here, sir.”

  “Get your men, and get me a status on that rogue Black Hawk.”

  “Yes, sir,” Franks replied.

  It wasn’t long before several Force Recon Marines returned with three men dressed in black fatigues. Two Recon Marines were in the lead with weapons at low-ready. Behind the three prisoners were the remaining FORECON Marines that went to spy out the rogue chopper. Gunnery Sergeant Franks approached the two leading Marines.

  “Report,” Franks said to Sergeant Banks with his commanding voice.

  “Gunny, these men report to be Army Rangers,” he replied.

  “And they didn’t put up a fight?”

  “No, Gunny. They were lying prone about fifty yards from the Hawk. They surrendered voluntarily and had no weapons on them.”

  “They were searched thoroughly,” Corporal Smith said from the rear escort position, and then added, “The pilot was shot in the head. He’s dead in the pilot seat.”

  Franks looked at them sternly and then turned his attention towards the sergeant first class.

  “Are these your men?” Franks asked him.

  “No. They’re America’s sons, as I am.”

  Franks perceived he was speaking to another patriot like himself, but the fatigues and the attack choppers threw him off a bit. He rolled the idea around in his head that maybe they were just in a bad situation and found a way out.

  The man appeared “saltier” than the others, and that intrigued Franks the most, especially because he was the same rank as Franks.

  “We’re going to see our CO and you’ll get a chance to talk your way out of this mess,” Franks told him.

  With that, Franks stepped aside and motioned the Marines to continue marching their prisoners toward Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan.

  Sergeant First Class Reynolds was, indeed, a salty Army dog. He had seen quite a bit of action in the Middle East wars against the jihadists. He generally chose his words wisely, carefully thinking ahead and making sure his words couldn’t be miscomprehended. When he was escorted to Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan, he knew one of two things would happen. Either he would be killed, which he felt was the most unlikely of scenarios, or he would be spared and closely observed to determine his motives.

  Lieutenant Colo
nel Buchanan was helping to locate the bodies of the fallen Marines. When Franks arrived with Reynolds, he counted upwards of thirty fallen Marines. Buchanan was laying the Marines in a neat row along the highway, in the grass. Buchanan had just crouched to lay a Marine down when Franks arrived with Reynolds. Buchanan took one look at Reynolds and asked, “Does he speak English?”

  “Yes, sir, and he’s an American,” Franks replied.

  Buchanan walked away towards the flat-roofed building. Buchanan wasn’t ten feet away when he called out, “Gunny, bring our friend into this fine establishment.”

  Gunnery Sergeant Franks escorted Reynolds into the building, leaving behind the other two soldiers, who were being placed in a sitting position on the ground.

  By the time Franks and Reynolds entered the building, Buchanan was already sitting at a table in the middle of the room. “My name is Lieutenant Colonel Charles S. Buchanan. These Marines are following me and those Marines have gone to a place I cannot lead.” Buchanan was pointing to the fallen Marines in the front.

  “Our objective, Sergeant First Class, is to find as many Americans as we can, liberate them, and re-establish an America free from tyranny.” Buchanan sat and looked at Reynolds, but Reynolds chose not to speak until he was given permission to do so.

  “That’s my endgame, what’s yours? How about you start from the beginning and finish with how you watched four helos shoot up my men.”

  “First off, thank you for your hospitality. I know how this must appear.” Reynolds had an East Coast accent. He pulled a package of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered a cigarette to Buchanan.

  “No, thanks. I was forced to quit when I could no longer afford them.”

  Reynolds then asked, “May I?”

  Buchanan nodded to Reynolds as he lit his cigarette.

  “Before the flush, I was stationed in Georgia and assigned to the 75th. I am a direct action Ranger. Been doing that for years with a background in Airborne.

  “My unit received a command to unite with the Washington units and head to D.C. Once there, we were briefed on operation ‘Shakedown,’ which was a fancy code word for ‘confiscate, inventory, and control.’ The briefing was conducted by a UN general by the name of Muhaimin. In the room with us, there were ten white-collars, whom I was able to identify as regional czars. Two more showed up late to the party, for a total of twelve. We were briefed of impending riots, mob action against President Baker, and unprecedented crime rates. We were assigned with specific tasks to enter these hostile environments to quieten the ‘resistance.’ It was the word ‘resistance’ that first confirmed my fears that our government was the ‘hostile.’

  “At first, there were no operations we had to engage in. It was like that for months, until recently. We received an order to fly northbound, along the Mississippi, and engage rogue Marines that had committed treason against the president. When we arrived, I thought you were attacking civilians. I saw an explosion and a plume of fire. But then I saw the choppers we were with open up on both your Marines and those civilians. I pulled my pistol and put it to the head of the pilot. He was a UN thug and was about to open fire on everyone. I was confused at first, but my suspicions were that I was on the wrong side. I told the pilot not to shoot or I would put a bullet in his head. Everything happened so fast, by the time I had my wits about me, I gave a directive to the pilot to drop the last chopper. He did. Then I commanded him to land on the turnabout in the apartment complex’s parking lot, back that way. Once we landed, I killed the pilot. The men that are with me are US Army Rangers and they’re under your command now, Lieutenant Colonel.”

  “You didn’t know about the Americans being taken as prisoners and forced to board shipping containers bound for only God knows where?”

  “No, sir. I knew Americans were being relocated, but I was under the false impression they were being moved for their safety, to save them from starvation, and I guess I never really thought it through to a conclusive end.”

  “No, Sergeant, you had it right, but what you didn’t consider was the fact that government doesn’t give you ‘safety’ without taking liberty.”

  The District

  General Muhaimin opened the door to the Oval Office and walked in, uninvited. His stern countenance was apparent as he began to speak in his heavy Middle Eastern accent.

  “Your wealth of incompetence is astounding. At every turn, you have managed to get my men killed and have accomplished almost nothing. You are weak, and even when the people presumably believe you’re in the lead, they still do not follow.”

  “General, the American culture is not like the culture you’re used to. They grew up with liberties that cannot simply be extinguished. Our history is full of literature on the spirit of resistance and how it’s catapulted this nation into recognition as the land of free and the home of the brave.”

  “Worthless rhetoric, President Baker. I have just received word that five of our most advanced attack choppers have been shot down over the southern tip of Region Five. Can you explain to me how this can be? Can you explain to me how southern rednecks and hillbillies can take out a group of trained pilots with an armament of heavy guns?”

  President Baker sat quietly as Muhaimin pulled a .40-caliber Caracal F from his holster. President Baker, now scared, began to speak. “General—” But she was interrupted.

  “Silence, President Baker,” Muhaimin said as he walked around to her left and right up behind her. She could hear that he was now directly over her left shoulder. He leaned down over her and grabbed a few strands of her hair and smelled the perfume-based shampoo that she had used to wash it that morning.

  “Growing up in Iran, I wasn’t afforded such amenities. You Americans think you’re so much better than the rest of the world. You think that because you are spoiled with riches and wealth, good farmland and capitalism, that you don’t have to bow to anybody.”

  General Muhaimin released her hair and stood up. He took a few more steps to almost complete a circle, but stopped short, choosing instead to stand at about her two o’clock position. He pulled up his pistol and pointed it directly at her face.

  Now terrified, the president stood up and said, “General Muhaimin, I will destroy the resistance and they will not be heard from again. I will destroy their families, their homes, and fly their bodies north and dump them in the river to send a message to everybody south that resistance is fruitless.”

  General Muhaimin slowly lowered his pistol and holstered it.

  “Now you’re speaking my language, President Baker. Don’t forget your place. I am taking command of your armies and you are relinquishing the title of commander in chief. The United Nations have voted and this is the will of the global community. You are to be a face for the people of America and nothing more. As for these people you call the resistance, they will be killed for conspiring against the new world order.” General Muhaimin turned and walked out of the Oval Office.

  President Adalyn Baker, now realizing she had made several grave mistakes, knew she was a puppet of the blooming new world order. She had envisioned a global community where leaders of the world worked together to free it from violence on every level. She envisioned a world where global leaders worked together to focus on the important issues of climate change and weapons treaties. She knew that if she worked to collapse the American economy, it would be forced into one world currency and that no country would have to rely on another, and that all would be fair and even. She viewed America’s abundant resources as a world resource to be shared. She viewed every nation’s resource as a global asset. Little did she consider, things don’t always turn out the way you plan them.

  When Adalyn had come to her senses, after her near-death experience, she pushed a button on her phone and said, “Get me the Joint Chiefs of Staff, immediately,” and then released the button.

  President Baker waited patiently, at length, for her Joint Chiefs to call, but the call never came. She exited the room and was not met
by her two regularly assigned Secret Service agents. They were replaced by two European men in black fatigues. She walked out of the White House and to her car, where she requested the driver take her to the Pentagon. She was followed by white UN military vehicles. Less than fifteen minutes later, she arrived at the Pentagon and was not greeted with the usual military brass and fanfare. She made her way to the command room, but the door was being blocked by UN soldiers and they would not allow her to pass.

  “I am President Adalyn Baker. Please step aside so I can enter.”

  The guards looked at her and spoke in a European language she did not understand. She made one more attempt, this time grabbing the door handle. The guard grabbed her arm, jerked it off the handle, and pushed her away. Shocked, Adalyn began to walk away and heard her escorts communicating with the two guards at the door. She then looked at the escorts and asked, “Do you speak English?”

  They both smiled and one of the guards said, “We do,” in a very strong European accent.

  “Then tell them who I am and to let me in the door.”

  The escort smirked at her and replied, “He already told you. You’re not in charge anymore and your Joint Chiefs aren’t either. They are dead.”

  Her escort blocked the door while the other guard opened the door wide enough for her to see in. Five Chief of Staff members were lying on the floor.

  Elsewhere in the District

  General John James, commandant of the United States Marine Corps, and Admiral Belt McKanty, admiral of the Navy, two of seven Joint Chiefs, were anything but dead. Their use of secret word-of-mouth-based communications systems may very well have saved their lives. General James and Admiral McKanty saw impending dangers on the horizon as the president began usurping authority from Congress by ever-increasing use of executive orders. Each order went unchecked by Congress until there were too many to manage. By the time the Flip came, it was too late to act. All that was left was for them to react. It was against John’s nature, as a hardened Marine, to wait for a crisis before he acted. That’s why he confided in Admiral McKanty. He needed one person to trust with his life, and he had known Belt for two decades. Now, both John and Belt sat in a cab, having barely escaped the same fate as the other five Joint Chiefs.