TYRANT: The Rise

by L. Douglas Hogan

  Once she had reached them, Nathan said, “I would like you to join me and Lieutenant Colonel Buchanan for a discussion on the events that we have experienced and our future.”

  Buchanan liked the introduction and segue into the talks. Jess disarmed herself and watched as Buchanan and Nathan patted each other down for weapons.

  “Okay, my turn,” Jess said nervously, feeling slightly uncomfortable that she was about to be patted down by a stranger.

  After all three of them were content that none of them were armed, the Marines entered the house and cleared. They exited the house, at which point Nathan, Buchanan, and Jess entered the house.

  Nathan, pointing at his recliner, said, “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you very much for inviting me into your home. It’s a terrible thing that we, as Americans, have resorted to such cautions to maintain our individual securities,” Buchanan said.

  “I agree, but it’s also necessary to maintain individual liberties,” Nathan said.

  Nathan and Buchanan were now feeling each other out for ideals and sense of strength.

  “Tell me about your place here. Tell me about how you came to be here.”

  “After the Marines, I moved into the area and took up a job as a blogger for a conservative news station. I wasn’t unaware of the situation the US was in and how things were declining, so I prepared for the inevitable and had friends to help.”

  “Interesting,” Buchanan said. But he was interested in the attacks on the correctional center and the armored UN bus and other US military vehicles he saw parked around and about the community.

  “Tell me about the attacks on the correctional facility in Chester,” Buchanan said, becoming more direct in his talks.

  Nathan, sensing that Buchanan was probing for intelligence on the group, said, “Lieutenant Colonel, what is it, exactly, you are looking for?”

  “I’m looking for warriors that are interested in moving forward and resecuring liberty and insuring free trade and travel.”

  Nathan didn’t sense any deception in Buchanan or his mannerisms. He was pretty well equipped with a sense for danger and military protocol. He wasn’t seeing any signs that made his danger sense go off.

  Jess was the one who had the training in deception awareness and detection. She was closely watching and taking mental notes. She wouldn’t have enough data to know until she had spent more time with him. She needed a baseline to work from, and to get that, she had to be around him for a bit longer.

  Nathan knew she had this trait. That was the very reason he had asked her to join the discussion. Buchanan was still unaware of her training and experience and was also feeling them out, but she remained silent.

  “I’m looking for warriors, too,” Nathan responded. “I owe your men for saving our friend Zig, but I need to ask one more thing of you, sir.”

  Buchanan looked at the two of them and began to roll a counter request around in his head before he even knew what Nathan was going to ask.

  Buchanan wanted to ask Nathan if he and his fighting men and women would be interested in joining his group of Marines. The request would include leaving with all their fighters, vehicles, weapons, ammo, etc.

  “What is it?” Buchanan asked.

  Nathan took a deep breath and, after looking at Jess, said, “We encountered a group of raiders not far from here, in Murphysboro. They have attacked us on three occasions, killing several of our members, including my sister, kidnapping one of our members, shooting our friend Zig, and stealing our weapons and armored bus.”

  “What is it that you would have us do?” Buchanan asked. “Sacrifice our men and ammo to destroy a bunch of worthless idiots out of some sense of vengeance?”

  The reply insulted Nathan. He wanted to stand up and knock some sense into the Marine commander, but a sense of respect and duty was still alive in him.

  “I saw dead US military servicemen hanging from street signs and poles,” Nathan told him. “They are actively resisting any form of freedom by disregarding the difference between friend and enemy. They were also hanging UN soldiers in the street. Are you interested in freedom for all Americans, sir?”

  “How many of them are there? How big is the area of occupation? What do they have for weapons and transportation?” the Marine commander asked.

  Nathan was deeply frustrated when he hesitantly answered, “I don’t know.”

  “Then how can you ask me to send American treasure into a battle zone with almost no intelligence of the area?”

  “Can you at least send some Recons with me and a few guys while we go back in and gather the necessary data?”

  “I’m afraid not, son. I had hoped when I came here, it would be me asking you to join us, not the other way around. I am on assignment to stop UN forces from imprisoning any more Americans.”

  “That’s my goal, too, sir. We have attacked and rescued Americans from those UN shipping containers heading for Region Five.”

  The comment caught Buchanan’s attention. “How did you manage to pull that off? We had .50-caliber machine guns, TOWs, and coordination.”

  “We had coordination and willpower, sir. Jess, here, was one of them. We rescued her from certain imprisonment, and now she is an asset to the Southern Illinois Home Guard.”

  “I was wondering about her. She’s been quietly sitting there studying me. What is it that you used to do in the old world, ma’am?”

  “Well, you don’t have to call me ma’am. We’re beyond pleasantries in the new world. Forgive me if I don’t call you sir, but this is not the America you were serving. This is now survival, and the strong need to stick together to insure that survival. Are you in or are you out?”

  Buchanan was finished looking at Jess. He looked back at Nathan and said, “I like her. She has spirit, but I’m afraid the answer to your ‘in or out’ question isn’t as easy as that. I want an alliance or an accord of some kind, but I’m not going to agree to sending men into an unknown battle zone without the proper intel.”

  “I agree, sir,” Nathan said. His mind was hatching a plan for continued survival. Listening to both Jess and Buchanan gave him time to think.

  Buchanan’s interest piqued again. He listened to Nathan’s counterproposal.

  “We will join you under certain conditions,” Nathan said.

  “And what would those be?” Buchanan responded. Jessica was also curious to find out.

  “Our whole community joins with you, not just the fighters, but all of us. Most of those people have never served and some have never touched a gun. We have resources as well, but I won’t share any of them unless we come to an agreement here.”

  Buchanan thought for a minute. “I need warriors, and I haven’t given much thought to taking anything less.”

  “Okay,” Jess butted in. “Nathan, you’re speaking for many people here, one of which is me, so please allow me some input.”

  Nathan used both hands to motion her to continue.

  “You two speak of joining, but what does that mean? Where will our home be? Will we be supervised, ordered around, dictated to, made to live outside of camp so the warriors can have the best beds? What does join mean?”

  Jess wanted the details and the negotiations weren’t that far along yet, but both Nathan and Buchanan understood her plight.

  It was Buchanan that spoke first.

  “For starters, I suggest we control everything along the river and secure all possible food and water supplies. Your civilians remain civilians with the same liberties our Constitution gives them. We, along with your warriors, will be the military might that ensures those liberties.”

  Nathan liked the idea, but hastened to ask, “And what of leadership? Who controls the military and keeps it from turning tyrannical?”

  “That’s a good question, but to be honest, I’ve had my fill of politicians.”

  Then Jess spoke back up, now feeling that she was a part of the conversation. “Then might I add that we obtain a copy of th
e US Constitution and amend it to insure things like executive orders and term limits be set to safeguard us?”

  “I like that,” Nathan said, pointing to Jess and sitting back into the couch.

  Buchanan’s thoughts went to the bigger picture of securing the United States. “Of course, you do understand that we cannot ratify the Constitution without delegates from every state? I suggest we design a constitution as she has described and get the rest of Illinois on board with it. From there we take baby steps, as one of my Marines once said.”

  Nathan stood up. “I like that, sir. I like it a lot.”

  Nathan extended his hand and Buchanan stood up to shake it.

  Jess followed by standing up and shaking Buchanan’s hand.

  “I guess history is repeating itself,” Nathan said.

  “Well, what shall we call it?” Jess asked.

  “Since we’re repeating history, let’s call it the Confederate Alliance,” Buchanan said. “We can work in councils and come to agreements in that fashion until we’re large enough to reestablish America as a functioning nation. But right now, our focus should be shifted to taking our borders back.”

  “I agree, sir. Texas was falling as the Flip came. I wonder how it ended.”

  “It ended, son. I’ve been picking up radio chatter from UN forces. It’s been getting relayed back to me, and last I heard, the Mexicans took over Texas. It wasn’t hard. They were populating it so heavily with illegal immigration that their population became too great to manage. After that, it was a matter of grabbing it.”

  “Sir, we’re going back to Murphy soon. I’m going to gather more intel on them. If I gather enough and it’s feasible to do so, would you join me and my men on an assault of the Southside raiders?”

  “Southside Raiders?” Buchanan asked.

  “We believe that’s what they call themselves. They appear to be a raiding group that infiltrates predetermined areas and invades. We’ve been close to their operations, but never inside.”

  “I’ve been inside,” Jess interrupted. “I was the one that was kidnapped. I killed my captor and escaped.”

  “I’m glad you survived,” Buchanan said. “Proves you’re a fighter.”

  Buchanan opened the door and looked at his Marines that were standing outside.

  “Give me a radio,” he barked at them. One of the Marines removed the radio from his pack and handed it to Buchanan.

  Buchanan turned and handed the radio to Nathan. “If you get in a pickle and need support or evac, give us a call. Be frugal with the battery. Once it’s gone, I can’t guarantee a replacement.”

  “We’ll turn it on only when we need to,” Nathan said. “Thank you.” Nathan extended his hand again and Buchanan shook it.

  “Now duty calls,” Buchanan said.

  Buchanan stepped outside and rejoined his Marines. “Rally on me,” Buchanan shouted to them as he walked off.

  Nathan and Jess watched as Buchanan and his men got in his HMMWV and headed out of town.

  Nathan looked at Jess.

  “What?” she said.

  “Let’s go wake up Denny and tell him what’s going on.”

  The District

  President Adalyn Baker hung up the phone. She had just received word that her czar of Region Five had been attacked by a group of resistance fighters that had penetrated the Illinois Capital District.

  The untimely death of Czar Jennings meant that General Abdul Muhaimin, commander of the UN forces in America, was now the czar of Region Five and one step closer to national domination.

  The president was nothing more than a puppet for the purpose of a global image of diplomacy. UN diplomacy wasn’t the true objective; it was just a ruse to blind the global community from the atrocities that were necessary to enact Agenda 21.

  In reality, President Adalyn Baker was a prisoner of her own making. She invoked unconstitutional actions, such as executive orders, to enforce her will upon the people. She seized all food and water supplies from the populations. She seized all electricity, communication, and transportation from the populace. All along, she was throwing billions into FEMA compounds, expecting the worst-case scenario. When America thought she could do no worse, she invited the UN to access the United States.

  Baker became the sole authority when she invoked Executive Order 13010, which gave government control over all agencies to FEMA. FEMA, by executive order, was answerable only to the executive branch of government, being herself.

  She sat alone in the Oval Office at the White House her Chiefs of Staff assassinated and armed guards outside her door. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for herself. The thoughts of the loss of thousands of American lives mattered very little to President Baker. She was consumed with her own grief and loss of power. America was gone, and with it, her ambition to be an international superstar.

  As if on cue, the door to the Oval Office cracked open. Adalyn looked toward the door and saw an envelope and a small pistol being scooted into the room. She walked over to them and picked up the envelope.

  She opened the envelope and read the letter. She began to cry. Her eyes swelled with tears and her cheeks and ears flushed. Her nose ran uncontrollably as she dropped the envelope and picked up the gun.

  She didn’t know too much about guns, but knew where the safety switch and trigger were located. It was a small .22 with a design of a phoenix with an R in the center of it. Adalyn didn’t know that she was looking at a Ruger pocket-sized .22 revolver. She only knew it was a revolver with a single bullet in the cylinder.

  She held tightly to the letter and took a long look at the pistol as she sat on a chair in front of the Resolute Desk. She stood up and walked over to the window behind the desk. What she saw was UN soldier formations and vehicles parked on the White House lawn.

  Still crying uncontrollably, she looked back down at the gun one last time then put it to the side of her head. The first time she pulled the trigger, she flinched and it just clicked. The second time she pulled the trigger, she flinched a little less, but it too, was a click.

  Adalyn Baker walked over to the Resolute Desk and sat down in the chair behind the desk. She sat the letter on the desk, face up, and gave one last attempt at putting the gun to her head.

  The crackle of a .22 went off inside the Oval Office and Adalyn Baker fell forward onto the letter that sat on the desk.

  The letter, now stained in blood, read:

  “Dear Madam President, we regret to inform you that your husband, son, and daughter contracted an unknown viral strand. They were relocated and isolated, but they did not survive. Our deepest condolences, FEMA”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Somewhere west of Opal, Virginia

  John, Belt, Joshwa, Zamora, Aaron, Gideon, and Michael had awoken early in the morning and hit the road just before first light. It was still to be determined which was safer, driving during the day or driving during the night. John felt better knowing the bus had quite a bit of gasoline strapped to its interior. He used to think preppers were paranoid, but now, as it turned out, it seemed wise to have done so.

  The prepper bus they were in was camouflaged, obviously not professionally done. The armor was impressive, though. It was made of quarter-inch steel panels, which were bolted and spot-welded into place. Inside were a gun rack and ammo cans. All of it was fastened to the floor in the rear of the bus, over against the side of the emergency exit door.

  When the preppers were discussing the design of the bus, originally they were going to weld the emergency exit shut. They didn’t like the idea of a possible enemy attack with two points of entry on the bus. They opted out of the idea of closing it off for the same reason: they would have a secondary exit in the event of an attack.

  The bus’s windows had three-inch vertical and horizontal crosses cut into them for the ability to point, aim, and shoot from the inside out. The only glass window in the bus was the windshield, which cost them a small fortune to replace with bulletproof glass. It was tinted and imp
ossible to see inside after sunset.

  Virtually everybody on the bus felt safe that they wouldn’t catch a bullet, but they also felt trapped. To John, it was reminiscent of being stuck in an ACV, amphibious combat vehicle. To Belt, it was like being in a SSN, nuclear-class submarine. Either way, it was buttoned up tight and offered little in the way of rapid deployment.

  John constantly feared the possibility of being ambushed. With these untrained civilians, they may not exit in the same direction if by chance they had to use both exits simultaneously.

  John had the idea of pulling over and running some deployment drills, but just as the thought came to mind, Michael yelled out, “There’s a roadblock up ahead.”

  Everybody stood up and ran for the front of the bus to get the first visual of the new complication.

  “Sit back down,” John yelled at them. “You guys are a danger to yourselves, running up like that.”

  Michael brought the bus to a stop.

  “Binos?” John said.

  “Back in the utility cabinet, top right.”

  John walked to the back and opened the cabinet door. He saw several items hanging from a Peg-Board with the items’ outlines traced onto the board.

  “A shadow board?” John asked himself. He saw a compass, binos, medical kit, 550 paracord, e-tool, crank radio, chem lights, and many more items.

  John grabbed the binoculars and looked forward. He could see at least three men moving around in street clothes behind a roadblock made up of logs. The bus would never be able to blow through it without sustaining damage.

  The men had rifles and they were pointing them in the direction of the bus. It was obviously a standoff, with both parties refusing to budge from a place of security. Sitting still made John and Belt nervous, but they had already been spotted and there wasn’t much left to do but make a hasty retreat.

  “They don’t seem to be moving,” John said. “But that could be because they’re waiting for reinforcements to arrive. Who knows, they might have heard the bus coming a mile away. I would have. This thing sounds like a jet engine.”