The Bonner Incident: Joshua's War

by Thomas A. Watson

  As Ben grabbed another agent’s arm and twisted it, Buck said. “Um, I hate to say this but, maybe we should like, pull him off.” He cringed when Ben hit the man’s arm that he had twisted in the bicep with an audible snap. The man fell back screaming and holding his oddly angled arm.

  “Buck, you don’t get close to the leprechaun until he’s done,” Gene said, watching the beat down. “I’ve watched that short twerp beat down ten men in a bar, and the officers that came to arrest him.”

  Slowly nodding, Buck’s eyes got wide as Ben grabbed the driver’s leg, wrapping his own leg around it and rolled, putting the driver’s leg in a leg lock. Ben kept rolling as he twisted the driver’s ankle and a loud wet snap sounded as the driver grabbed his shattered knee.

  Ben rolled out, letting his leg go and scurried over on all fours for the first man, who he had broken his nose. The man cradled his face and Ben grabbed one of his wrists, pulling it out and brought it down across his knee, snapping the elbow. Letting out a scream of pain, the man fell back as Ben got up and calmly walked around, kicking each man in the side of the head, knocking them unconscious.

  With a grin, Ben bent over each one, taking their tactical harness off. Picking up the vests and the dropped pistols, Ben tossed them in the bed of the truck, then went over and patted each one down. He pulled out knives and phones, but left the wallets and IDs.

  He looked at Gene with a huge grin and ran over to the SUV the agents had driven up in, yanking open the back door and climbing inside. They saw him climb around inside the SUV for several seconds and then Ben got back out, carrying three M4s and a SAW. With his face flushed with anger, Ben walked past the agents and tossed the weapons in the bed of the truck.

  Turning around, he saw the passenger waking up and squatted over the man, grabbing his shirt and punching him in the face. “Where the fuck is your tent?!” Ben bellowed, punching the man again.

  Letting out a sigh, Gene shook his head. “I was so honored to call him ‘buddy’ until that,” he said with remorse.

  Ernest looked down the road, seeing headlights. “Company coming. Can we get Ben to stop beating the shit out of them?”

  “Ben!” Gene shouted and Ben looked over, frothing at the mouth. “Quit playing. More are coming.”

  Letting the unconscious man go, everyone cringed as his head hit the concrete with a thunk. “Fuckers,” Ben spat and stomped another agent in the chest, making him bounce several inches off the ground.

  Two more black SUVs pulled up and four men jumped out with M4s as Moore jumped out of the first SUV. “The first one of you that raises your weapon, I’ll shoot you myself,” Moore snapped at the men. They looked at Moore, lowering their weapons in the ready position.

  Seeing they weren’t going to start a war, Moore turned back to Buck. “Care to explain why there are four federal agents lying and beat down in front of you?”

  “They tried to arrest one of my deputies and he defended himself,” Buck said and the anger fell off Ben’s face.

  “I’m a cop,” he said, quietly with a grin.

  Moore looked at Ben and Gene, knowing who they were. “Sorry for their actions, but it was their actions alone. Every agent here has been told that they aren’t wanted for questioning anymore,” Moore said, glancing over his shoulder.

  “You four, load them up and take them back to the compound,” Moore said seeing the men slowly move. “You will put your rifles in your vehicle first.”

  The four stopped and looked at Moore in shock. Then they moved back to their vehicle, putting their weapons up and then moved over to carry the men one at a time.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of another meeting, sheriff?” Moore said as Winters came around the SUV, staring hard at Ernest and his men.

  “You want to wait until your people are gone?” Buck asked as Winters pulled out an ink pen, twirling it between her left fingers in a mesmerizing pattern.

  Giving a nod, Moore turned to watch the four carry the last man off and putting him in the SUV they’d driven up in. One got in and drove away, heading north back to the compound. Jerking his head, Moore motioned the others back inside the other SUV.

  When they’d got inside, he looked to Buck. “Okay.”

  “When were you planning on telling me that your agents killed two boys?” Buck said and Moore gave a sigh, slumping his shoulders.

  “It was a justified engagement,” Moore said in a low voice. “But you were going to be notified when a missing person’s report was filed.”

  “Moore, I know a memo was put out, telling all your agents to avoid Sandpoint and Priest Lake, but they need to avoid any town or home from now on. I cannot and will not ask for their safe passage any longer,” Buck said as Winters moved up behind Moore, still twirling the pen in her left fingers.

  “Buck-,” Moore said, lifting his head up to look at Buck. He stopped with his mouth hanging open. Closing it, Moore looked off, “You will be just as guilty as us when your people get shot.”

  “Well, since you’re already shooting my people, at least they will be able to fight back without worry from me,” Buck said.

  Behind Moore, Winters put her pen back in her pocket, pulling out a tin of breath mints. Popping one in her mouth, “Sheriff, will you at least guarantee us that you won’t condone attacks on our people?” she said, snapping the tin closed.

  “Nope,” Buck said as Ernest held out his right hand, popping his knuckles with his thumb in rapid succession but didn’t pop the fingers in a line, he moved back and forth over his fingers, then stopped.

  “Any person who is attacked has the God given right to fight back, no matter who the attacker may be,” Ernest said taking a step in front of Buck.

  “Fascist pig,” Winters said, tossing the tin at Ernest.

  Jerking his right hand up and catching the tin, “Sheriff, she is littering, may I fine her?” Ernest asked, staring at Winters.

  Moore glanced over his shoulder, “Will you knock it off?” he whispered sharply.

  “Moore, they are talking about letting people fight us and encouraging them” she whispered back.

  “I know, and let me handle this,” he said looking back at Buck.

  “Sheriff, you told me that you walk the line of the law, what you are saying now goes against that,” Moore said solemnly.

  “Wrong, Moore. Standing with you any longer would be crossing that line. I’m not going to lie. I’ve swayed myself these last few weeks, but I can’t in good conscience go any further. You’re not stupid, Moore. If you attack the people around here, they will all come at you in force,” Buck said.

  “Can’t you just help me get Joshua, so this will end?”

  “Sorry,” Buck said. “As of this moment, Joshua Anderson will be provided every protection my office can provide. If you apprehend him, Joshua will be removed from your custody by force.”

  Moore stumbled back in shock as Buck forced a smile. “He killed the two who tried to murder my wife. One of my patrols found a package addressed to me this afternoon. I now have their names to go with the pictures, and video confessions, so if you corner Joshua, we will come to his assistance,” Buck said, dropping the fake smile.

  “Then we are done here sheriff,” Moore said, turning around and saw Winters had her hand on her pistol. “We haven’t threatened them, so we don’t have to worry.”

  “Well, I will, if you don’t mind,” Winters said walking backwards to the SUV while watching the group.

  When they’d left Buck looked at Gene. “I don’t think they will come for Sonya, but I never would’ve believed the stuff they’ve already done,” Buck said looking up at the night sky, seeing clouds moving in from the west.

  “Ben, load up. We need to get your horses,” Gene said jumping in the truck. They sped off down the road and Buck looked at Ernest.

  “You have to give me three days before you start,” Buck said and Ernest nodded.

  “Only a fool rushes off to war,” Ernest said. Buck gave him a n
od, heading for his SUV as Cory fired it up. “Let’s get back,” Ernest called out and ran over to his Suburban, getting in the back. As the driver backed out, Ernest opened the tin mint box that Winters had thrown at him.

  Running his finger across the thumb drive, Ernest shook his head. “You broke a lot of rules and risked your own safety. I hope this was worth it,” he mumbled.

  ***

  As Ernest sped back to the house, Joshua was only four miles away, slowly creeping up a small mountain to the north of them. Reaching the crest, he looked out over the valley below and saw the runway the Forest Service used. It hadn’t been a paved runway until the government had set up shop at the forest station. Across Highway 57, Joshua could see the large camp they had built to house the army of agents that were tasked to chase him.

  “Man, have they spent some money coming after me,” he said, setting down the Barrett fifty caliber. When he’d met Chris, Chris had told him about the two boys that had been shot. Joshua hadn’t heard because he hadn’t been listening to the radio.

  Giving Chris what he had gotten off the last group, Joshua felt sick that others had died in this war to go after him. “Boss, they made the choice to stand. They died with honor, so don’t feel bad and take that from them,” Chris said pulling out a plastic box. “Here’s more API for your cannon.”

  Joshua had taken the box, feeling anger. “Chris, those were boys.”

  “No,” Chris had said. “They were soldiers fighting for what they believed in.” Joshua had just climbed on his horse and left.

  He was heading to check on the cabin, still wondering what was taking the government boys so long to find it. But after finding out that two young boys had been killed, Joshua changed his plans and headed toward the compound.

  Pulling out his spotting scope, Joshua sat down and leaned back against a tree. Placing the tripod between his legs, Joshua scanned the runway two thousand feet below him. At the southern end closest to him, tucked in a corner and sitting in a nice row, he counted ten Blackhawks. Six were painted with Homeland colors and had the seal on the side. The other four were painted black like the military used. A dirt road crossed the southern end of the runway going around the mountain that he was sitting on.

  In the other corner, he saw three planes. Two were like the single-engine Cessna’s the forest service used and the other plane had two propeller engines, one on each wing. Moving his scope, to the center of the runway between the line of choppers and planes, Joshua smiled. “Only seen those on TV,” he mumbled, looking at a drone. It was painted white and blue like the Homeland Blackhawks.

  Moving the scope up the runway, he saw four trailers sitting beside the road with big satellite dishes around them. They were sitting beside the road, halfway down the runway and across from the forest service buildings.

  Using the handle, Joshua swung the spotting scope across the road to the forest service station. “Shit,” he mumbled, seeing the new prefabricated buildings and trailers. “All this for a little ol’ logger.”

  He moved his scope around and noticed an SUV slowing on the road. Moving back, he watched them pull up to the gate and a guard walked over to the driver’s side, then waved at the gate. When the gate opened, Joshua followed the SUV as it parked beside a prefabricated building. A woman got out of the driver’s side and a large man got out of the passenger side. “Seen you two before,” Joshua mumbled.

  They walked in the building as Joshua moved his scope back to the new area behind the station. It had large tents set up in neat rows on one end and the other had neat rows of the prefabricated buildings. Both the forest station and the new area were surrounded by a ten-foot chain-link fence and Joshua could see men walking the fence with dogs.

  He pulled out his range finder and started taking ranges. Pulling out his notebook, he made a sketch of the compound. All his life he had read books and many had been military books, both fiction and nonfiction. It was on his first attack; Joshua had found out why you had to have a plan before you started any engagement.

  All of the books he had read, said you had to have a plan with an objective. You could alter the plan but altering the objective wasn’t wise, unless the reward was worth the risk.

  Joshua’s plan after leaving Chris was to damage the helicopters. The feds had too much freedom of movement with those. Joshua was under no illusions, more would come. The day he’d shot down two Joshua didn’t know it, but Griffey had requested more birds and the Army had signed over the four Blackhawks.

  Putting his notebook away, Joshua looked back at the runway. “Taking out the drone and other planes isn’t changing the plan, it’s just a bonus,” he said and pulled out a thermal scope. Moving it around the runway to the trailers, the only guards Joshua could find were at the gate across the road.

  He had seen two people step out of the trailers to smoke and then go back inside, but that was it. “Guess they think I wouldn’t come back with them patrolling inside the fence,” he said, lowering the thermal scope.

  Putting his spotting scope away, Joshua pulled out the two magazines for the Barrett and the box of ammo Chris had given him. Pulling one of the massive shells out, he sighed, loading it into the empty magazine. When both were loaded, he laid down behind the Barrett, taking the scope cover off.

  Taking another measurement, “Sixteen hundred yards and change,” he mumbled, lowering the range finder. Pulling up the small computer, Joshua didn’t care what William called the damn thing, he plugged in the numbers.

  Twisting the knobs to adjust his aim, Joshua reached out, making sure the suppressor was seated and then got down on the Barrett. He had worked around choppers enough during fire season to know where to shoot them where it would hurt the most.

  Letting out a long breath, Joshua slowly squeezed the trigger and the rifle jerked. Keeping his eye on the scope, he saw a flash over the engine mount where he’d been aiming. “Just a little right,” he said reaching up and twisting a knob on the scope.

  Squeezing the trigger again, the gun gave a muffled bark as it jerked against Joshua’s shoulder. He kept his eye on the scope and smiled, seeing the bullet strike. “That’ll do,” he said and moved to the next chopper.

  He moved down the line, putting two rounds in each engine and then aimed across the runway at the planes. The single-engine planes got two in the engine, the twin-engine got one in each engine.

  Reloading the magazines again, Joshua slapped one in and rested his crosshairs on the Predator. “Guess that big part in the back,” he said pulling the trigger. He watched it hit and pass through hitting the runway. “Let’s make sure,” he said and put four more shells in, walking them down the body.

  He got up and looked back at the almost empty box of ammo. “We’ll keep the rest,” he said grabbing the full magazine. After stacking the stuff, Joshua pulled his Lapua off his back. “Now to see if you can hurt really big targets,” he said, getting down on his belly.

  Checking the suppressor, Joshua folded out the bipods and pulled the stock to his shoulder. Reaching up, he adjusted the scope and then let out a long breath, slowly squeezing the trigger. He gave a startle as the gun bucked with a muffled gunshot.

  Watching through the scope, he saw his bullet hit the runway and missing the tail rotor he’d been aiming at. Reaching up and adjusting the side knob, Joshua aimed through the scope, squeezing the trigger. The rifle bucked and he watched through the scope. The bullet hit the cowling that formed the tail rotor.

  “Well, a .338 does damage a chopper,” he said lifting his eyebrows. “That’s good because I have lots of these.”

  He continued working down the line of Blackhawks and as he was aiming at the last one, he noticed the wind gust. Taking his eye off the scope, he looked up as the clouds moved in rapidly from the west. “I’m really getting tired of rain,” he said, getting back up.

  Gathering his .338 casings, he put them in his pack and then grabbed the fifty caliber casings, arranging them on the ground. Satisfied, he slu
ng his Lapua across his back and picked up the Barrett with a grunt. “Damn thing needs wheels,” he said and moved down the mountain to where he’d left King and Jack.

  ***

  In a corner of Joshua’s shop sitting alone, Ernest pulled up his laptop and inserted the thumb drive. Since this had started, he had been contacted by two of the three Minutemen units he was in contact with. From the information he’d received, Ernest had deducted that at least four Minutemen patriots were with the mass of agents sent after Joshua.

  He also knew from reading what was sent to him after Joshua blew up the resort, two of those Minutemen had died in Joshua’s explosion.

  Not Ernest, nor any Minutemen blamed Joshua for their loss. All Minutemen knew they were at war and losses had to be expected, but controlled.

  Tapping the keyboard, Ernest smiled. “So, you really are a Minuteman,” he said softly. When Winters had gotten out and started twirling the pen in her left hand, Ernest was very glad for the balaclava covering his face. As Winters had twirled the pen, she’d spelled out ‘Liberty or Death’ in a sign language taught to all Minutemen. It was the movement of the fingers that corresponded to numbers. When Ernest was popping his knuckles he was responding, ‘1776 freedom was born’.

  Taking a breath, Ernest read her report, and started sweating as his breathing got faster. “My God,” he whispered.

  “Ernest, if that’s porn, you need to watch something else,” Chris said, walking over and carrying a cup of coffee. Ernest looked up at him with terror on his face. The smile fell off of Chris’ face. “What?”

  “Get in your truck, take four men and find Buck. Tell him not to do anything. We need to get all our troops in the field before he does,” Ernest said.

  Chris stumbled back, “Everyone?” he gasped. They had never activated the entire group. Granted, it was only a hundred and thirty-six, but all were trained to fight, along with another area of expertise.

  “Yes first sergeant, and tell Buck we need six days before we attack,” Ernest said.

  “On it,” Chris said, spinning around and taking off, dropping the coffee cup.