The Bonner Incident: Joshua's War

by Thomas A. Watson

  “I wish we could get the rules to the game Joshua’s playing,” Winters said, looking around the small barn.

  Moore walked out, “He expects us to be smart enough to figure it out,” he said.

  Seeing Moore walk out, Winters smiled. ‘I don’t know why this chapter didn’t bring in Joshua but man, they missed a warrior’ she thought and followed Moore.

  She ran to catch up as Schmidt walked out of the cabin. “There is a hole cut in the floor under the bed. He dropped into the crawl space,” Schmidt said, motioning them to follow. He walked off the porch and pointed at the back corner. “There is a small ditch there running to the trees. My guess, he dug it for drainage because this area is flat. He crawled into the ditch and then into the woods with none the wiser.”

  “This man is getting on my nerves,” Moore said, spinning around and walking off.

  Schmidt looked at Winters, “That is a mistake,” he said, then turned around. “You can’t take it personally.”

  “Shit, who would’ve suspected a logger to turn out to be a ninja Rambo?” she said, following him as they both caught up with Moore. “We leaving?”

  “Yes, I knew this was a trap and didn’t listen to my gut,” Moore said. “I gave up to false hope.”

  ***

  Over a mile away, Joshua gave King a soft kick, steering him along the ridge. He had stopped, hearing the explosion and the torrent of gunfire. “Damn, I liked that cabin,” he said pulling out his map. “Well, let’s see if one of those search teams to the west will take the trail I’ve been waiting for.”

  Putting the map up, Joshua felt good, but didn’t enjoy killing these men and women coming after him. He knew not all wanted to kill him, but they were looking for him and would hand him over to ones that would so in his mind, that justified any of the deaths. It was only because of the thermal scope that he’d seen that metal box strapped to a tree in front of the cabin. The box had been just a little warmer than the tree.

  He had crept around and eased up beside it and saw it had a tiny window, and figured it was like those new game cameras that you could watch live from home. It was just very small.

  Hunting around the cabin, he’d found another one on a tree in the back and figured there were more. He’d stopped searching for them and concentrated to see if any could spot him crawling out of the cabin in his drainage ditch. Just to be sure, Joshua had taken his thermal sniper blanket with him.

  After entering the house, he’d dropped through the floor and crawled out through the ditch. Joshua had been half a mile away by the time Griffey had been notified. “Have to say, reading all those books on spies, wars and frontier life has really paid off,” he said, adjusting his M4 across his body. “Can’t learn stuff like that from TV,” he grinned.

  Moving carefully, Joshua headed for the trail he was hoping for one of the search teams to take. The trail was used by many around here to ride ATVs in the backcountry and he had ridden it many times with family and friends.

  Reaching the trail, Joshua left King and Jack and moved over the ridge as the sun started to set. He could already see and smell the smoke from a fire, but pulled out his thermal scope. Ten bodies were around the small campfire and Joshua sighed. “Sorry for this, guys,” he said, and put the binoculars up.

  He moved back and got on King, riding beside the trail to where the trail got steep going over the ridge. On one of his passes through he had stopped here, looking at a massive fallen tree that had been cut decades ago. Only a twelve-foot section remained, but that section was six feet around.

  The rocky slope it rested on was nearly vertical and the only reason the tree hadn’t rolled down was a small pile of head sized rocks at its center. Joshua had seen this on his trips up over the years and had wanted to let the tree roll down the hill because it looked unstable, but he knew unless he got permission, he could get in trouble for ‘altering the landscape’. So he’d left it, hoping that one day the log wouldn’t roll down the hill, hitting the section of the ATV trail when someone was riding by. Now, he was going to help gravity assist the log in its journey that the log had started long ago.

  Leading King and Jack to a small stream, Joshua left them, carrying a shovel and spools of quarter-inch steel cable. Staying off the trail, Joshua walked along the ridge to the rocky cliff where the log rested on. He looked down and saw the ATV trail running past the rocky area, then back into the trees where it ran up and over the ridge.

  “About a hundred to a hundred and twenty yards to the bottom,” he mumbled, setting his stuff down. Taking a shovel and one spool of cable over his shoulder, Joshua eased out onto the rocky slope. The slope was so steep that Joshua was standing but leaning into the slope, using his hands and feet to ‘walk’ sideways along the slope.

  “If this works, I won’t be here to see it,” he mumbled.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco Firearms and Explosives Agent Aston Rustin held his M4 close to his chest as his team moved down the trail and a light rain fell. He pulled his Gortex jacket closed and glanced at his watch to see it wasn’t even eight a.m. “I’m done with this shit,” he mumbled, looking around at the chest high ferns between the evergreen trees.

  When he’d joined the BATFE, it’d been a blast. They could do what they wanted with impunity. But these last few years, it sucked. People were fighting back, not just physically but legally. When he’d started, only the gangs and extremist groups had fought, now it was the normal guy they went after that you had to watch out for. If they suspected a person of having illegal weapons, they would raid their house like they had always done but now, these people had the audacity to fight back.

  The one thing he did love was that a government agency could dictate law. Not only his agency, all of them. A director would read a law passed by Congress and tell the agents how he interpreted it, and so it became law. The fact the public resented that, upset Rustin. If the public didn’t like it, they should move, he’d always said.

  Hearing a bird chirp, he jerked his head to the right and saw it fly off when one of the four in front of him scared it.

  Before he’d gone out on this patrol, he had called his wife and told her he was quitting and was going to apply to be a contractor for the State Department. He would make more money, but wouldn’t have the power that he did now. But walking through the mountain forest, Rustin felt he didn’t have any power anymore.

  The nerve that the public demanded federal agents be held accountable, pissed him off. Sure they made mistakes, like serving warrants at the wrong house or address and more often than not, someone got shot.

  They were federal agents and mistakes didn’t apply to them. Rustin was of the mind that Congress should abolish the NRA first, then go after the guns. Like every agent and politician, Rustin knew if they could get the guns away from the population, they could do as they pleased without fear of retaliation.

  He and the other agents had talked about this ‘Joshua Anderson’ they were after, and none believed he was just a logger. Everyone was convinced the higher ups weren’t telling them Joshua’s real background. Some believed Joshua used to be a contractor for the NSA while others thought he used to work for the CIA’s Thirteenth Legion. It was a black program that the CIA ran, training assassins.

  Rustin didn’t care, all he knew was a logger couldn’t do the things that Joshua had done.

  Last night, one of the agents with him had pulled out the satellite phone they were issued and used it to get on the net. That was when they’d learned of the agents shot in Atlanta. When the team got up this morning, the agent who’d got on the web told everyone that two IRS agents had been shot in Boston on the way to work. “This Joshua is making people think they can fight back,” Rustin almost growled.

  ‘How can the citizens even think of fighting against us?’ Rustin thought, almost tripping on the rocky muddy trail. Catching his balance, Rustin glanced around, making sure that none of the team saw him almost bust his ass.
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br />   “We are the government,” he said in a low voice and started walking. Hearing a man fall to his front, Rustin dropped to one knee, pulling the stock of his rifle to his shoulder. Looking ahead, he saw the point man getting up, wiping mud off his rifle.

  “I didn’t sign up for this,” he said looking around.

  “Me either, but I only have six more years to retirement,” the man behind him said.

  Seeing the point man continue, Rustin got up. “Grant, I’m not doing this for ten more years. What gives the citizens the right to not comply?”

  “I hear ya,” Grant said looking around. “Seems all the working people think they are better than everyone else.”

  “Look at the work we’re doing, we are better than everyone else,” Rustin snorted.

  Moving along the trail behind Rustin, Grant nodded. “Yeah, this used to be fun. It’s like they know they can’t win a case in court, so the people want to use physical force to get their way.”

  “Only we can do that,” Rustin whispered hoarsely.

  “I’ve been with the DEA for fourteen years and hell, even doctors are getting rowdy lately.”

  Rustin stopped and looked up at a very steep rocky slope that the trail ran under, and saw a massive log laying on the slope. “What the hell is holding that log there?” he mumbled.

  “Don’t climb up to see because that could make it dislodge. I grew up in Tennessee and you left stuff like that alone,” Grant said, looking up at the log above them. “Damn thing has been there a long time.”

  A shiver ran up Rustin’s spine as he walked along the trail under the slope. He sighed when he wasn’t under the log and the trail ran back into the trees. “I’m starting to like the trees around me,” he mumbled.

  “The trees, I like. It’s these damn ferns I hate,” Grant said in a low voice. “So, what do you plan on doing if you leave the stepchild agency?”

  Rustin looked back at Grant with a sneer. All of the other agencies looked at the BATFE as a joke. They were the one agency that policed what was legal in the US and the only agency to have the dreaded five letter designation. “I have a friend in the State Department who is a contractor, he said he could get me a job,” Rustin said, continuing up the trail.

  “Hey, that’s a nice gig,” Grant said in awe.

  “Yeah,” Rustin grinned. “I’m turning in my notice when we get back.”

  Grant was about to ask if Rustin could pull some strings for him when they heard a loud pop on their right. Everyone froze, looking to the right and the point man never felt the fishing string he’d pulled with his boot that set off the trigger, letting a small tree that Joshua had bent over, spring up.

  They all saw the tree swaying and heard another pop further away as a large boulder rolled down the steep slope they’d passed. The boulder yanked the last trigger, freeing the log.

  Twang- sounded as the log rolled down the slope and Rustin caught movement out of the corner of his eye as the steel cable ran up two sticks to waist high level, catching the man in front of him in the back.

  The man let out a yelp as the wire yanked him into the three in front of him. A twenty-yard-long snare made of quarter inch cable cinched closed on the four before Rustin moved his head to see what the movement was.

  All four men screamed as the log rolled down the slope with the cable attached to it dragging them up the hill at twenty miles an hour. Watching in disbelief, Rustin’s jaw fell open as the four bound men shot up in the air, screaming louder.

  They suddenly stopped below a branch and the rest of the team took off running to them. Rustin stopped under the four and saw one man hanging down and realized only his lower legs were caught by the cable.

  “It’s a snare,” Grant said. “We have to cut that line.”

  Feeling something heavier than the mist falling from the sky hit his cheek, Rustin reached up, wiping his cheek. Looking down at his hand, he saw it was blood. Then, he heard heavy drops around him and realized it was blood.

  “Come on!” Grant shouted above the men screaming, trying to pull Rustin up the hill.

  A heavy thump sounded beside him and Rustin turned to see a boot with pants above it, then stumbled back, realizing it was a leg. In a panic, he looked around, seeing the ground turning red with blood as another leg fell down, followed by a screaming agent.

  Grant dropped down, pulling out his med bag as Rustin looked up at the three left. His jaw quivered as he watched the small cable slowly cinch through the three bodies. A loud pop and twang filled the air as six different parts fell back to earth.

  Rustin stumbled back, looking at the three half men screaming as blood poured from their bodies. He didn’t wait to see what was next. Spinning around, Rustin took off running back down the trail. The other four joined him and Grant looked up, seeing the rest of the team leave him.

  He looked back at the men on the ground and the only one still alive was the one missing his lower legs, but he was barely moaning. Getting up, Grant took off, following the others.

  Joshua was half a mile away when they’d tripped his trap. Many years ago, he had watched two men get cut in half with a tow line. That’s where he’d gotten the idea, but he didn’t want to witness it again.

  “Just leave me alone,” he mumbled, steering King through the trees.

  ***

  It was after lunch and Moore was standing outside. The clouds were breaking up, but more rain was forecasted tonight and tomorrow. Bringing the cigarette to his lips, he took a long drag. He had quit ten years ago and it had taken him an hour to find someone who smoked, but he needed a cigarette.

  “You shouldn’t start back up,” Winters said, walking out the door and moving beside him.

  “After seeing the scene of the last attack, nothing else will do,” he said, taking a drag and looking off at the mountains.

  Winters looked up at him. “Moore, we’ve seen much worse.”

  Letting out a long smoke filled sigh, Moore shook his head. “Winters, those were deviant psychopathic killers. Joshua is-,” he stopped and looked down at the ground. “He was; a normal person until this.”

  “Moore, he knows we are trying to kill him, and you think he should kill us nicely?”

  Turning to look at her, Moore took another drag. “How in the fuck does a normal man think of a trap that cuts people in half?”

  “That, I don’t know,” she shrugged.

  Dropping the butt, Moore ground it in the dirt. “What is Griffey doing?”

  “He’s in a video conference in the briefing room,” she said. “The doors are locked, but I heard the Attorney General’s voice along with the Speaker of the House and the VP.”

  “You were listening at the door?” he droned, grabbing the pack of cigarettes.

  “Hardly,” she huffed. “They were screaming so loud at Griffey, I heard them down the hall.”

  “So, you think they will replace him?”

  She looked off, “I told you what will happen.”

  Lighting the cigarette, Moore took a long drag as he put the pack back in his pocket. “What is your best guess on how to stop Joshua?” he asked, avoiding the subject.

  “Hell, I’m starting to agree with Schmidt,” she said, still looking off. “Let’s start putting teams out as bait with others near to attack Joshua when he starts killing them.”

  Moore shook his head. “That’s not a plan.”

  Finally, she looked at Moore. “An FBI agent was shot in Chicago an hour ago, and another IRS agent was killed in Vegas. It’s spreading fast and you want pretty plans and Joshua to kill us nicely. What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s gone too far. We can’t stop it,” Moore mumbled.

  “Well, to be honest, we brought it on ourselves,” she said staring at him. “If you kick a dog long enough, no matter how docile it is, that dog will eventually attack.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Moore studied her face. “So you approve?”

  “No,” Winters snorted with a grin, looking in Mo
ore’s eyes. “We should’ve done what we have always done. Go after bad guys and not make innocent people into bad guys.”

  Letting out a sigh, Moore turned away with a tiny grin. “Yes, that’s what we should’ve always done. Wonder what the President will say in his address tonight?”

  She stood beside him, staring at the side of his face and then turned to look at the mountains. Hearing the thump of helicopters, they both turned to the south. “Griffey said we weren’t getting any more choppers for days,” Moore said as a line of Blackhawks flew in from the south.

  Not saying anything, Winters watched and counted twenty Blackhawks circle the compound. The lead Blackhawk broke off, descending to the road and landing right in front of the gate as the rest of the helicopters landed on the runway.

  The door of the Blackhawk slid open and a man in U.S. army fatigues stepped out with an air of invincibility. Walking under the rotors, the man barely lowered his head as troops in full battle gear jumped out and formed ranks, walking behind him.

  “Shit,” Moore spat, dropping his half cigarette. “You were right. They invoked the regional command in a state of emergency.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Winters saw the silver eagle on the man as he stopped, talking to others behind him, who she thought were officers. What many people didn’t know was the United States officially ended in 1972, when Nixon signed executive order 11647. With a stroke of a pen, Nixon split the country into ten regions and what did the states do? Nothing, because federal money poured in. Monies that came from the states and the federal government acted like they were rewarding them by giving it back as grants.

  When people asked why was this wrong, any military person could tell you, it’s easier to control ten people rather than fifty. The United Nations had instructed Nixon that the United States needed to be broken down into easier to manage districts. Knowing that neither congress nor the citizens would approve, Nixon just did it by executive order. Not to implement, but to prepare for the implementation, getting the framework ready.