Liberty or Tyranny

by John Grit

  You have no idea, Strovenov didn’t say. “Mister President, I have simply asked you to be more specific. I still do not know what crimes this man has committed other than the one charge of tipping off what you call enemies of the state. And I have already said I’ll look into that. The coddling of civilians is so silly there is nothing I can do to respond to it. As I have stated, it’s not a crime. This is why I have asked you to elaborate and be more specific as to what the problem is.”

  Regaining his composure, Capinos sat down and spoke with measured words and in a calm tone of voice. “For now, I will be satisfied to see your report on my desk by 10 PM tonight detailing the results of your investigation of this officer’s crime of warning criminals and giving them enough time to get away before my men arrived. If you find anything at all on him, I want him relieved of duty and under arrest.”

  General Strovenov raised an eyebrow. “That’s not much time. It won’t be much of an investigation. The colonel is in Florida. I’m here in Washington. But I’ll do what I can.” He stood. “Now, with your permission, I must communicate with my subordinates in order to get this investigation rolling.”

  “Yes, by all means.” Capinos exhibited a cold smile. “I look forward to your report at 10 PM tonight.”

  ~~~

  Brian heard something in the brush 20 yards to his left. He slowly shouldered his rifle and clicked the safety off, waiting to be sure of his target. It was about time for his father and Deni to be back, but to assume it was them before laying eyes on one of them could prove to be a fatal mistake. Well hidden in thick brush and camouflaged with his boonie hat and olive drab jacket on, he remained perfectly still, moving only his eyes.

  Two minutes passed, and he caught a slight movement in the shadow of tall pines. And then he saw four square inches of Deni’s face and recognized her. Turning his head slightly to his right, he witnessed his father emerge from the wall of green, materialize. One second he was not visible, the next he was, standing there looking at Brian.

  Nate hand-signaled him to remain quiet and worked his way slowly over, while Deni stayed back and overwatched.

  The silent question on Brian’s face could not have been spoken louder with words.

  Nate answered, “It looks like they got away before the soldiers arrived. Someone warned them.”

  Brian’s eyes lit up. “Colonel Donovan.”

  Nate nodded. “Or he had someone else do it for him.”

  Deni stood beside them. “Anything happen while we were gone?”

  Shaking his head, Brian answered, “Nope. We managed to get a little rest in between worrying about you and the people at the farm.”

  Tyrone and Atticus heard them talking. They walked up with their packs strapped on and ready to travel.

  “Good news it seems.” Atticus scratched the back of his ear. “We haven’t had much of that lately.”

  “You two want to rest a while before we head out?” Tyrone leaned forward slightly to counterweight his heavy pack and held his rifle in both hands. He still was not used to carrying a heavy load. “Glad to hear they got away. Probably we should be making tracks ourselves.”

  Everyone agreed. Brian took just long enough to grab his pack and strap it on before they headed deeper into the woods, downhill, to the wet lowlands and the river valley.

  ~~~

  Nate chose a spot just on the edge of dry land but not far from the river. It had been way too cold for mosquitoes the last four months. In fact Nate felt mosquito season would be so late in the year they would not arrive in great numbers until summer was finally well set in. Tyrone and Atticus mostly stayed out of the way and stood watch, while the other three worked to set up camp. In less than 30 minutes, they had a lean-to set up, using a nylon tarp and covering it with freshly cut pine boughs. They cut palmetto fronds and laid them on the floor to provide some waterproofing from the moist soil. On top of that, they added six inches of the driest leaves they could find to provide insulation from the cold ground at night. So far, winter had showed no signs of relinquishing its hold on the weather and allowing spring to arrive, and they had no idea how long they would be there, since going back to the farm or even Mel’s bunker was out of the question for the time being.

  Next on Nate’s agenda was a reliable source of drinkable water. Both he and Brian had water filters in their packs, and Deni had chemical water purification tablets. But Nate preferred to boil the water to make it potable. And he preferred the cleanest water possible for boiling. With that in mind, he and Brian left the others in camp and headed for the river to look for a spring or at least a sand boil on the river’s edge.

  The sand in Florida sand boils was usually granulated limestone and could be filtered out with cloth from a shirt or some other apparel. Sand boils were small, weak springs, and the water clean, straight from the aquifer. Even so, Nate always boiled or purified it with chemicals or filters before drinking spring water just to be safe.

  This was where Nate and Brian’s knowledge of the area came in to play. Though they were many miles from Mel’s bunker and even farther from their farm, they both had intimate knowledge of every inch of the river for 25 miles or more in either direction from where they stood. As a boy, Nate had spent many days exploring the river valley, searching out the springs along the river. Some of the springs were fairly large and in the bottom of the river itself or on the edge, while others were anywhere from a few yards to hundreds of yards back from the river and in the swamp. Most of the larger springs were known by fishermen and other people who frequented the area, but the smaller ones were known only to Nate and Brian. If not for the danger of the largest springs being known by others and therefore an attraction that could result in unwanted visitors, Nate would’ve brought the group to a very large spring eight miles away. Not only would it have been a source for clean cool drinking water, the spring held enough water in its basin to hold many fish and would’ve been a convenient source of food. The spring’s run also held fish that they could’ve trapped or caught with hook and line. Unfortunately, such a large spring would be well known by the locals and serious fishermen, hunters, and backpackers from other parts of the state. He knew of one spring 20 miles south of him that canoe trip guides brought tourists to before the plague ended normal life. Such a spring would be so well known he wouldn’t be surprised to learn there were three or four families living near it, trying to ride out the storm.

  Nearing the river, Brian moved close enough to Nate he could whisper. “If I remember correctly, there’s a sand boil or two downstream a ways, where the river gets a lot deeper.”

  Nate nodded, keeping his eyes busy scanning the woods for trouble. “Yeah, and uphill from that about 100 yards from the river into the swamp, there’s a pool of clean spring water that comes up out of the ground. The little pool is about five feet wide with a white sandy bottom. I suspect it’s from the same underground stream that the sand boils come from. Just a little ways farther, the ground slopes up fast, gaining over 50 feet in elevation. I guess the underground spring runs under that hill and the pressure causes it to boil up at this place I’m looking for.”

  “Why didn’t we set up camp at the spring?” Brian kept his voice low and his eyes busy.

  “Even though it’s a small spring, we might not be the only ones who know about it. I didn’t want to take the chance on us stumbling onto a nasty group and get into a shootout, just because we were unwanted quests.” Nate grinned. “Besides, I don’t remember exactly where it is after all these years. It’s better to have a camp set up until I find the damn thing.”

  Brian’s eyes lit up. “Oh.” He looked around. “I guess we’ve been lucky to have all these woods around our farm and Mel’s bunker. These woods have given us a place to hide many times when we needed it.”

  Nate agreed. “And it’s acted as a buffer. The remoteness of our farm and all this state and federal forest land around us has kept a lot of undesirables away.” He glanced at his son and grinned. “Eve
n though it hasn’t seemed that way at times, especially when that gang was trying to get across the bridge. It’s the reason Mel bought that land close to our farm in the first place. He was looking for a remote area with lots of woods, few roads and few people.”

  “I hope Mel makes it back here someday.”

  “So do I. Let’s find that spring. We’re wasting time.”

  They headed uphill in silence. Despite everything, they were both in a good mood, simply because they knew their friends at the horse farm had managed to escape before the soldiers arrived. Even so, there were plenty of dark clouds hanging over not only their heads but everyone they knew and cared about.

  Brian talked as he moved along behind his father. “You know, that old guy is going to have a hard time out here. How long are we going to have to hide in these woods?”

  Nate froze for a second. “There are plenty of empty homes and hunting cabins in the area. It won’t be too long before we find better accommodations than sleeping on the ground.” He thought it best not to tell his son the whole truth. Chances were, they would be fugitives from the law until Washington was cleaned out, and no one had any idea how long that would be – if ever.

  Chapter 11

  Lieutenant Nelson Herzing called Capt. Cleef over. “Sir, some CIA spook is on the radio and claims to have direct orders from the president himself.” He grimaced.

  “What? Out with it, LT,” Capt. Cleef growled.

  “He says they’re taking over the operation and we’re to assist.”

  Capt. Cleef bellowed, “Bullshit! My CO is Colonel Donovan and I take my orders from him.” He rushed over to the radio. Talking to the radio telephone operator, or RTO, he said, “Get me that damn spook.” He scratched his chin. “Forget that. To hell with the spooks. Get Colonel Donovan.”

  SFC Bartow found Colonel Donovan sleeping on a couch someone had carried into his office, so he would not have to sleep on the floor. “Colonel. Colonel, we have a problem.”

  Instantly awake, Donovan sat up. “What is it?”

  “That team of spooks has contacted Captain Cleef, and their leader is demanding to take over the operation. Cleef is on the radio now asking instructions from you.”

  Without hesitation, Donovan rushed to the radio. He dispensed with all the normal radio procedures and protocol and went straight to the point. “Captain Cleef, I order you to let the civilians go and tell them to run like hell and hide. Give them back their weapons and other personal property.”

  Cleef’s confused voice came back and resonated in the office. “Yes Sir.”

  “And Captain Cleef,” Donovan added, “abort the search for the rest of the civilians. Leave those people alone. If the spooks give you any trouble, tell them to kiss your ass. Tell them you take your orders directly from your CO, not the CIA.”

  “Yes Sir.” Capt. Cleef signed off.

  Donovan’s face turned a shade redder than normal. “Someone raise that damn spook team. I want to talk to the SOB who is harassing my officers.”

  SFC Bartow grinned. “Yes Sir.” His grin vanished with a thought. “Sir, you know calling off the search for the civilians without orders is crossing the Rubicon. If you weren’t in trouble already, you will be shortly.”

  With a perfect deadpan face, Donovan said, “I didn’t think of that.”

  Bartow didn’t smile, instead, his brow knotted with concern. “Do you have an end game? This could get nasty.”

  Donovan answered, “There is no end game. At least not one that finishes well. Nasty isn’t the word. More like deadly.”

  Bartow nodded and swallowed. “I’ll get the spooks on the horn for you.”

  After cussing out the CIA team and telling them to stay away from his soldiers, Donovan spoke to Brigadier General Bernard Myers in Fort Benning, Georgia by satellite phone. “Sir, none of the civilians I’ve been ordered to hunt down have done anything wrong. Six of them were investigating terrorism in the county and stumbled onto some kind of a Black Ops nightmare ordered by the president himself. The six are all associated with the local Sheriff’s Department here and were doing their best to protect the people of the county. When they realized what they stumbled onto, they ran for it, knowing Washington would want to shut them up. The other civilians at the horse farm have nothing to do with any of this. They just happen to be friends of the six local law enforcement volunteers. They most likely still know nothing about the Black Ops BS.”

  “I see,” the general said. “This is a spook matter and you do not have the clearance to even be discussing it.” He hesitated for a second. “Hell, if I’m going to look into this mess, I need to know what you know. What exactly is this spook operation?”

  “It’s worse than just bullshit politics, sir. It appears the president wants more social and political instability, as if we don’t already have enough. I think he’s also worried about the big farm the locals have been working on here. He’s been using food to control the people and he doesn’t want the citizens here or anywhere else to be able to actually feed themselves. Never mind the fact Washington doesn’t have the ability to feed everyone and has allowed starvation to spread over the country. He has spooks drumming up antigovernment sentiment in the area – and who knows where else, maybe all across the country – and terrorist activity has increased here as a result. People have died. With the psychological condition that most of the people are in after the trauma they’ve been through over the last year and a half, it’s not exactly hard to push them over the edge.”

  The general sounded like he blew a gasket, but he said nothing.

  “Sir, I believe the order to hunt down innocent civilians and hold them for questioning, perhaps to be tortured by CIA operatives, and to arrest the local law enforcement personnel here is unlawful and immoral. I hereby inform you that I respectfully refuse to follow this order. If you wish, I will resign my commission immediately.”

  “Well.” The general sighed audibly over the satellite phone. “When you decide to dump a shitload on me, you don’t play around. This conversation alone could get both of us in hot water. Give me some time to digest all of this, will you?”

  “Sir, the American people are drowning in deep shit from the bottom up, and they do not need this fake president and his own private Congress in Washington doing all they can to make it rain shit on their heads from the top down.”

  “I hear you. Well, try to hold the fort until tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll find a replacement for you, just in case you do wind up having to resign. Just keep in mind one thing, I believe in civilian control over the military. I believe it is a basic concept of America’s system of government, and I will not support any kind of revolt or coup.”

  “Yes sir, I understand that. And I have not mentioned any such thing. I have simply informed you I refuse to follow unlawful and immoral orders and have offered my resignation. What happens after I’m gone is a matter for others to decide.”

  “Just sit tight, Colonel, and wait until I get back to you. In the meantime, do not speak to anyone about this matter.”

  ~~~

  It was Brian who stumbled onto the spring. He hand-signaled his father the way he had been taught. While waiting for Nate to ease through the brush and close the 35 yards that stood between them, Brian examined the water’s edge and saw many tracks. He noticed deer, wild hogs, raccoons, possums, even foxes and coyotes frequented the spring for water. He knew other predators were probably attracted to the area also, to prey on those animals that came for a drink and the raccoons that came to catch fish and whatever else they could find in the water.

  When his father came close enough, Brian whispered, “No human tracks.”

  “Good.” Noticing Brian’s interest in the tracks, Nate observed, “Even though the spring’s not that far from the river and other sources of water, it’s still a natural watering hole.”

  Brian nodded in silence. He slid out of his pack and prepared to fill his canteen, along with Deni’s. “This would be a goo
d place to set up snares, since there are no people around, just a lot of thirsty animals.”

  Nate followed suit, slipping out of his pack. “Hold on a second and watch how I do it.” He took a two-quart canteen, leaving the lid tight, and thrust it down into the clear, roiling water, holding it in front of the spring opening, which was only three or four inches in diameter and lined by limestone rock. With his other hand, he unscrewed the lid, letting the air escape as the water rushed in. He didn’t bother to filter it with a shirt or some other cloth because the spring wasn’t a sand boil, and the water was clear. When the canteen was full, he screwed the lid tight, lifted it out of the water, and handed it to Brian, taking an empty one from him at the same time. “This water is cold.” He stood knee-deep in it, and already his lower legs felt like ice.

  “Maybe you should’ve taken your boots off first,” Brian suggested.

  “Too late now. Give me another canteen.” Exchanging a full canteen for an empty one from Brian, Nate said, “This’ll be a good place to sit and soak during the heat of summer.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not summer now. And I doubt your boots, socks, and pant legs will be completely dry by tonight when the temperature’s down in the 30s.”

  “I have extras, except for the boots.”

  Standing on the edge of the water and leaning over, Brian handed him another empty canteen. “We can’t chance a warming fire at night, can we?”

  Nate filled the last canteen. “No. And we’ll have to be careful about cooking and boiling water. We’ll dig a small hole to build a fire in with a narrow ventilation tunnel off to the side. Burning only the driest wood will help keep the smoke down, and using a fire only large enough to do the job will reduce the heat signature as much as possible. Still, a fire of any kind is a risk. Modern technology has made it much harder to hide, even in the woods. I’ve read many accounts of Che Guevara being tracked by U.S. satellites, which led to his execution. Supposedly, they were able to track him by satellite as he made his way through the jungle, because he stopped every night and built a fire for tea. Personally, I think he would have been building a fire for coffee. Anyway, he was traveling along a river, building fires every night, so the CIA only had to tell the soldiers where to wait in ambush. He was captured alive and then executed. One rumor has it at least one finger was removed, in case Washington wanted to get fingerprints for verification. An entire hand was sent to Castro.”