The Shadow Patriots Box Set 1

by Warren Ray

  Inside were two men on the far side of a large room. They sat in beige theater recliners, facing a flat screen TV watching a movie.

  Winters raised two fingers. He motioned for Meeks and Scar to check the other rooms. He placed his knife back in his sheath, drew out his Colt 1911, and walked into the room. He cocked the hammer back on the pistol. The clicking alerted Boxer and the other man.

  Both turned their heads to see the gun pointed at them.

  As Boxer’s man reached inside his jacket, Winters squeezed the trigger and blew a hole in his head, splattering blood and skull fragments onto the chair.

  “I’ve got six men guarding this place,” cried Boxer.

  “You did have six men, and he was your last hope,” said Winters pointing toward the man slumped dead in the chair.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you, Mr. Boxer.”

  “So, you know who I am. Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the man you’ve been chasing.”

  The answer took Boxer a moment to grasp. His eyes then got big as he realized who stood before him.

  The shocked expression on Boxer's face stirred immense pleasure in Winters. His glare reflected his contempt for the man responsible for the killing of his friends back at the train station.

  That night had been a turning point in his life. Would he flee or fight?

  He did both.

  He was scared, so he ran. His friends were dead, and he had counted on them to lean on. He came back because he owed it to them. Killing the killers had given him a small degree of satisfaction, but now he faced the man who was responsible for it all.

  “So, you’re him.”

  Winters nodded.

  “Back from Canada, I see.”

  “Yes, indeed. Learned a thing or two while I was up there.”

  “And what exactly did you learn?”

  Scar and Meeks came into the room.

  “We’re good, Captain,” said Scar.

  Meeks looked at Boxer. “This is him? He doesn’t look like much. Bit of a geek if you ask me.”

  Scar quipped. “Bet he got his ass kicked in high school.”

  Meeks smirked. “Oh, you know he did.”

  “Tie him up,” ordered Winters.

  Meeks and Scar grabbed the man, checked his pockets for weapons and sat him in a chair. Meeks left to find something to restrain him with and came back with a roll of duct tape.

  “Duct tape, can use it for anything,” chuckled Meeks.

  Boxer wrinkled his eyebrows. “What are you going to do with me?” He asked in a high pitched voice.

  Winters didn’t answer right away and then spoke with an icy voice. “Seeing as you’re responsible for the killing of what, hundreds, thousands, of innocent people, we’re going to kill you.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Boxer whined.

  “Yes, it was,” retorted Winters.

  “I was just following orders,” he pleaded.

  Winters pointed his gun at Boxer. “Isn’t that what all of Hitler’s men said.”

  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, just please don’t kill me.”

  “How about you start with the Patriot Centers, they were your idea weren’t they?”

  “Sort of…mine and others.”

  “Why?”

  “The Government wants to be in complete control of the country, but to do that, the Midwest had to be subdued. The East Coast had been easy to organize, but the Midwest has been a lot more difficult. It’s bigger, more spread out, and the people are more stubborn and independent than we thought. The way they continued to protest, we were surprised to learn how leery everyone was of the new government. After the gun reclamation program failed, they realized they’d never be able to get everybody’s guns, so we came up with the idea of, instead of getting rid of the guns, we’d get rid of the gun owners. So, we used the war, as an excuse to have you guys come in voluntarily.”

  Winters' mouth dropped open as the devastating truth burned through his mind. He turned to Scar and Meeks, both of whom were staring daggers at Boxer. “What better way than to tug at our heartstrings.”

  Scar gestured with his hands. “Yeah, come on, serve your country, we need you.”

  Meeks chimed in. “You know what they say, never let a good crisis go to waste.”

  “So, with fewer gun owners around,” snorted Winters, “it’d be a hell of a lot easier to round up the rest of the citizenry.”

  “Bingo,” said Boxer.

  The three of them shook their heads in disgust.

  Winters sat down in a chair trying to digest what he'd just heard. He didn’t want to believe Boxer, but even though it made no sense, it actually did.

  He remembered how, just last year, when the new government formed, it shocked everyone, when the President threw out the Constitution. Across the country, citizens started more protests to get their rights back. It was a sickening feeling that one day you could speak your mind and the next day, censorship was the rule. The gun reclamation program was the final straw for many. Knowing you would not be able to defend yourself against crime or what now looked like a tyrannical government was soul crushing.

  However, all the hatred toward the government had changed the day China invaded California. Overnight, patriotism came back in style, sweeping the country, and everyone wanted to help drive out the foreign invaders.

  Little did they know, the government was fighting two wars, one against the Chinese and the other against its own citizens.

  What kind of people actually believe that the means justifies any action? He would never understand it, but then like the old man at the gas station had said, it doesn’t matter the reason why, just that they’re doing it.

  Winters turned back to Boxer. “What about the terrorists?”

  “They were brought here as a backup plan, in case something went wrong.”

  “Went wrong?”

  Boxer spoke defiantly. “Yes…they’re here because of you.”

  Winters looked confounded. “Me! What do you mean?”

  “You and your rebels. These Patriot Centers were working perfectly, so well, in fact, we were going to expand them to include the entire country, but then you came along. Once you started putting us out of business, we needed to put our back up plan into action. So, with you making all this trouble, we had to go with Operation Sweep.”

  Winters raised an eyebrow. “Operation Sweep?”

  “Total destruction, like Sherman’s march to the sea. You didn’t actually think we’d stop what we were doing, did you? You forced us to go and hire some very nasty people. People who really hate Americans, to do our dirty work. Not only are they expendable, but they'll also drive more citizens out. The citizens will then beg us to come in and protect them. That's where the National Police come in, to finish mopping up.”

  The three didn’t respond.

  “No, had it not been for you, our initial plan would have worked quite brilliantly. Taking advantage of one’s patriotic duty to fight in the war had been easy.”

  Scar moved in and backhanded Boxer across the face, knocking his glasses off. “You piece of shit.”

  Boxer cried out.

  Scar stepped back.

  Boxer struggled to compose himself. “Think what you like, but we live in a different world now. It’s every man for himself.”

  “Who orchestrated all of this? Who’s your boss?” asked Winters.

  “Lawrence Reed is my direct boss, but he takes his orders from Perozzi.”

  “George Perozzi, the billionaire?” quizzed Winters

  “Yes.”

  “He works for the government?” Winters asked confused.

  “No, but he has a definite influence.”

  “What kind of influence?”

  “He spreads money around, it buys him favors.”

  “What kind of favors?”

  “I don’t know what his overall goal is, all I know is everyone kisses his ass, even the Preside
nt.”

  “But what about the war effort?”

  “It’s a lost cause. In case you haven’t figured it out, we’re losing the war and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Scar pulled his gun out of his waistband. “We ought to shoot this son-of-a-bitch right now.”

  Winters lifted his hand. “No, I’ve got a better idea.”

  Epilogue

  Two Weeks Later

  The information Commandant Boxer possessed made him too valuable for an act of vengeance. Instead, Winters took him to Canada and handed him over to Colonel Brocket, who was more than happy to interrogate him.

  Within a few days, Brocket felt confident they had gotten everything possible out of Boxer, allowing them to piece more of the puzzle together.

  Major Green reported about the accident that had befallen Colonel Nunn. The colonel had gotten drunk in his office, and apparently stumbled hitting his head on his desk, killing him. They held a small ceremony at the post, cremated the body and flew the ashes to Washington for burial.

  Based on information provided by Boxer and relayed to Green, he was able to round up the remaining terrorists. They had escaped to a nearby safe house. Once they were all in custody, Green immediately had them executed. It was a small act of retribution to help alleviate the loss of his men, especially his friend Lieutenant Crick.

  While in Canada, Winters used the downtime to reflect. Throughout the whole ordeal, he had wanted nothing more than to be done with it, and then go search for his daughter. He had struggled with being the one everyone had relied upon and he doubted everything he did and the wisdom of those who had put him in charge. Winters had never seen himself as a leader. He had never been in such a position. In fact, he mostly avoided it, always feeling more comfortable being told what to do, and just being responsible for his own work.

  He sat alone in his room and wrestled with these thoughts sitting alone in his room. One day, General Standish visited him and noticed his despair. After a few prodding questions, Winters confided in him. Standish understood and reminded him of their conversation about his destiny.

  “Think about your actions at the train station. Your sense of duty to your fallen friends was stronger than the concern for your own life. These types of actions speak volumes about men, but even more for someone as humble as yourself. Your humility in what you did, was what the men saw and respected in you. Had you been a braggart, things would have been much different. You were the right man at the right time. This is why I say you are a man of destiny.”

  Winters came to realize he had sold himself short on what he was capable of doing. It bothered him knowing all these years, he could have done something more with his life. Been more of a leader in his career, the community and more importantly been a better father to his daughter. This disturbed him the most. Looking back, he realized he could have also handled things better with her. He now felt responsible for pushing her away and ultimately driving her off. He also felt sorry for her, that she had felt so alienated that she wasn’t there for her mom when she passed away.

  * * * * *

  Winters drove a pickup truck to an abandoned store outside of Rockford, Illinois and pulled into the parking lot. He stepped out and extended his hand to Major Green.

  “Major, it’s good to see you.”

  “Likewise, Captain.”

  Winters leaned on the side of the truck. “I understand you've rounded up the rest of the terrorists.”

  “We did, thanks to you and Mr. Scarborough for getting that info to us.”

  “Well, you can thank British Intelligence for getting it out of Boxer.”

  “I’m just glad to be rid of them, and him.”

  “And your superiors, they bought the story of Colonel Nunn? And what do they say about Boxer?”

  “Nunn was known for his heavy drinking, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch. They figured it was you, who took Boxer. They still want me to do all I can to find you.”

  Winters smiled. “Yes, well good luck with that.”

  “This is why I wanted to meet with you. You’ve got some folks in Washington extremely pissed at you. They’ve started a massive propaganda campaign blaming your Shadow Patriots for the murder of Commandant Boxer, and the killing of defenseless men, women and children.”

  Winters shook his head.

  “They’re afraid of you and what you’ll do next. They’ll send more men and possibly more terrorists to eliminate you as a threat.”

  “It seems they’ll stop at nothing.”

  “They’ll do all they can to learn your identity. I’ll keep throwing up roadblocks and feeding you whatever information I can, but at some point, they’ll figure out it’s me.”

  “I understand, but we'll worry about that when the time comes,” said Winters firmly gripping the hand of the man who was once his enemy, but was now his friend.

  New Recruits - #2

  The Shadow Patriots Book Two

  Chapter 1

  Decatur Michigan

  A strong wind howled across the road blowing Meeks’ unruly blonde hair in his face. He and Scar stood observing the plumes of smoke rising in the direction of Decatur, Michigan. They headed there to check out the last Patriot Center. Meeks tucked his hair back under his “Hawkeye” hat and got back in the black Mustang they’d picked up the day before. They found it at the Ohio Center, it had a full tank of gas, and it was a Mustang. Meeks had always wanted one, but with a wife and three kids, he could never justify it.

  The two looked at each other and without saying a word, Meeks pushed down on the pedal and picked up speed as they drove on Highway 51 outside of Dowagiac. The faster he went the more adrenaline he could feel surging through his body.

  The billows of smoke grew wider the closer they got to Decatur. They entered the town and saw a haze hovering in the air emitting a putrid smell. Houses up and down the main road were all burned down, some with small flames still shooting out. They both had seen this type of destruction before back in Victor, Iowa and Brainerd, Minnesota, but they hadn’t seen it anywhere else.

  They slowly reached the bend in the road on Delaware Street and turned into the dirt parking lot of two smoldering buildings.

  Scar turned to his friend. “We can assume the Patriot Center is gone as well.”

  “Why in the hell would somebody do this?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the workers at the Center were pissed they were being put out of business.”

  “Seems like a lot of work to set every house on fire. Heck, it had to have taken all damn day to do it,” said Meeks.

  “Whoever did it must have been pretty pissed off about something.”

  “What do you want to do?” asked Meeks.

  “I don’t know. See if anyone’s around.”

  “Doubt we’ll find anybody.”

  Meeks put the car in drive and spun it around in the dirt. He took a right on Edgar Bergen Boulevard. He drove slowly as they observed the destroyed houses while looking to see if they could spot anyone. The road went through a cemetery, where headstones sat on either side of them. As they came to an intersection, Meeks was the first to notice a group of vehicles in the parking lot of a closed-down school. There were people standing around them.

  “Check it out. We got some guys over there,” he said pointing to the school.

  “Yes, we do. That’s weird.”

  “What’s weird?”

  “It’s the only building not burned down.”

  Meeks kept his foot on the brake and watched the men turn their attention towards them.

  “You think they’re friendly?” asked Meeks.

  “I’m not sure, but I’m…” Scar stopped mid-sentence when some of the men scrambled to their vehicles and a couple of others raised their weapons and fired at them.

  “Oh boy,” said Meeks.

  “Back it up! Back it up!” yelled Scar.

  Meeks threw the car in reverse and jammed the accelerator down, spinning the tires. White
smoke from the tires blew past them as the Mustang rocketed backward.

  “Brace yourself,” Meeks ordered.

  Meeks pushed his left foot to the floorboard to steady himself, found a clear spot in the rearview mirror, whipped the wheel hard letting it go, and then grabbing back ahold. The car spun around in a 180, as Meeks slammed the gearshift in drive, and the Mustang shot forward like a cannonball.

  Scar turned in his seat. “Here they come.”

  Meeks took a stiff turn to the right screeching the tires as the nimble car attacked the corner. The tight turn pushed Scar into Meeks forcing him to hang on. The street was straight and he smashed the pedal down unleashing the four hundred horses under the hood.

  “Up ahead.”

  “I see 'em,” said Meeks as he took another right and then a left. He threaded the car through the neighborhood trying to lose their pursuers, who were coming hard on their tail. Meeks needed to find his way out of the small town so he could call on the big V-8 once again. His knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel and a bead of sweat dropped from his eyebrow.

  Scar pulled his Kimber .45 out, chambered a round, and clicked the safety off all in one motion. He pushed the window button and lowered the glass. A strong blast of air threatened to blow his Marine emblem hat off his head. He removed it before sticking his head out the window. He pointed the pistol at the SUV that was following them and fired off a couple of shots. The SUV slowed down, but then Scar saw a gun pointing at them and then the powder flash from the barrel. He emptied his magazine as he returned fire and moved back inside just in time to see a car coming straight at them.

  Meeks slammed on the brakes with both feet and steered into a gravel lot of a grain elevator. He once again floored the pedal and had to wrestle for control as the car kicked up gravel and dust. The pursuing SUV followed them into the lot. Meeks went into a 360-degree turn, steering with it to maintain the controlled skid. The spinning tires created a dust cloud giving them cover.

  Meeks swerved the car back onto the pavement, and the wheels bit instantly. He had to tangle with the wheel again for control. The low-built, heavy Mustang held the road like a magnet and they shot down St George Street, which led them out of town.