Ask Me When You’re Older: Short Story

The Serpent's Loft

“Ask me when you’re older,” was the now surly behavioural containment unit specialist’s answer. The young man looked out of place in his oh-so-civilised duds; button down shirt, khakis and shoes without worn out leather. The conservatism of it all seemed wasteful. Chasing appearances.

“Why do you always say that?” the man’s charge asked, pulling at the edges of his (what the man assumed was) limited edition Pokemon Generation Whatever t-shirt. He’d been told before, in excoriating, dare he say merciless detail, precisely why the shirt was a great thing.

“You can ask me that when you’re older too,” the man said. He looked at the window, whose rolled shades were pulled down to within an inch of the questionably painted sill above the rickety radiator. It was raining outside. You wouldn’t know it, the shades were kept closed to prevent, and he quotes, “emotional disturbances.”

What a crock of…

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“Thank You for Your Service”

This is a work of Short Fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in this short story are entirely fictional and are of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or organizations or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

The old man stood in front of the full length mirror admiring his military uniform. Though it has been over sixty years since he had last worn it, surprisingly it still fit him fairly well. That was most likely because he was now at the same weight he was at twenty years old, a buck fifty! The old man smiled at the thought as his liver spotted wrinkled hand carefully checked the three rows of ribbons and medals that adorned his left breast. Satisfied all was in order, he then put on his cover (his hat) and carefully centered it low over his brow. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the picture of his late wife and his two married sons he kept on the dresser and then turned and walked out his front door.

A small black SUV waited at the curb with the back door open.

The old man gingerly crawled into the vehicle and after buckling his seatbelt, the door automatically closed.

“Please place your thumb on the green keypad in front of you” a stern female AI voice commanded over the vehicles speakers.

The old man grudgingly complied and after a series of beeps the doors locked and the vehicle pulled away from the curb with a mild electric hum.

“Good Morning 310654, this trip to the Hunger Mandate Processing Center will take precisely five minutes and thirty four seconds. Enjoy the ride and Thank you for your Service.”

The old man stared out the window at the passing city scenery but in his mind he was a million miles away. Full color mental images of his late wife and two grown sons filled his thoughts as did holding his new infant grand-daughter at the hospital three months ago. The old man wiped a tear from his eye. These were the things he wanted to remember today, not this sad, despicable place.

“We have arrived at your destination. Please watch your step when exiting the vehicle.”

The old man waited for the door to open and then carefully got out. As the vehicle hummed away the old man looked up at the industrial grey skyscraper in front of him, The Hunger Mandate Processing Center.

“You there! Do you have business inside the center?” a Sentry in full grey battle rattle approached him, his attack robot dog by his side.

Before the old man could answer the cop produced a retinal scanner and in seconds had every piece of information he needed.

“310654 you have a priority tasking inside the center, come with me!”

Before the old man knew what was happening he was being forcefully escorted inside the building by the sentry, the robotic dog emanating a low growl the whole time as they walked. When they entered the building the cop pointed to a bank of red elevators on the far wall.

“Priority tasking is Elevator 32, it’s straight ahead, you can’t miss it. Thank you for your service.”

As the cop walked away the old man considered making a run for it. He could walk right back out that door, turn a corner, jump into a cab and be gone. Of course they would track him down in due course, a dozen cops in full battle rattle armed with stun batons ready to “tag and bag” him back to the Hunger Mandate Processing Center.

No, he had made up his mind. He was going through with it. Besides, the survival of his family depended on it.

The old man made his way over to Elevator 32 and pushed the green button. A few seconds passed and the doors to the elevator parted open. As soon as the old man was inside the doors closed and a woman’s stern voice asked for him to stand still for a full body scan. The elevator lights dimmed and a series of green lasers began scanning the old man’s body in a grid fashion, going up and down from his head to his feet several times. When it was done the lights came back up to full power and the woman’s voice came over the speaker:

“Scan confirmed. Thank you for you cooperation and Service.”

It took another full minute before the elevator doors finally opened at their destination.

“Priority Tasking 310654, Please follow the green arrows on the floor.”  A female voice announced out of a loudspeaker on the wall.

The room was dark and cold and the only thing visible was the flashing green arrows. The old man gingerly stepped out of the elevator and followed the flashing arrows around to the right, down a large ramp and onto a large metal platform with the word STOP HERE! in flashing red lights.

The old man peered into the vast darkness around him as mechanical whirling noises filled the cavernous room. And then, suddenly, without warning, a large spotlight from above blinded him and a woman’s voice boomed out of a series of loudspeakers around him.

“310654 according to the body scan you have Stage 3 Pancreatic Cancer, inoperable. Life Expectancy, 124 days, are you aware of this?”

“Yes I am” the old man said with confidence.

“And is this council to understand that you wish to take advantage of our Legacy Waiver Benefit today?”

“Yes, that is correct” the old man replied, staring straight ahead.

“Just to clarify, your Combat Veteran status gives you the Legacy Waiver option which provides the opportunity for you to Sacrifice your Body for the Greater Good and in doing so exempt both of your sons from having to sacrifice themselves when they reach the current Terminus Age of 81, do you understand this?”

“Yes, I understand.” the old man’s voice cracked.

There was a long moment of pause.

“310654 This council accepts your great Sacrifice to the New People’s Marxist Republic and Thanks You for your Great Courage and Service! Please know that every part of your body will be processed and used for nutrient rich food to feed the multitude of starving foreign workers across our great land! This Council Thanks you for your Service!”

The old man closed his eyes. “God please forgive me.” he whispered.

The spotlight went dark and the platform was lowered into a small, sealed concrete basement room where an odorless nerve agent was pumped in.

In just under 70 seconds the old man was dead and his body removed by a large mechanical robot arm and dumped into a waiting semi-trailer with hundreds of other “Sacrifices” which were then taken to a processing plant where the bodies were skinned, gutted, boiled and refined by chemical reverse osmosis into a vanilla flavored protein powder with the trade name “YUM”.

Yum could be mixed with water or taken alone by the Tablespoonful.

One serving provided 2,000 calories and 20 grams of protein.

 

THE END

Sleepless Nights: Short Story

The Serpent's Loft

A man and a woman lie in bed. Flat on their backs they lie, staring up above. Where there ought to have been pillow talk, or at least sweet nothings, there was instead quiet. That silence was illuminated by the milky grey-blue glow of the crisp moonlit sky as it negligently discharged through the panes of reinforced glass cross their footboard. Their shapes under the plaid blanket were still, almost like a snapshot but for their tired breathing. The woman lay bleary eyed with her pale hands lain limply along her side. And the man lay stiffly, hands folded over his chest, almost contemptuously albeit indirectly fixated on her peaking stress.

“Are we going to be okay?”

The sound of the man grinding his wisdom teeth could be heard quite clearly.

“Are we going to be okay?” She asked again.

The grinding intensified. One of these days he knew he’d…

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American Requiem

This is a work of Fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in this short story are entirely fictional and are of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or organizations or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

“I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter: So help me God.”

(U.S. Military Oath of Enlistment)

 

Day 1 – Thursday

 

The four wheel drive pickup left the asphalt of Interstate ninety in the wee hours and turned off on an unmarked dirt road that snaked its way through the south Texas chaparral and dry arroyos, eventually dead-ending three hundred yards from the Rio Grande river. As the two men inside the pickup quietly downloaded their weapons and gear from the back, a waning crescent moon glimmered small splinters of white light across the river as flocks of pintail and muscovy ducks roosted in a stand of cottonwoods on the far bank. For this operation each man was outfitted in minimalist fashion for speed and concealment with a standard loadout of ammo, water and meds. In addition they also carried an iPhone with night vision capability.

Dawn was approximately three hours away as they hit their objective eight clicks southeast; an elevated plateau with plenty of good cover and excellent visibility of the river below. After checking the GPS one of the men scanned below with his night vision monocular. In a small draw some two hundred yards from the river was a large square piece of IFF marking tape tied to a mesquite tree, it was like a blinking neon sign when looked upon with night vision. The intel had been solid. This was the RV. Now all they had to do was wait.

The night was quiet and cool with the sounds of the river being interrupted only by the croak of bull frogs or the occasional shriek of an owl hunting along the river bank. As the wee hours churned into early morning, a mist fell over the river like a soft blanket and the dewpoint and temperature dropped by five degrees. The four rhib boats appeared out of the mist with no nav lights and their outboard muffled engines barely audible.

The two men on the plateau above began recording with their phones as each boat maneuvered close to the bank. The lead boat had four armed men with rifles and around half a dozen extra large black Pelican cases on board. The other three boats had between six to seven men each. Once all the boats had landed, one of the armed men produced a cell phone and made a text. A few minutes passed and several ATV and truck engines could be heard approaching from up the draw. They came in blacked out with the drivers using night vision goggles to navigate.

 This was it, showtime.

The unloading of the cases was done quickly with the ATV’s making one trip each to get them up to the waiting van’s. When that was done twenty men disembarked and made their way up the river bank. In a span of three minutes everything and everybody was loaded and gone. It was eerily efficient, like they had done this dozens of times before.

The two documentarians arrived back at the truck just as a lavender and pink dawn was beginning to break in the eastern Texas sky.

“My God what did we just witness Kyle?”

“Treason. High fucking treason is what we just witnessed.” Kyle replied, shaking his head in disbelief with his heart thumping like a jackrabbit.

Day 2 – Friday

 

Charlie “Buzz” Warden, Commander of the Texas Brigade Militia was an imposing figure of a man. At six foot four and two hundred and fifty pounds he resembled a cross between a ninth century Viking and a redneck shade tree mechanic. His tan and leathery bald head was typically always covered with a mossy oak camouflage cap and although his full spartan goatee had more gray in it than brown, Buzz was a warrior, cut from the sacred cloth of the old breed and schooled by the deadliest men the American military had ever produced. Whenever you saw Buzz you could always count on him having two things:  His red plastic spit cup and a Glock 19 RMR with an extended mag in an Appendix rig.

When Buzz entered the room it got quiet.

“Alright Gentlemen it’s time to go to work so stop the grab assin’ and bullshit and listen up. What you are about to see is considered For Your Eyes Only and does not leave this room. You were selected to view it because of your command positions within the unit, so don’t be a cheese dick and go run your mouth to your wife or girlfriend. Some background before you watch it: Paul and Kyle were contacted by a fellow patriot who wishes to remain anonymous. He proceeded to give them information on a scheduled meet on the border between members of The Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG) and unknown members of the U.S. Government. That is all the information we were given but as you will see, the video speaks for itself. Play it when you are ready Paul.”

As Buzz took a seat, so did the rest of the men in the room. Paul signaled for the lights to be turned out and then clicked the play button on the laptop. The video began playing on a sixty inch flat screen mounted on the wall. After Kyle’s splicing of all the footage, the total run time for the video was just under seven minutes. After it had finished playing there was complete silence in the room.

“Play it again from the start.” Buzz commanded.

As soon as the ATV’s began making their way down to the boats Buzz held up his hand for Kyle to pause the video. Buzz got up from his chair and walked up to the screen and stared for a long minute, his massive frame blocking out the T.V. like a Texas live oak.

“OK, play it from there.” Buzz commanded, still standing.

The video played another couple of minutes until the men from the boats began loading up in the vans.

“Pause it there!” Buzz commanded, again closely inspecting the image for a long minute.

After getting a fresh dip and spitting into his cup Buzz turned around to speak to Kyle.

“They were careful with the vehicles. I don’t see any kind of unique markings.”

“Maybe they were stolen?” One of the men in the back proffered.

“If we were talking about one ATV or one van that might hold water but when there are half a dozen ATV’s and three vans? No, that is pure complicity all the way.” Kyle replied.

“So you are saying the Government agency tasked with protecting the U.S. Border is actually working to weaken and dismantle it? How do we not know this is just some rogue group of corrupt officers who have been bribed or blackmailed by the cartel? I mean that’s not that fantastic or uncommon of a scenario.”  The same man replied.

“Until we get more information, right now any theory is plausible.” Kyle replied

Buzz let out a laugh from the front of the room that made the room hush.

“I think you boys are not seeing the forest for the trees here.”

“What do you mean?” One of the men asked.

“Play it through to where the vans are being loaded up with those men.” Buzz asked Paul, motioning with his big butcher hands.

Kyle fast forwarded to the six minute mark and paused it.

Buzz stood staring for a minute at the screen and then turned around slowly to face the room.

“Yeah it’s obvious the Government, or at least a group of people within the Government, are actively trying to undermine and subvert the security of this nation by partnering with the cartels in what appears to be most certainly arms and/or drug trafficking.”

Buzz let his words hang in the air for a long minute as he looked around, meeting the gaze of each man with his pale blue eyes.

“But the bigger question that remains is just who the hell are these twenty military age WHITE males that the U.S. Government is going to all this trouble to smuggle INTO the U.S.?  I can tell you right now they sure as hell ain’t here to pick strawberries!”

A low, excited murmur went through the room.

An hour later after everybody had left Buzz, Kyle and Paul remained in the “War Room” sharing Cohiba cigars and a bottle of Glennfiddich single malt to decompress. As Kyle sat on the sofa squinting through the smoke, he admired the collection of pictures, flags and military decorations on the wall. Buzz had been a ground pounder in the Marines and had served with distinction in Iraq. Most notably in the Battle of Ramadi in 2006 with the Second Battalion Fourth Marine Division (2/4) aka “The Magnificent Bastards.”

Unlike almost everybody in the militia, Kyle did not have military experience. During his sophomore year in college he was snatched up by a NSA contract agency and spent the next five years finding terrorists in cyberspace all over the globe. He quit at the tender age of twenty-seven and began his own cyber-security consulting firm in Dallas. It wasn’t until he ran into Paul, an old friend from high school who had just returned from two tours in Iraq with the Army Rangers that he was invited to lend his skill-set to the Texas Brigade.

“I want you guys to reach out to everybody you can to try and ID those twenty men. Kyle, you might want to reach out to your source and see if he can come up with any other information. Time is of the essence here.” Buzz exhaled the cigar smoke into the room like a dragon.

Paul and Kyle nodded approvingly.

Buzz closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked tired and worried.

“You OK Buzz?” Paul asked concerned.

Buzz let out a long breath and opened his eyes. He didn’t answer but just stared at a far point on the wall in deep concentration.

Day 3 – Saturday

Logan Riggs was getting tired of living in his van and pissing in gatorade bottles, but such was the life of a private investigator. He had been doing surveillance for three days and nights now on the wife of one Thomas J. Lazlo III, a dyed in the wool one percenter asshole who had made his fortune in textiles. Lazlo believed his wife, Patricia, age fifty-three, was cheating on him with her yoga instructor, a man half her age, and he needed proof to nullify her substantial alimony in the upcoming divorce. Logan laughed reading the financials. It was all bottom line dollars and cents with these assholes. The Good Mr. Lazlo was paying Logan a paltry sum of five thousand dollars plus expenses to get photographic or video evidence of “extra-marital affairs” with the pony-tailed Yoga guru so Mr. Lazlo could save himself from having to pay over fifteen thousand a month in alimony after their divorce!

“Jesus, I need to raise my prices! These people are getting a damn bargain!” Logan said to himself, feeling like an idiot since there was nobody else in the vehicle but him.

Unbeknownst to Mr. Lazlo, Logan had dozens of ‘compromising’ photos of him and his twenty-two year old nympho mistress together at a downtown eatery and at a local hotel pool. Hypocrisy was second nature to these people, so Logan always made sure to hedge his bets and play every angle. Who knows what Mrs. Lazlo would pay for such information? Fifty K, or three months alimony sounded about right to Logan. Suddenly, his burner cell rang. He recognized the caller ID of “Ellis Roofing” with a New Orleans area code. These guys were wizards when it came to counter-surveillance. He put it on speaker.

“I did not think I would be hearing from you again so soon.” Logan said staring through a Canon high power camera lens pointed at the bedroom window of the yoga teacher.

“We need one more favor from you Mr. Riggs if possible.” Kyle was using a voice modulator for added security.

“Your voice changer is creeping me the hell out, so make it fast.” Logan quickly zoomed out with the camera when he thought he saw a bedroom curtain move. Fucking cat.

“We’d like to ask your source a question about the twenty men being loaded up in those vans. Does he know who they are?”

Logan pulled away from the camera lens with a confused look. Twenty men in vans? What the hell was this guy talking about? He thought that this was just another crooked Border Patrol cop facilitating a load of dope for the cartel.

Logan played it off smooth, no reason to let on to these guys he was in the dark about his own source.

“No can do. The guy’s gone off-grid, I could not find him if I wanted to.”

Logan cracked a smile. That was a flat out lie.

“Mr. Riggs, please. It’s very, very important. How about a thousand dollars for your trouble?” Kyle replied.

Logan licked his lips and zoomed out with the camera to check the other windows. Nothing. Bupkis. Zero movement in the house tonight.

“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

Logan hung up the phone and tossed it on the seat next to him.

After one more pass on the entire house he called it a night. Looks like Mr. pony tail and Mrs. L were not playing show and tell this evening. As Logan put the camera back in it’s case he stared at the burner phone laying in the seat. Something about this thing did not sit right with him.

Logan leaned his head back on the headrest and took a deep breath. Things were moving too fast and getting a tad stressful. He reached in the middle console looking for a xanax. After pushing aside his Glock he found a bottle. After washing a few down with a Corona tall boy a thought ran through his head. The longer he lived on this earth the more he realized that success or bad luck in life was all about timing, nothing more. If he had chosen not to sit on that shitty little Mexican bodega a week ago Thursday with audio and video surveillance to try and catch a store employee faking a workman’s comp injury he would have never caught the conversation between “Sanchez” the corrupt CBP officer and the CJNG cartel middleman who went by the name “Sombras.”

I mean what else could he have done with that information? He had to play the angle that was dropped in his lap right? Blackmailing that cop was going to pay a lot more than this cheap ass insurance company or Mr. and Mrs. Lazlo, that was for certain! I mean if this cop was in cahoots with CJNG, there was no telling how much he could get, right? Yeah he did mull over turning the information over to the cops anonymously, but I mean hello, he was blackmailing a corrupt Federal agent! No, at least he did the right thing and gave up the information (free of charge mind you) to one of the largest militias in the country, The Texas Brigade who were serious about keeping America’s Southern borders safe. That had eased his conscience some as he laid out his lucrative blackmail ultimatum to Sanchez.

Logan thought about the entire thing for another couple of minutes and then opened up the back of the burner phone and removed the sim card, broke it in half and then dropped everything in a large Burger King cup of flat Dr. Pepper in the middle console cup holder. Better safe than sorry.

A quarter mile away a white work van with a red placard reading “Citywide Internet Solutions’ ‘ was parked in a dead-end cul de sac. Inside two men in their early thirties who did not get enough sun and exercise sat listening intently with headphones. Otto, the lead hacker, was typing on a laptop attempting to trace while Victor was making entries in a log book.

“Whoever that caller was, they knew their shit. The call’s duration was too short for an origin trace plus the signal was bounced around the friggin universe twice.” Otto remarked, shaking his head in admiration.

“OK, looks like he  just killed his burner.” Otto added.

“The voice changer was a nice touch though. Cylons, Battlestar Galactica?” Victor asked, smiling.

Otto laughed. “You nailed it. It’s the throwback mod though, from the original series with Lorne Green, 1978.”

“You think this P.I. knows where this agent is?” Victor asked

“I sure as hell hope so, because nobody else does.” Otto replied

“The boss is getting impatient.” Victor added

“He’s impatient? I am so ready for this assignment to be over. Living in a fucking van loses it’s charm after the first twenty-four hours.” Otto replied with a smirk.

Day 4 – Sunday

 

When the morning sun feels like hot lava burning through your eyes and into your brain, you know it’s gonna be a rough day. Logan had passed out in his van two hours after the xanax. Drinking two Corona tall boys and drunk dialing his ex most likely had not helped the situation, but hey, he was stressed. This fucking Sanchez thing had his mind racing. Logan knew in his bones something was off about the whole scam and after the weird phone call yesterday he had decided to make the two hour drive to New Mexico to track down Sanchez and clear this up.

As Logan gassed up the van he considered the possibility he was over reacting with this whole thing. I mean honestly, could this just be his conscience fucking with him? The fact of the matter is Logan had come to terms with who he was a long time ago; his ex had famously told him the day she left him that he made being ‘morally ambiguous’ actually look normal. He wasn’t so sure that was intended as a compliment, but either way it verified something Logan knew about himself. He had a criminal’s mind for survival, but he wasn’t a sociopath. He still cared if innocent people got hurt from his scams, and that is why he was driving two hours out into the middle of nowhere at six in the damn morning on a Sunday!

As Logan took the exit off Interstate ten to connect with a state road running south-west toward the border, a black Chevy Tahoe exited with him a quarter of a mile back. Unbeknownst to Logan, last night after he went unconscious Otto requested a snoopy team to place a GPS beacon under the van. Unbeknownst to Otto and Victor, the two man snoopy team following Logan in the Tahoe were not standard issue F.B.I., but a group of cleaning contractors hired out special, off-book.

As Logan turned off the state road and crossed a cattle guard he rolled to a stop and double checked the GPS. There were no signs or mailboxes with an address. God he hoped he wasn’t lost. Who the hell would voluntarily want to live in the middle of a desert? He knew he was only around sixty miles from the Mexican border, which was the only reason he could come up with. After driving for ten minutes on a dirt road that snaked its way deep into the Chihuahuan desert he finally came to an old ranch style adobe house with some out buildings and a huge windmill that looked like they had been there since the days of Pancho Villa.

Before stepping out of the van Logan reached into the middle console, brass checked his Glock and clipped it into his front waistband. He then took a long pull from the fifth of Jamesons he always kept in there. Opening his door he scanned the area and called out for any dogs. Twenty-five stitches in his right ass cheek and a rabies shot last year while on a divorce snoop was a painful reminder to be better safe than sorry when it came to dogs. Seeing and hearing the all quiet Logan stepped to the front door of the house and knocked. A latino woman in her late fifties answered the door with two small chihuahuas at her feet barking. Her face was leathery and cracked from working in the sun but her dark eyes were soft.

“Buenos dias senorita, my name is Logan Riggs, I’m a Private Investigator and I am looking for Sanchez, I am an amigo of his.” Logan said, smiling flashing his I.D.

The woman hushed the dogs and then stared at Logan like he was an annoying insect.

“I don’t know any Sanchez Mr. You got the wrong place.” the woman replied in perfect english.

As she started to close the door Logan put his hand up.

“Ma’am, please, can you look at this picture? Sanchez is the only name I know him by and it’s really important I talk to him.”

Logan produced a small tablet and showed her a picture he had snapped from the meeting.

“Aunt Marta, it’s OK, I know him. Thanks.” a man said standing behind her. It was Sanchez.

Sanchez walked outside and closed the door behind him.

He was a thirty something short and stocky latino with short black hair and rugged good looks. Logan noticed he had his duty issue Glock tucked in the small of his back.

He motioned for Logan to follow him out to one of the out buildings beside the house. Once out of earshot of the house, he spun around to face Logan, his eyes glaring like a wet hornet.

“Are you fucking crazy coming here! I told you once things cooled down I would get you your damn money! Did you make sure you were not followed? You’re not too fuckin’ bright are you?” Sanchez looked up the road, shading the sun with his hand.

“Yes I was careful. I’m a Private Investigator, remember?”

Sanchez laughed. “You’re a fuckin’ lush is what you are!”

Logan adjusted his sunglasses and ignored the insult. He could feel sweat beginning to bead on the back of his neck.

“That may be true but look, I’m not here about the money, I’m here to find out just what the hell you got yourself into. I thought it was about you helping the cartel smuggle drugs or guns but then I find out about twenty white guys? What the hell is going on?”

Sanchez cut his eyes up at Logan.

“How the fuck do you know about that? We didn’t discuss any details at the meet.”

Sanchez stood there thinking over the events of the past few days.

“No, no, no no! Tell me you didn’t give up the meet site! Please God! Tell me you didn’t do that!”

Logan stood there motionless, sweat beginning to drip from his forehead and roll down and pool in the small of his back.

“You think we could go inside and get a drink or something man? It’s hot as hell out here…”

In a flash Sanchez pulled out the Glock and placed it under Logan’s chin.

“Tell me what you did, you drunk bastard or I am gonna blow what is left of your brain’s out the top of your head.” Sanchez’s hands were rock steady and his eyes were as cold, dark and hollow as two pieces of coal.

“I gave it all up to the Texas Brigade. They got the whole thing on video!” Logan choked out the words in a hoarse whisper, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

Sanchez froze with his eyes wide. Slowly he removed the gun from under Logan’s chin and backed up.

“You did what? You gave it all over to who? The Texas Brigade? Those border guard militia nuts! Why?” Sanchez stood there with the gun by his side, looking lost and confused as a child.

“Seemed the right thing to do under the circumstances.” Logan replied, coughing up phlegm and then mopping the sweat from his brow with his forearm.

All the blood drained from Sanchez’ face as he stood there stunned.

“What was it all about Sanchez? Tell me. I mean I thought you were just another crooked border patrol cop working with the cartels to bring in dope but then I find out about all this other shit. What the hell is going on?”

Sanchez stood there shaking his head in disbelief, thinking about what to say.

“OK look two weeks before all this happened I was approached by some guy claiming to be internal affairs from D.C. He told me they had been watching me for some time and they knew I was working with the cartel. He showed me all kinds of video and audio surveillance from last year. He wasn’t lying. They had me dead to rights. But then he said if I was willing to cooperate with them and coordinate a job with the cartel they would wipe my slate clean.”

“What kind of job?” Logan asked, mopping his brow.

A look of despair came across his face.

“They wanted the cartel to help smuggle in twenty contractors from a camp down in South America somewhere.”

“Contractors? I don’t understand what you mean.” Logan replied, his face red and overheated.

“Private Military Contractors, Guns for hire, Mercenaries”

“Wait, you lost me man. Why would the government…”

“They were gonna kill my entire family if I didn’t do it man! Don’t you understand! They had me by the balls!” Sanchez yelled out with tears in his eyes, the despair in his voice reaching a crescendo.

While Logan searched his addled, alcoholic brain for some kind of response, suddenly the top half of Sanchez’ head exploded in front of him, showering him in a bright red spray of blood and skull fragments. Jumping back in shock Logan caught a glimmer in the distance and saw a man on one knee over two-hundred yards away with a suppressed scoped rifle pointed in his direction.

Logan darted to his right behind the shed for cover. Pulling the Glock from his waistband he hugged the wall of the building and waited. Sweat mixed with Sanchez’ blood and gore dripped down in his eyes, stinging and blinding him as he quickly tried to clear it away with the tail-end of his shirt the best he could.

A commotion behind the house. The back screen door flew open and aunt Marta and her two dogs came busting out, cursing in Spanish all the way. She had not made it ten yards when a man Logan had not seen yet calmy stepped out of the house with a suppressed sub-machine gun and with one long burst killed Marta in cold blood.

“Hey asshole!” Logan yelled.

The shooter quickly turned to address Logan but before he could bring his weapon to bear Logan shot him clean three times.

The man crumpled to the ground dead and Logan moved quietly over to the back of the house and took a knee, sticking the Glock back in his waistband, he reached down and picked up the small submachine gun, and an extra mag sticking out of the dead man’s vest pocket. A quick rummage through his other pockets yielded no I.D. but an iPhone with fingerprint security. Logan reached over and grabbed the dead guy’s hand, placing his finger on the sensor and unlocking the phone. He then scrolled to the settings and turned that security feature off. A quick scroll through the phone yielded some interesting things he would look at later. He then snapped a photo of dead asshole number one for posterity.

Logan’s head was pounding like a bastard as he quietly opened the screen door and stepped into a large utility room where he quickly ducked down and stayed under the sight line of the windows. Moving into the kitchen Logan crawled over to the pantry and did a quick search, after going through some drawers and a few shelves he finally found what he was looking for. Alcohol, in the form of a bottle of dark rum. He took two long pulls and almost immediately the sweating, headache and nausea subsided. As he lay there on the kitchen floor catching his breath, a shadow of a man with a rifle moving across the kitchen window. Bingo. He rolled that direction, took a breath and in one motion stood up and emptied the gun’s magazine through the window. The sound of the breaking glass was louder than the report of the gun and the shooter was caught totally unaware as two dozen  .45ACP flying ashtray hollow-points stitched him from groin to neck. Walking around to the broken window Logan studied at the man with the scoped rifle. Same get-up as the other asshole. No I.D. but a locked iPhone, which he took and snapped a picture of dead asshole number two.

Logan then quietly cleared the house and waited for twenty minutes, listening. There was nothing left alive on this farm but him, the two dogs and the goats. He found that depressing as hell but shook it out of his mind as the low drone of a T.V. in the front living room caught his attention. Walking back to the pantry and grabbing the bottle of rum, he then walked down the hall and took a seat on the sofa, found the remote and turned the volume up. The excitement and fear in the female reporter’s voice was palpable. For some reason Logan noticed the time in the upper right hand corner of the screen. It was six minutes past nine in the morning on a Sunday.

“Folks, we are getting reports that there have been three, I say again, three active mass shootings in three different locations around the country! It appears they all took place around the same time. The first happened in Chinatown, San Francisco, where it has been reported six shooters with rifles engaged hapless crowds of shoppers and early reports coming back list the number of people killed at over two hundred with an unknown amount wounded. The second shooting was at the oldest jewish synagogue in the nation, Shearith Israel in Manhattan, New York where it has been reported six shooters with rifles wantonly attacked an outside worship service and killed over three hundred people and wounded an undetermined number. And finally, at the largest Black Church in the United States, Greater Saint Stephen Full Gospel Church in New Orleans, eight shooters killed over three hundred people. At this time it is being reported all shooters have been killed by Police and SWAT teams. This is a fluid situation folks but judging from eye-witness accounts that all the shooters were white males and their choice of targets, there is no doubt this was a well organized racially motivated act of domestic terrorism.”

Logan stared at the T.V. dumbfounded. Six shooters in Chinatown plus six in Manhattan plus eight in New Orleans? That all added up to twenty white male shooters. Somewhere in the deep, lonely places that Logan rarely went in his mind, Sanchez yelled out of the dark abyss:

“They were going to kill my entire family if I didn’t do it man!” 

Logan felt the warm, thick spray of blood cover his face again and he shot up off the sofa clawing at his head like some deranged junkie. Looking around the room, he realized the score and then walked outside and vomited. Knowing his van was burnt, Logan first made sure he could find the keys to the Toyota tercel in the garage and that it was running. After that he popped the van’s vin plate from the dash and removed the license plates. After moving it well away from the house he found a gas can from the shed and doused the van inside and out. When he set it on fire he had the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that he was burning his own house down. In a half drunken state he began mumbling the words to the old Talking Heads song “Burning down the House.”

“Thanks for always being there for me” Logan muttered as he turned away from the flames a part of him wondered if he was slowly losing his mind?

Backing up out of the garage he stopped for a minute and looked at the house. It was quiet except for the T.V. blaring inside and the fire crackling outside. He felt a sense of sadness about leaving Sanchez and Marta there even though he did not know them, but before his conscience could jab him any further he hammered the gas and headed east back to El Paso.

⭐️

 

Buzz was on his third cup of coffee in his office when he heard the special report on the TV News channel he kept on 24/7 at low volume in the war room.

Hearing the report, his head began to spin and his stomach got nauseous. He had been expecting something like this, something big, something terrible. But never in a million years did he think it was going to be this bad. His phone buzzed. It was Kyle.

“My God Buzz! Did you see the news! You were right! I can’t fuckin…” Buzz cut him off mid-sentence.

“Call every member on your Duty Sheet Now! It’s time to go to work!”

Buzz hung up and walked calmly to his office and got online to the Emergency Forum they had set up on a foreign server a couple years ago. He pulled out his phone and retrieved the multiple passwords to log on. In a span of a couple of minutes every member would receive a text and email notifying them of the situation. This combined with their Duty Call Sheet plan ensured everybody in the unit was notified to report. Buzz calmly walked to the armory and suited up, strapping on his IBA, he grabbed his AR from the rack, brass checked it and then double checked all eight mags in his chest rig. He then walked to the security room and rebooted all the outside cameras and did a quick scan of the perimeter. All clear except incoming member vehicles at the front gate. By the time he had made it back to his office three of his six company commanders had shown up, outfitted and ready to fight. The look on their faces was pure adrenaline mixed with fear.

“You each know what to do. Work your Duty Call Sheet and get your companies assembled and outfitted. Focus on Base Security lockdown procedures first and foremost. This is what we have trained for Gentleman. Make it happen.”

Buzz calmly walked in his office and shut the door behind him. He sat his rifle down on the desk and opened his laptop to streaming news. The body count was growing at each location. Every news outlet was already running with the government approved narrative bullshit. Three dollar buzz words like “white supremacist”, “white hate” and “white nationalist” had been thoroughly implanted in the national consciousness over the past couple of years so the story was sheeple friendly and easy to swallow.

“Organized team of white supremacist attack oldest jewish synagogue in the country!”

“Group of white supremacist terrorist attack largest black church in America!”

“Far-Right white nationalist militia members attack asian community in San Francisco!”

And there it was.

Not ten minutes had passed since the first news report and the marxist in D.C. were already going after the big bad militias! Lumping all of them together as “white supermacist” made it so much easier. Buzz laughed to himself because for the first time in a long time he had undeniable proof these gutless, motherless pigs were behind this massacre. Time to show the TRUE American people just what a bunch of corrupt, deceitful bastards their Government really was.

Buzz calmed himself and took some deep, cleansing breaths.

Change was in the air. But not before a fight.

Of that he could be certain.

Day 5 – Monday

Logan didn’t go home when he got into town. Instead he went to a truck stop and bought another burner phone and enough supplies for an extended stay and then rented a room with cash at a motel north of town with a disguise and a fake I.D. Stocking the mini-fridge with beer, he called his friend Louis Green who sometimes did contract house creeps for him. Louis had done time for Burglary and Grand Theft Auto but was overall a really nice guy. Logan told Louis to take an uber and run by his house and see if it was being watched and then told him to go by the company storage unit and retrieve a black samsonite suitcase with a padlock on it. Turning on the news, Logan was sickened to hear the body count totals. Over two-dozen people who had been seriously wounded had died. It seemed every major news channel had some kind of ‘Domestic Terrorist Expert” talking about how “militant white supremacist” had been pegged as one of the most dangerous groups by the F.B.I. for several years now and this attack proved those reports to be true.

“Horseshit!” Logan yelled at the top of his lungs cracking a beer open at three minutes past nine in the morning.

A knock on the door sent Logan scurrying to the peephole with Glock in hand.

“It’s Louis” a voice called from the other side of the door.

Logan quickly unlocked the deadbolt and chain and hurried him inside.

Louis lifted the suitcase up on the bed and then sat down next to it.

Louis was in his late thirties but had kept in shape. He had a compact stocky boxers frame with dark curly black hair and a ruddy, hard complexion. Logan always thought he resembled a muscular Jon Bernthal but Louis called bullshit even though he liked The Punisher.

“So, is anybody watching the house?” Logan asked, handing Louis a beer.

“Oh yeah. At least two cars, one down the street and one a street covering the back. Looks like feds to me. Government plates and those rear antennas are not hard to miss. Just what in the hell have you got yourself into now?” Louis asked, smiling, cracking open the beer and taking a long drink.

“It’s better if you don’t know the details right now.” Logan replied, taking out his wallet and handing Louis three one hundred dollar bills and a set of keys.

“I am gonna need you to get rid of that silver tercel I drove in. It’s parked over here on the left side of the building. Take it to your old car boosting buddy and get it crushed. I also need you to find out a piece of information for me. Tomorrow, go to a store and buy a prepaid phone and call me with the info, after that, trash the sim card and the phone, got it? Do not use the phone again, OK? It’s very important.”

Louis nodded. “I got it boss, trash the phone, no problem.”

After Logan explained in exact detail what he needed, Louis left and Logan unlocked the suitcase and began taking inventory of his “Oh shit bug out bag” he had packed a couple years ago.

Inside were two fake drivers licenses, his U.S. passport, a fake New Zealand and Greek passport, twenty-five thousand dollars in cash, a Sig p229 9mm with four mags and five hundred rounds of hollow point, a Yugo AK-47 Underfolder with six mags and six hundred rounds of FMJ. Medical supplies, quickclot bandages, survival gear, disguise supplies (hair dye, fake mustache, eyeglasses, etc.) a fifth of Jack Daniels, A fifth of Crown Royal, a fifth of Absolut vodka, a bottle of Bushmills single malt irish whiskey, a bottle of 100 Amoxicillin antibiotics, a bottle of 80mg Oxy’s plus adderall, percocets and xanax. A key to a 2018 Chevy Truck with a clean title parked at the El Paso Airport long term parking (which he pocketed) a safe deposit key which opened a box at a bank in Dallas, Texas with more cash and finally a little black book with the names and numbers of people across the country and in Europe who could get him anything and send or hide him anywhere for a price. Logan added the sub-machine gun and the two phones he took off the shooters at the goat farm to the suitcase, locked it and got another beer.

⭐️

 

The F.B.I. helicopter circled over the goat farm while a tactical team with dogs and ATV’s searched on the ground. Special Agent Colton Reynolds arrived on scene after taking a jet from Dallas. He was met and briefed by Sheriff Pete Teague whose deputies first responded for a welfare check when a relative could not reach Marta on the phone.

“So the total body count as it stands is one male and one female hispanic and two white males. We got ID’s on everybody including Agent Antonio Gilberto, Customs and Border Protection and his Aunt, Marta Gilberto. We are having some trouble finding anything on the two white males in the system. Too early to tell but field ballistics are looking like one of the white males killed Agent Gilberto with a rifle, the hispanic female was killed with what appears to be some type of pistol caliber automatic weapon, possibly a sub-machine gun we have not recovered yet.” Sheriff Teague took a long drink from a water bottle as Special Agent Reynolds surveyed the scene from behind his Ray-Ban’s.

“So who killed the two white males, do we know?” Reynolds asked, walking over to the side of the house where a forensics team had begun work on the body.

“Well, that’s where it gets a tad confusing. One of them was killed with a nine millimeter, same caliber as Agent Gilberto’s sidearm we recovered by his body and one of them was killed with the same caliber of weapon as the hispanic female, forty-five ACP.” Sheriff Teague replied, adjusting his Stetson cowboy hat on his head.

“We got some decent footprints of a size ten and a half shoe from behind the shed over there and here behind the house that don’t match with any of our vics. We also lifted a bunch of prints off the door and inside the house that we have sent to your lab in Dallas. If you want my theory, I think one man with two weapons killed both of them.” Teague spoke with the confidence of a seasoned cop.

“What about vehicles?” Reynolds asked finally.

“We got the torched van out front with the vin and license plate removed. Early indications from forensics is that it is toasty and they won’t be able to pull anything. The 2016 silver Toyota Tercel belonging to the hispanic female is missing. We’ve issued an APB on it, and the black suburban we found parked a quarter mile from here is one big mystery. Vehicle itself was clean. Registration and Insurance were listed to some holding company in Aruba. We forwarded everything to your people in Dallas.

“Did you recover cell phones from any of the bodies? Reynolds asked, attempting to make his query as general as possible so as not to arouse suspicion.

“Nope, no cell phones.” Teague replied.

Reynolds surveyed the scene one last time, nodding approvingly and then turned around, smiled and extended his hand.

“Thank you Sheriff, you have done a great job here securing the scene for us, but we’ll take it from here. You don’t know how much we appreciate your professionalism in finding our missing Federal agent!”

A broad smile spread across the Sheriff’s face.

“Just wish we could have found him alive for you.” After Teague shook Reynolds hand he then pulled him in close and whispered:

“Say I know this is all Federal hush-hush but do you think all this is connected to them white supremacist killings? I heard some of my deputies talking.”

Reynolds glanced up at the helicopter circling above. He needed to choose his words very carefully with this cowboy.

“It’s way too early to start speculating Sheriff, but you have my word I will keep you in the loop.” Reynolds gave his best politician smile and then walked off to make a phone call.

“Yeah it’s bad but not terrible. Gilberto aka “Sanchez” is off the board. As far as the two dead cleaners we can lump them in with the other twenty, no problem. In fact it will help strengthen our “Massive White Supremacist Criminal Conspiracy” narrative and allow DOJ to use RICO to prosecute these militias. The only wild card is their damn phones are missing and we have to assume Riggs has them. Even though those phones are encrypted, Riggs may have tech contacts in the militia that can unlock them. Combine this with what Gilberto could have told Riggs about the operation and we got ourselves a serious fucking libaility in Logan Riggs.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“I don’t like loose ends, Reynolds. I don’t have to tell you that I am getting an enormous amount of pressure from the top about this. They want to roll into phase two soon, so clean this shit up NOW or I’ll find somebody who can. You got forty-eight hours.”

The line went dead and as Reynolds placed his phone back in his jacket pocket he thought about how he would kill himself if he could not find Logan Riggs soon.

Day 6 – Tuesday

Buzz Warden woke before sun up for his morning run around the perimeter. The last two days had been hectic but he had stayed focused and was proud of everybody for the way they had performed. He had eased lock down restrictions for married men but still kept a twelve on twelve off watch rotation with a minimum twenty-five man reaction force on standby. As he made his second lap around the compound he reflected on the last forty-eight hour blur of events. Thanks to some inside men in key places Buzz was able to get the real scoop on what was happening without the media spin.

The total body count to date had reached horrific proportions: Eight hundred and twenty three innocent people murdered with another one hundred and fifteen still in critical condition but clinging to life. The crooks in D.C. had wasted no time rolling out their narrative: This was a racially motivated domestic terror attack spawned by white nationalist/supremacist militias and crazies across the country. And although there was no solid proof of this other than all twenty shooters being white, the conspiracy train had begun rolling full blast when the Government announced that the bodies of all twenty shooters had been cremated immediately due to concerns they were all contaminated with the delta variant of COVID.

“Biological warfare can take many forms, and after Sunday’s massacre, we cannot take any more chances.” a spokesman for the White House was quoted as saying.

It was laughable. This government allowed hundreds of thousands of unvaccinated illegals to cross the border daily without batting an eye but suddenly the bodies of the twenty men who had just committed the worst mass murder in American history were a COVID threat? Another convenient sidestep of justice made possible by one of the biggest lies and cover-up’s in human history: COVID.

Things were getting crazy and Buzz had to stay focused. The main issue now was the video. When Buzz finished his run he grabbed a shower and some breakfast and then called a meeting with Kyle. Before he could do that however, one of his men called him into the war room for a news report on the T.V.

“Check this out skipper, now that they got rid of the evidence, they can reveal their real agenda.”

Buzz turned up the volume on the T.V.

“This just in from the White House: The President has just announced three Executive orders to be signed today in lieu of the domestic terrorist massacres Sunday. First will be an all encompassing Assault Weapons Ban to go into effect immediately. Second will be a Federal mandate to abolish all State or private militias and Third will be a Racial Hate Crime Mandate making any type of Racial Hate Crime a First Degree Felony in every state. The President went on to say that he has strong bi-partisan support in this matter being it applies to the National Security of the Country due to Domestic Racial Terrorism.”

“That bastard thinks he can just cancel the Second Amendment wholesale?” one of the men asked, watching from the back astonished.

“He doesn’t think he can, he KNOWS he can because he has helped manufacture the so called ‘Domestic Terror’ Crisis to make it happen.” Buzz replied, spitting in his cup. As he walked back into his office he found Kyle sitting in front of his desk.

“I guess you heard the latest?” Buzz asked, sitting his rifle down on the desk and taking a seat.

“Yeah, I cannot say I am surprised. They are moving awfully fast with this. What do you want to bet Marital law is next? It’s the only way they can consolidate their power and eliminate resistance quickly.” Kyle replied, his face calm and collected despite the excitement in the air.

“They’re coming for us with both barrels now Buzz.” Kyle said in a solemn tone.

“Yeah but before the bastards do that let’s drop a huge turd in the punch bowl, shall we? Run me through the logistics of getting this video online.” Buzz asked, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

Kyle pulled out a tablet to reference his notes.

“Our best option to get it out there fast, secure and anonymously is Wiki-Leaks, no doubt. After that it will take on a life of its own on social media as you know. I can then contact a few people in the Patriot community that have good social media presence along with websites, blogs, YouTube channels, etc. to feed the ‘narrative fire’ so to speak.”

“How long until they can track the vid back to us?” Buzz asked, shifting in his chair.

“Historically that depends on the source. If the source is smart and stays quiet it can take years but that has rarely been the case in past incidents.”

“Speaking of which, what is the status of your source?” Buzz asked.

“I haven’t been able to reach him since Saturday. I only had one cell for him and it’s been disconnected.”

“You think the feds got him?” Buzz asked with a look of disdain.

“No. I think he’s way too wily for that. My gut feeling is that he went to ground somewhere, Being a P.I. he has the skill-sets necessary to hide for an extended period of time.”

Buzz nodded in agreement and then smoothed his goatee.

“With all the controversy right now about law enforcement’s inability or refusal to ID the twenty shooters, combined with the latest announcement to dismantle the second amendment all in the name of national security, I think this is the right time to post the video.”

“I agree. I think it’s the spark that is going to set off the firestorm.” Kyle replied with a grin.

Buzz took a deep breath as he rubbed his temples trying to sidestep a migraine that was in the mail. His eyes drifted over to a custom framed picture his wife had made for him over fifteen years ago. It was of him holding his newborn twin sons in the hospital, a goofy look of contentment and joy written all over his face. Below the picture was a quote from John Adams:

“I must study politics and war so that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.”

Buzz stood from his desk, slung his rifle and picked up his spit cup. He stared at Kyle for a long moment and with a solemn, serious look said:

“Post it”

⭐️

 

Logan stepped out of the motel room with suitcase in hand and in full disguise. A brown long hair wig, mustache, cowboy hat and sunglasses. Checking his look in the mirror before he walked out he had to laugh. He was going for a Chris Stapleton Texas outlaw vibe but ended up looking like a poorly groomed homeless drunk, which in part was spot-on.

He caught a cab in front of the motel office.

“Airport long term parking.” Logan told the driver in his best fake down home drawl.

Logan found the truck just as he had left it. Full tank of gas with a GPS unit and an old school road map of the U.S. in the glove box. Right on time, Louis called on the burner.

“OK so what did you find out?”

“Man it took me almost all night to find somebody who would talk but I finally bought this old biker named Jimmy enough beer to tell me something useful. He claims he heard about a guy doing some business with the Texas Brigade a year or so ago. He was told their main compound is twenty miles south off FM 654. Turn off on Bethlehem Chapel Cemetery Road, go five miles or so, that’s all I got.”

“Appreciate it Louis”

“No worries. Hey! Have you heard about this latest wiki-leaks? Man, things just keep getting crazier!”

Logan’s mouth got dry and his heart began to race.

“You said it brother.”

“The internet is going ape shit! I don’t know what to think about it!”

Logan closed his eyes and took some deep breaths to relax himself.

“Best not to get drawn into all of it. Don’t drink the kool-aid!”

Louis laughed. “You got that right boss. Hey if I need to get in touch with you how do you want me to do it? Get another phone?”

“No, I’ll get in touch with you Louis, it’s the safest way right now.” Logan said with a slight sense of regret in his voice.

There was a long pause on the line. “Are you sure you’re OK boss?” Louis asked.

“I’m fine man. You take care and we’ll talk soon.”

As Logan hung up the phone his head began pounding. He reached in the center console and took a pull from a half empty quart of Jamesons. The fuckers were closing in and he had to make a decision: Fed-ex those two phones to the militia and take his chances getting out of the country or stay and face the hellstorm with the militia. After all, he was the one that got them involved in all of this in the first place. Maybe it was the liquor making the decision for him or maybe it was just his antiquated sense of justice, but Logan had never run from a fight in his life and was not about to start now. He checked the map for the quickest route to the compound and gunned the gas. His mind was made up.

Day 7 – Wednesday 

When Special Agent Colton Reynolds got the call at seven in the morning to report to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of El Paso he figured this was the end. He had been warned that if he did not produce results in finding Logan Riggs he would be replaced and with the nature of this assignment and the recent turn of events with the video release he could come to only one lethal conclusion: His expiration date was here. So after writing a letter to his wife explaining things as best he could and leaving clear instructions as to the life insurance policies Colton made his way across town.

He had briefly debated on whether or not to bring his sidearm and decided what the hell, maybe the old Viking myth was true that if you did not die with a weapon in your hand you could not enter Valhalla? Walking into the massive warehouse with his glock in his right hand Colton was shocked to find his boss, SAC Dan Hunter and two other men he did not recognize plus a beehive of activity of over a hundred F.B.I. and ATF SWAT officers in tactical uniform getting ready to load onto several buses and trucks.

“Agent Reynolds! Please join us.” Hunter said from across the room

Immediately feeling awkward, Colton holstered his gun and walked over.

The three men were standing at a table looking at a scale model.

“Agent Reynolds this is Special Agent Greg Ortiz, Tactical Commander of F.B.I. SWAT and Special Agent Steve Berg, Tactical Commander of ATF SWAT.” Colton shook hands with both men who were outfitted with body armour and radios.

“What is this sir?” Colton asked with a quizzical look.

“We got the green light for a raid on the Texas Brigade compound tomorrow. The President has made it clear he wants these racist militia terrorists done away with and what better one to start with than the largest and most dangerous militia in the country.” Hunter grinned as he rubbed his hands together like some mad scientist. Colton knew Hunter to be a careerist pig, so there was no telling what Faustian deal he had made with the leadership. Next Director? God forbid.

Colton stood there speechless and numb. He walked in expecting to be fired or even killed and now this? His eyes shifted over to the scale model where Agent Ortiz began to explain the plan.

“This model is made to scale from pictures taken from a drone.”

Colton held up his hand. “Wait, I’m confused. How did we get the location of the compound to begin with?”

“One of our CI’s we’ve had on the street for a while now. Guy named Louis Green, As luck would have it, he does jobs for Logan Riggs sometimes and Logan contacted him about getting the location of the compound. Once we were on to him, he gave up everything, the location of the compound plus Logan’s whereabouts.”

Colton laughed.

“What’s so funny Agent Reynolds?” Hunter asked.

“This guy Green is a long time associate of Riggs. He could have given you Riggs on a silver platter way before this but he waited until Riggs was inside one of the safest places in the State of Texas before doing it. Funny thing is I bet he got a nice fat Federal CI bonus for this one too huh? Green played you all for fools.”

Ortiz looked at Hunter with a smirk.

“Please continue Agent Ortiz” Hunter replied, obviously annoyed with Reynolds.

“As you can see there is only one road in and out to the compound with very little cover on either side. They have a fifty-five foot concrete reinforced tower in the center so they will see us coming from a long way off. The gate is equipped with two concrete pylons and tyre killer strips. The perimeter fence surrounding the entire compound is electrified twelve foot high razor wire. The real bitch is this twenty-five yard no man’s land between the gate entrance and the entrance to the compound. It’s totally wide open with no cover. You put a few sniper’s and a couple high capacity rifles in that tower and they can rain down hate all day. Say what you will about these militia’s, but whoever designed and built this place knew their siege history.” Ortiz continued to stare at the model like it was a chinese puzzle until Hunter spoke up from behind them.

“Thankfully our request for two armed Blackhawks and one MH-6 Little Bird helicopter was approved by the President, so we shouldn’t have trouble breaching their defenses. Am I right, Special Agent Oritz?” Hunter cut his eyes at Ortiz, obviously annoyed at his lack of confidence.

As Colton listened, a terrible dark foreboding feeling came over him.  Armed helicopters? What was this fucking Somalia?

“What is my job here sir?” Colton asked Hunter

“Negotiator. As part of the President’s mandate, the militia is in violation of Federal Disarmament Order 4785, The Federal Militia Disbandment Order 4786 and Federal Hate Crime Mandate 4787. They will be required to hand over all weapons and surrender peacefully or else face use of force by our SWAT teams. You will state these conditions and give them the chance to comply. I don’t think they will but we have to give them the chance before we go in, on the record.” Hunter smirked, smiling at Ortiz and Berg like mischievous frat brothers.

Colton’s mind raced as he put all the pieces together.

This was no “raid”, this was a clean-up mission. Even though the video was out there proving Government collusion in the Bloody Sunday massacre the Government conveniently burned up the evidence of their complicity in mass murder using one of the biggest lies in human history, the COVID scam. As it stood they now had all their rotten eggs in one basket; the largest militia in the country plus Logan Riggs, the most wanted man in the country and they intended to kill them all legally thanks to some very Constitutionally questionable executive orders.

It was Waco 1993 version two point zero.

Colton’s stomach did a front somersault. Jesus Christ, how many people were they prepared to kill to see their plan become reality? Suddenly he felt dirty and ashamed knowing he would again be party to the murder of innocent Americans. But hell, who was he kidding? Growing a conscience now would not do him any good and he knew it. He had made a deal with the devil. He was damned either way. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Be ready first thing tomorrow morning Special Agent Reynolds!” Hunter exclaimed as he slapped Colton on the back laughing.

“Tomorrow we make history!”

⭐️

When Logan arrived at the compound that afternoon the gate sentries thought he was some kind of crazy lost drunk and almost shot him on site. It wasn’t until Kyle was called down to the gate that Logan’s bonafides were verified and he was admitted. Buzz also had serious doubts about him until Logan opened his famous suitcase.

“My God you’ve got almost everything a man needs in there.” Buzz exclaimed, his eyes wide.

“What do you mean almost?” Logan asked.

“Well, you don’t have a woman.”

“Shit Buzz, you can buy what you need from them almost anywhere.” Logan exclaimed, smiling.

There was silence in the room and then raucous laughter.

Buzz liked him immediately.

Logan wasted no time handing over the two phones to Kyle with the story of the goat farm. To say Kyle and Paul were excited would have been an understatement. They immediately took the phones down to the lab to start working on breaking into them, both of them preparing for all-nighters.

“If you can tie these two assholes to the Government or better yet tie them to the twenty shooters you’ve got more than enough proof combined with the video of criminal conspiracy!” Logan winked as he poured himself his first vodka tonic in several weeks.

But as happy as Logan and Kyle were, Buzz was distracted. He knew the Fed’s were coming and for all his preparation and training he was genuinely worried about his troops. He knew his history on F.B.I. assaults. Ruby Ridge and Waco were nasty affairs and although Buzz was prepared to go toe to toe with the Feds, his heart ached at the expected losses. As a precaution, he called in the full roster of over five hundred armed and capable men.

Day 8 – Thursday

At precisely three minutes past seven in the morning Buzz heard the familiar rotor drone echo of an approaching helicopter. He immediately got on the radio with the gate and tower sentries.

“It’s a Channel Twelve News Chopper. They made a low pass and then headed back west.”

Only one reason a news chopper would be here. There was a big story to cover, and that big story was headed toward the compound right now. Somebody in the Feds had leaked and gave them an early warning!

Buzz immediately ordered the General Quarters alarm.

Logan came out of his bunk like a man with his ass on fire when the alarm sounded. It took him a minute to remember just where in the hell he was. After putting on his boots, holstering his glock and grabbing his AK and a sneaky bag full of mags, he headed for the main courtyard where it was a wasp nest of activity as men ran to and fro, rifles and gear rattling. Buzz appeared in full battle rattle looking like a modern redneck version of Leonidas.

“Here put these on” Buzz said sternly, handing over a body armour vest and helmet.

As Logan velcroed the vest tight, Buzz’s radio came alive.

“Tower One to Spartan Actual. We got a shit ton of Fed’s coming down the road! Looks like three buses and four armored trucks.”

“OK, this is it boys, get ready! I want Able on the gate, everybody else in reserve. Nobody opens fire until I give the command, understand?”

“Wilco” Brandon McKnight, Company Commander of Able Company replied. His voice was young but steady and confident. Brandon had commanded a platoon in Iraq and had been decorated twice. The guy was as solid as they come.

“Where do you want me?” Logan asked as he brass checked his AK.

“On my hip at all times and that is non-negotiable!” Buzz replied sternly as he began to double-time to the tower.

Logan reached into his vest and produced a flask which he had filled up with Jack Daniels the previous evening and took a long pull. From the looks of it, it was gonna be a long day.

The three large tour buses and four armored trucks stopped fifty yards from the gate in a single file line. After twenty minutes the bus doors came open at five minutes to eight in the morning. with a “swish” and out poured over a hundred F.B.I. and A.T.F. SWAT officers. All of them clad in black with body armour, helmets, shields and rifles with the distinctive gold lettering on their front and back. Once they were all unloaded, the buses made a wide U turn into the neighboring field beside the road and created a horizontal picket line of sorts. The SWAT officers then stacked up behind the buses in the field.

“Skipper you seeing this?” McKnight whispered into the radio.

“I’m seeing it. Standby and wait for my command.” Buzz replied.

Buzz and Logan both watched intently through a pair of high magnification binoculars from the tower.

Buzz looked over at the man behind the Barrett .50 cal.

“Stanley when it kicks off I want you to start putting rounds through the engine blocks of those armored trucks! Let’s make all of them a five ton roadblock, O.K.?”

“You got it skipper.” Stanley replied without taking his eye from the scope.

After a few minutes, the lead armored truck began slowly rolling toward the gate with a unit of SWAT troops behind it slowly walking along with ballistic shields.

“We got movement! The lead truck is moving toward the gate!” McKnight’s voice went up an octave in excitement.

“I see it. Everybody standby. Hold your fire!” Buzz commanded

Buzz zoomed in with his binoculars on the truck. He could see two loudspeakers mounted in the front grill as the truck stopped twenty yards from the gate.

Inside the armored truck, Special Agent Colton Reynolds sat nervously in the passenger seat, clutching a radio handset. While he was considering what to do his cell rang. It was SAC Hunter.

“Can you tell me just how in the hell channel twelve news knew about this?” Hunter’s voice was seething with venom.

“No ideal sir.” Reynolds smirked.

“Yeah I bet you don’t. Just deliver the ultimatum Agent Reynolds so we can get on with this.”

Reynolds smiled as he hung up the phone. At least now there would be a record of what happened here today and some kind of accountability. Colton knew it didn’t excuse him for what he had been a part of, but it was something at least. Reluctantly he keyed the handset and spoke:

“Attention Texas Brigade Militia! This is the F.B.I. and A.T.F. We are here to peacefully serve a Search Warrant for the premises. Please lay down your weapons, open the gates and comply with this Federal order.”

In the tower Buzz begins to laugh.

“Well whatta you know fellas! It’s the Federal welcome wagon here to “peacefully” serve their illegal warrants with two hundred armed SWAT goons! Can you believe the balls on these people! I have a good mind to put a .50 caliber round through that loudspeaker down there!” Buzz’s voice was calm but irritated.

“Nah, you don’t want to do that Buzz. Stay Calm, let them make the first fuck up.” Logan replied.

Buzz’s radio came alive. It was Kyle.

“Skipper, I need you down in the lab pronto.”

Realizing the feds were monitoring all radio traffic, Buzz realized this had to be something important if Kyle did not want to talk about it over the air. He slapped Logan on the back for him to follow.

As Buzz and Logan walked in the small lab that Kyle and Paul shared in the basement of the compound Kyle immediately brought up a page of text on a big screen monitor from one of the phones Logan had taken off the shooters at the goat farm.

“Looks like our two shooters were definite contract cleaners from South Africa that had worked for the Government before judging from the history of these text logs.” Kyle pointed to the T.V. screen.

Both Buzz and Logan read through the text.

“Any connection to the twenty shooters that you can see?” Logan asked, walking closer to the screen.

“Well, luckily one of the shooter’s did not delete his text or photo history so we got text going back a full year and if you look at this one from March of last year this shooter was contacted by one of the same phone numbers in the earlier text about an upcoming “large” operation that needed twenty reliable shooters for a very dangerous and risky mission with excellent pay and life insurance benefits. We also have some pictures and two video clips of the two shooters training with five of the shooters from that group of twenty from the Border video we took.”  Kyle punched a few buttons and pointed to the screen.

As Logan and Buzz watched the video clips both of them began smiling. This was the smoking gun they had been hoping for.

“Kyle we need to put this all in a nice little airtight video package and leak it now! With everything that’s going on right now this could be the proof America needs to stand with us!”

“Already started working on it skipper!” Kyle replied.

Buzz’s radio chirped.

“Tower one to Spartan actual the truck is moving toward the gate again.”

“Spartan Actual copies. Wait one.”

“Good job, both of you!” Buzz yelled over his shoulder as he ran out of the room with Logan in tow.

As Buzz and Logan arrived in the tower they both grabbed their binoculars and began scanning the gate.

“Whatta we got gentlemen?” Buzz asked excitedly.

“Looks like Mr. Loudspeaker wants to make another thrilling announcement.” Stanley replied in his slow Texas drawl from behind the Barrett Fifty.

Inside the armored truck twenty yards from the gate Agent Reynolds had stalled and waited for as long as he could. Hunter had called, ordering him to give them one more chance over the loudspeaker and then he was ordering the air space cleared for the Blackhawks and MH-6’s to help breach the compound. Reynolds’ stomach was in knots and as much as he hated to do it, he followed orders and keyed the handset.

Logan and Buzz listened to the second ultimatum with about as much enthusiasm as the first. Except this time when it was over Buzz watched as the armored trucks pulled back into the field behind the buses, out of sight.

“What the hell do you think they’re doing back there?” Logan asked.

“Nothing good.” Buzz answered flatly.

After ten minutes of watching and waiting, finally the silence was broken by the sound of distant rotor blades splitting the air.

“Anybody got eyes on that news chopper?” Buzz asked, scanning the horizon.

“Skipper, that’s a different helo.” Stanley replied, lifting his head up from behind the scope.

“And there’s more than one.” Logan added

Buzz’s radio came to life.

“Skipper I got eyes on two blackhawk helicopters coming in from the south and what looks like a Little Bird coming in from the southeast?”

Immediately everybody in the tower shifted their focus to the south.

“Those blackhawks got SWAT on board!” Stanley yelled out zooming in with his high power scope.

“They also are armed to the friggin’ teeth, see those mini-guns on the rails?” Buzz replied.

“Oh Shit! The Little Bird has a SWAT team on board also, they are swinging around wide to the east now.” Logan yelled out.

“Bastards are gonna strafe us and then try to land troops!” Buzz yelled out as he quickly keyed his radio.

“Able Actual we got incoming armed helo’s, I need you to get all your men inside the bunker now and take up defensive positions!”

“You want me to leave the gate unguarded!” Mcknight replied, his voice excited.

“Affirmative! Get to cover now!” Buzz yelled into the radio as he watched the south horizon intently.

“Stanley I want you to target those helo’s rear and main rotors you hear me son!” Buzz yelled out as he shouldered his AR

“I got em’!” Stanley replied, setting up the rifle’s bipod so he could scan the south part of the compound.

Suddenly the sound of all three helo’s rotors and engines were on them at once, all of them making low passes over the compound and tower.

Logan’s eyes got big as one of the Blackhawk’s passed right in front of the tower, the faces of the SWAT team members clearly visible. Before he could raise his AK to fire it was gone, swinging over to the north side.

“Everybody find some cover and take up solid firing positions. When you get a shot, take it! Those bastards intend to land in this compound and that ain’t happening!” Buzz yelled as he took a knee and readied himself near front of the tower.

The radio exploded with chaotic traffic.

“They’re storming the front gate Skipper!”

Gunfire erupted from every direction as Able company opened up. Buzz and Logan joined in, picking their targets and carefully squeezing their shots.

Suddenly amongst the chaos the Barrett Fifty barked, sending a five foot flame out the front of the tower, it was followed by a loud screeching metal sound and then an explosion. Logan caught a glimpse of the blackhawk as a huge fireball exploded from it’s main rotor and it twirled like an out of control toy, men were thrown out of the cabin like black ash in a stiff breeze, the machine finally crashing outside the fence with a loud thump as the huge rotor blades cut into the south texas dirt.

“Hell yeah! Good shooting Stanley!” Buzz yelled, smiling.

Logan was yelling and reloading in the corner of the tower when he saw the Little Bird dip in front of the tower but before he could say anything the SWAT goon in the door opened up with an AR. Logan hit the deck as rounds ripped inside the tower. Buzz and Stanley had been caught flat-footed and were torn to bloody ribbons.

“Fucker!” Logan yelled as he put metal on meat and worked the AK’s trigger, the rounds stitching the SWAT goon’s helmet and silencing the SAW as the chopper pilot pulled up quickly. Logan ran over to Buzz and Stanley and checked for a pulse. They were gone, both of them still clutching their weapons with bloodied hands. Logan’s mind was a blur and his heart pounded as he thought about what to do next. Suddenly, the second Blackhawk made a pass with its minigun, trying to suppress Able company in the bunker below holding the front gate.

Rage shot through Logan as he gently moved Stanley’s body away and quickly mounted the Barrett and peered through the scope.

“Come on you fuckers!” Logan yelled as he waited for the next pass.

Buzz’s radio blared out with the voice of McKnight saying they were pinned down in the bunker by the helo.

Logan heard the thump of the rotors and the scream of the Blackhawk’s engines in the same moment as the helo’s rear rotor came into view in the scope. Logan pulled the trigger and the beast barked fire. Coming off the scope Logan’s heart jumped as he saw the helicopter dip and twist and a weird screeching sound fill the air. He ran to the tower door in time to see the helo crash behind the compound in a huge explosion of debris and dirt.

Logan then surveyed the status of the compound. Able company had held the gate while Bravo and Charlie company had deployed to each flank and rear security. Logan scanned the horizon and could hear the Little Bird’s engines in the distance as it hauled ass back to safety. It wanted no part of this fight anymore. Logan scaled the stairs down to the bunker where he met McKnight. Before Logan could tell him the bad news McKnight shoved past him up to the tower to see for himself.

Looking out past the gate Logan could see what was left of the F.B.I. and A.T.F. SWAT loading up on trucks and heading back to town. Logan counted at least fifty SWAT dead at the gate and ten militia dead by the bunker. McKnight came slowly walking down the stairs, his eyes red and swollen. Logan did not know these men but he felt a kinship with them. All he knew to do was put his hand on his shoulder. About that time Kyle and Paul came running up. Taking one look at McKnight’s face they knew the score.

“Did you get that thing online?” Logan asked, looking over at Kyle exhausted.

“Oh yeah, it’s already gone viral and Project Veritas is launching a full investigation.”

Logan closed his eyes and nodded his head. “Then it was worth it.”

 

⭐️

When Special Agent Reynolds arrived back at the abandoned warehouse base SAC Hunter was waiting for him.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you pick up your phone Reynolds?” Hunter screamed with spittle flying.

“Bad reception” Reynolds mumbled as he stepped out of the truck and started toward his car.

“Reynolds! I’m talking to you! Turn around and answer me!”

Reynolds took a few more steps and then decided, what the hell. He turned around and in one motion loaded a textbook right hook into the jaw of SAC Hunter, sending one of his molars flying out like birdshot.

“I quit motherfucker!” Reynolds yelled smiling

“And oh yeah one more thing, I hope you like trafficking in cigarettes to avoid sexual enslavement because you and all the other bastards that were part of this thing are going to prison. You seen the latest viral video the militia put out while you were trying to murder them to get rid of the evidence?”

Reynolds held up his cell phone to show a video which very plainly laid out the case that proved Government collusion in the Sunday Massacre and the Murder of a Federal Customs and Border Protection Officer and his Aunt.

Hunter smiled as he wiped his bloody mouth. “You’re forgetting one thing, asshole. You were part of this too. Remember the goat farm hit?”

Reynolds smiled with satisfaction. “Get what you need?”

The smile slowly disappeared off Hunter’s face as two men with cell phone camera’s stepped out of the shadows.

“Agent Hunter, meet Joe and Brian of Project Veritas.”

Epilogue

It is said every great fire begins with a single spark.

What was to be known later as “The Great Uprising” began that day at the Texas Brigade Militia Compound outside El Paso Texas.

Militias and armed citizen patriots from all over the Nation took up arms against corrupt Federal tyranny and after twelve days of bloody clashes all over the country, a violent coup took place in Washington D.C. and the sitting usurper President and his corrupt administration were all forcefully removed from office and jailed and a new President who had been elected BY the people took power. After a one year exhaustive internal investigation by the newly appointed Office of Inspector General and the now famous “Cruz-Crenshaw Commission” it was found that there was indeed a “Far reaching Criminal Conspiracy that began with the President and Vice-President of the United States to deceive the American public they were sworn to protect by authorizing a heinous false-flag event predicated on racial bigotry.”

After a review of the mountain of evidence, The Cruz-Crenshaw Commission delivered their findings to the Supreme Court. The Court unanimously voted nine to zero that all Conspirators to include the President, Vice-President, Attorney General, Secretary of Defense and the Director’s of the F.B.I, A.T.F., and I.C.E. be put to Death by Public Hanging for the murders of over nine hundred innocent people killed on “Bloody Sunday” including CBP Agent Antonio Gilberto, Marta Gilberto and the eighteen members of the Texas Brigade militia.

Kyle, Paul and the rest of the surviving members of the Texas Brigade Militia were cleared of all wrongdoing thanks to the two viral videos they had posted online combined with the tireless dedication of Logan Riggs, Special Agent Colton Reynolds and several other key witnesses, including members of Project Veritas.

The day Logan Riggs walked out of the compound alive he decided it was as good a day as any to get sober. He checked himself into a place in New Mexico called New Beginnings to dry out and fourteen hard weeks later walked out a sober man for the first time in his adult life. Afterwards, he decided to hang up his Private Investigator hat and dedicate himself full-time to the group of people that had literally saved his life: The Texas Brigade Militia.

With private donations and most of his personal savings Logan had a memorial statue made for Charlie “Buzz” Warden, the eighteen militia members and ALL the people who lost their lives in what would be known as The Great Uprising. In true fashion, the statue depicted Buzz with his characteristic spartan goatee and Mossy Oak cap holding his red spit cup with his Glock in his waistband. Beneath it was written these words:

“That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government.”

The statue was placed on the State Capitol grounds in Austin, Texas.

The End.

 

Forever and a Day

In memory of the 77th Anniversary of D-Day

 

The flak was ungodly and the pilots had no choice.

They green lit the stick going way too low and way too fast.

When Hank left the plane he was upside down looking up at his deployed canopy as fountains of orange and red tracer rounds zipped by him in brilliant ropes of light. The ground looked like it was on fire there was so much activity and Hank’s heart raced as he saw nowhere to land there wasn’t a German gun flash. Suddenly there was a loud explosion above him as a C-47 was cut in half by a flak burst, as the nose of the plane sheered away, the fuselage tumbled to the earth and Hank watched in horror as the stick of paratroopers inside were engulfed in flames and came tumbling out like burning embers being carried away on a stiff breeze. Hank turned his head away and prayed harder than he had ever prayed in his life.

Hank hit the ground so hard it knocked him out cold.

Later he awoke to the sound of a German twenty millimeter flak gun popping off like a typewriter fifty-yards away. He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, it could not have been more than a few minutes. Instinctively he reached for his rifle but it was gone, along with all his ammo, his sidearm and even his damn jump knife and canteen. All he had in his pockets to invade fortress Europe was a cricket clicker and three half melted Hershey bars.

Moving away from the flak gun, Hank shimmied and bounded through the bocage toward what looked like a farmhouse in the distance. Arriving on the outskirts of the farm Hank was met with the challenge word of “Flash!” Without thinking he responded “Thunder!” and two other troopers appeared out of the thick brush, Pvt. Thomas and Perry, both from Hank’s stick.

“Well if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes!” Pvt. Randall Thomas exclaimed slapping Hank on the back. Hank smiled and shook hands with both men.

“Please tell me you know where the hell we are” Hank whispered looking at Thomas and Perry intently.

“No goddamn ideal.” Thomas replied, taking a drink from his canteen and then offering it to Hank.

“Well at least you both got your rifles!” Hank replied, eyeing the two M1 Garands.

Perry laughed and handed Hank his .45.

“Don’t worry, we lost our leg bags too.” Thomas replied.

“So what’s this farm?” Hank asked.

“It’s crawling thick with krauts, I counted at least a platoon in there.” Perry answered, adjusting his helmet.

“Most likely using it as a resupply point for AA ammo. No way we can take that on. I heard trucks just beyond those trees, I say we find that road and follow it until we find a road sign so we can get our bearings on where the hell we are and find our unit!”

Without waiting for an answer, Thomas took point and bounded over to a drainage ditch which ran beside the farm and almost all the way up to the road. Perry nodded for Hank to take second position and he bring up the rear since all he had was a pistol. They maintained tactical spacing and moved as quietly as they could through the knee deep water. Reaching the road, Thomas gave the hand signal for the rest of the element to find cover while he scouted if it was clear. Hank took a position behind a tree that gave him good visibility of the road in both directions while Perry went prone in the brush. Just as Thomas was about to reach the other side of the road and give the signal to cross, the sound of a truck engine could be heard rumbling their direction. Thomas gave the signal to find cover. When the truck was about ten yards away suddenly the night lit up like the fourth of July and all hell broke loose. Perry came running up beside Hank.

“What the hell is going on?”

Hank heard the familiar sound of Garand’s and a .30 Caliber Browning and smiled.

“Sounds like some of our boys decided to get into the war!”

The firefight was over in under a minute and soon Hank saw a total of six men step out of the bocage onto the road to investigate the truck.

“Flash!” Hank yelled at the top of his lungs down the road.

Suddenly the squad got low and trained their muzzles in Hank’s direction.

“Thunder! Show yourself!” a voice replied from the squad

“Hundred and First, we’re coming out” Hank yelled

Hank, Perry and Thomas immerged from the thick brush out onto the road and slowly walked toward the lead man in the squad.

Hank immediately saw the subdued bar on the helmet and saluted and sounded off.

“Private Parker, Able Company 502nd, Lieutenant.”

As Perry and Thomas sounded off Hank recognized two of the men from Charlie Company 502nd, Roselli and Davis. As Hank went over to shake hands he heard the Lt. identify himself.

“Lt. Winters. Easy Company, 506th. You men sure are a long way from your drop zone!”

“I think we all are sir.” Thomas replied with a laugh.

As Hank walked past the truck shot all to hell, he saw the dead German driver shot through the temple. Walking around to the back were six more dead soldiers, all of them killed before they could exit the truck.

“Not a bad piece of shooting if I do say so myself.” A trooper with a Browning .30 caliber over his shoulder said smiling.

“Yeah well I nailed the driver!” another trooper replied with a smirk.

Everybody got quiet as Lt. Winters approached.

“OK, this road is busy tonight so police up weapons and ammo and let’s move in two tactical columns to the farmhouse. Thomas, Parker and Perry, welcome aboard. You’ll be attached to me until we find your unit. Parker, be sure and grab a Kraut rifle and some ammo until we can find you a replacement.”

“Yes sir” Hank replied.

Hank walked over and picked up a K98 and an ammo pouch from the back of the truck and slung it over his shoulder.

As the squad bounded toward the farmhouse in two tactical columns Pvt. Hank Parker said a prayer and thanked God for getting him this far.

He knew he had a long way to go yet, but this was a good start in the big scheme of things.

 

The End.