The End (20 page)

Mindy saw Gordon, too, and turned to greet him. “Mr. Van Zandt, I am so happy to see you,” she said, putting out her hand.

Gordon didn't shake her hand. He quickly stepped beside her and quietly asked, “You're not causing trouble, are you?”

“Gordon, I am not here to cause trouble but wanted to explain myself to whomever would hear. I first want to apologize to you for my words and doubt yesterday. I also want to say that we want to work with you to make this transition go smoothly.”

Gordon was surprised by Mindy's comments. He hesitated before saying, “Mindy, I'm glad to hear that, thank you.”

“When you have time, I'd like to see what you've done so far. Can we help with the administrative side of it?” Mindy asked.

“Sure, I'd love that; let me unload what we were able to get today and talk with our other two teams before, okay?”

“Sure, take your time. Just meet me at my house later,” Mindy said, smiling.

Gordon felt surprised and relieved. Just a day ago it looked like getting the entire community together would be an issue and only complicate what was a complicated problem. Gordon watched Mindy stride away with her typical confidence.

As the sun began its westerly descent, it proved that regardless of the bombs, death, and chaos around them, Mother Nature still was able to show her beauty. It made Gordon feel small knowing that nature did not care what humans did to themselves. The sun had been rising and setting for billions of years and would continue to do so for billions more without them.

Gordon's thoughts were interrupted by the wetness of Jimmy's new dog licking his hand.

He squatted down and started petting the dog. “Hey, girl, how ya doing?” The dog didn't have a collar but must have been someone's dog by the way it displayed its affection. Hearing the truck horn, he knew it was time to get back to business. Walking back to the truck he went through a mental checklist of everything that had occurred so far that day:
food, check, seed, check, batteries, check, tools, check, dead bad people, check. . . .

Where there is no vision, the people perish.

—Proverbs

Diego Garcia, British Indian Ocean Territory

Sebastian looked over his shoulder to see any sign of the ARG. Nothing. They were out there somewhere hiding in the darkness. Operations such as this, while new, were not something that made him nervous, but he couldn't fight that feeling. He peered through his scope onto the decks of the two MPS ships that were docked. There wasn't a lot of movement, but he didn't expect to see much at 0215 in the morning.

Sebastian's sniper team was assigned to provide overwatch for the half-dozen twelve-man teams of Marines and sailors that were coming ashore at 0315 to seize the two MPS ships. Sebastian's nervousness sprang from the fact that what they were doing was stealing two large cargo ships from an American base. The questions ran through his mind. What if it doesn't go smoothly or they resist? It was one thing to shoot and kill a Taliban fighter, but to shoot an American Merchant Marine who would be doing nothing but defending his ship just did not sit well with him. Sebastian and his spotter, Tomlinson, were hidden in a grove of trees on the south side of the port. The sun would be rising within a few hours and they needed to have the ships under control and underway by 0445. The pre-raid briefing estimated that the six teams could have complete control of both ships within forty-five minutes and be underway shortly after that. The plan called for no air support, so it would be man against man.

Sebastian kept looking at his watch like a novice chef would watch water boil. He was growing impatient and more anxious as the minutes ticked away. He looked through his scope again. All was quiet and no movement around or on the ships. He could hear the hum of machines in the distance and the air was cool and smelled salty.

“Damn, I gotta piss,” whispered Tomlinson.

“Piss then,” Sebastian told him.

Tomlinson rolled a couple feet away and undid his trousers.

“Ahhh, nothing like taking a piss after you've held it forever,” sighed Tomlinson. “It just feels—”

“Shhhhh,” Sebastian snapped as he heard a truck coming. He peered through the scope till he finally saw it. A gray pickup truck was speeding toward the MPS ship
Bennett
. When it reached the gangway of the ship it stopped and two men got out and ran up toward the quarter deck. Sebastian sensed something was wrong. He thought to himself, Had their mission been compromised? Only a few minutes went by before he heard the general quarters alarm sound on the ship.

“Shit!” Sebastian said out loud.

“What's up?” Tomlinson said after rolling back over and grabbing his binoculars.

“We've been compromised, Tomlinson; contact the
Makin Island
and let them know.”

“Roger that,” Tomlinson said, then pressed the mic of the radio. “Charlie Papa, Charlie Papa, this is Sierra Tango One, over.”

Sebastian now saw the decks of the
Bennett
spring to life. The two men who had obviously sounded the alarm ran down the gangway and got back in their truck; they sped off toward the
Stockham
, which was moored next to the
Bennett
. Their trip was unnecessary, though, as Sebastian heard the general quarters alarm begin on the
Stockham
too.

“Charlie Papa, Charlie Papa, this is Sierra Tango One, over,” Tomlinson said again into the mic of the radio.

Sebastian looked at his watch; it was now 0306. The raiding party would be hitting the shore any minute now.

“Charlie Papa, the two targets have been alerted to our intentions, over,” Tomlinson said to someone on board the
Makin Island
.

Sebastian could see the men on board the
Bennett
preparing to defend the ship. Just what he had feared was coming true, American against American.

“Roger that, Sierra Tango One, out,” Tomlinson said, finishing his conversation with command on the
Makin Island
.

“So what's up?” Sebastian asked. He didn't take his eyes away from the scope.

“They want us to proceed with the raid and that the rules of engagement are the same.”

“Damn it,” Sebastian said with frustration in his voice.

In the distance, Sebastian then heard more vehicles coming. He turned his rifle toward the sound and looked through his scope. What he saw confirmed his fears. Three trucks of armed military police were coming toward the ships.

“This is going down very badly,” Sebastian said.

“Yep, sure is,” Tomlinson said, agreeing with Sebastian.

“Van Zandt, I see our raiding party; they're heading toward the
Stockham
now!” Tomlinson said, peering through the binoculars. He wasn't the only one who had seen them either. Within seconds, yelling started to come from the ship as spotlights splashed down on the advancing Marines and sailors.

“What do we do?” Tomlinson asked.

“First we need to slow down these reinforcements,” Sebastian said as he placed his finger on the trigger and started to squeeze. He thought to himself that as soon as he squeezed off this shot, there was no going back. The seconds it took to fire the first round off seemed like forever. Sebastian's training had paid off, and with precision he hit the front tire of the first truck. He cycled the bolt of his rifle with speed and took aim on the second truck's front tire, and within three seconds he fired his second shot, striking his target. He repeated this one more time and took out the third truck's front tire. His accuracy had worked; the first truck lost control and almost crashed but the driver maintained control only to have the second truck ram him. Just after he had taken his third and final shot, the third truck swerved to miss the accident and lost control due to its flat front tire and turned over. The men violently flew out of the open back onto the road. Sebastian wasn't sure if anyone was dead, but he had slowed them down and helped assure the success of their raiding teams.

Sebastian now turned his attention to the action happening over near the
Stockham
. When he looked through his scope he saw a couple of Marines lying on the ground. The crew of the
Stockham
had managed to bring enough gunfire to hold back the advancing Marines. He scanned the decks of the ship looking for the shooters. Finding one near the bridge with a rifle, he placed the crosshairs on the man's chest and started to squeeze the trigger. He then paused. His previous thoughts came to him again. This is an American! He took his gaze away from the scope and looked down. Tomlinson could hear him exhale deeply and turned to him.

“Corporal, you okay?”

Sebastian did not respond, he just looked down.

“Corporal Van Zandt, you all right?” Tomlinson asked again.

Clearing his thoughts and getting back behind his rifle, Sebastian replied, “Yeah, I'm okay.”

He soon found the man with the rifle on the bridge and took aim again. He placed his finger back on the trigger and squeezed, this time he aimed for the man's head. His thoughts were that if he was going to kill him he'd make it a clean shot. He applied more steady pressure to the trigger till it went off. The round hit the man in the head. Sebastian could see his head explode and the man fall backward.

“Good shot!” Tomlinson said.

Sebastian took the butt of the rifle out of his shoulder and took a deep breath.

Tomlinson was busy looking for more targets through his binoculars. “I have another shooter, three o'clock to the last guy; distance is the same, windage is the same. Take the shot.”

“I don't know if I can do it,” Sebastian said, exacerbated.

“What?” Tomlinson asked. He put the binoculars down and turned to Sebastian.

Sebastian was not feeling right about any of this. “Tomlinson, what are we doing? We're killing Americans now. All I wanted to do was go home; now we're in Diego Garcia killing Americans.”

“Listen, Corporal. I hear ya, but it's on now. We are committed and now it's us or them.”

“I don't know if I can do this,” Sebastian said again.

“Can you at least spot for me?” Tomlinson asked.

Sebastian handed the rifle to Tomlinson, who didn't waste time. He took aim on the last target he had spotted for Sebastian. It took him only seconds before he squeezed off a round, killing the man.

Sebastian and Tomlinson's accurate shooting had provided enough support for the raiding party to make ground and advance toward their objective.

Tomlinson was not waiting for Sebastian; he was identifying his own targets and taking the shots. Sebastian was watching it all happen before him through the lenses of his binoculars.

Then he heard what sounded like helicopters. Sebastian lowered the binos and looked into the darkness beyond the ships and the gun battle before him. Moments later, two Cobra attack helicopters came racing above the two MPS ships and took position hovering over the bay. It appeared the call to have no air support had been changed. Sebastian knew the targets they were going after. Seconds later, the Cobra gunships opened up their 20 millimeter mini-guns and blasted the reinforcements that were in the trucks. The mini-guns laid waste to the vehicles and what men were still in the area.

“Fuckin' A, get some!” Tomlinson said loudly with excitement.

Now Sebastian knew that his whole world had officially changed; he now was a rebel, a traitor, a mutineer. If Barone was wrong and the world they went back to came back to normal, they all would be arrested and possibly hanged for treason. As these thoughts raced through his mind, he asked himself if he should go through with it or just stop now. He couldn't turn back now; he had already killed one American if not more in the trucks. Following Barone was the only direct way back to Gordon and his family. He finally decided to be committed to this for now; but he didn't know if he would do it past landing back in California.

He turned to Tomlinson and said, “Okay, T; I'm good now; let me get some.”

“That's music to my ears.” Tomlinson said, handing him back the rifle.

Sebastian took the rifle, cycled the bolt, and placed his face against the stock and looked through the scope. Tomlinson said, “Look aft on the
Bennett
, we have a guy up there with a rifle.”

Sebastian searched for the man till he saw the muzzle flash of his rifle. He took aim on his head, squeezed the trigger, and shot him dead.

Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado

“Mr. President, thank you for coming so quickly. We have an incident that needs your attention, sir,” Griswald said.

Conner took a seat at the table in the command post briefing room.

“No problem. What do we have?” Conner asked. The lack of sleep was taking a toll on Conner. He had large black circles under his eyes and he was losing weight; not from lack of food but from his lack of eating.

“Sir, we just received word that two Maritime Prepositioned Ships were just seized in Diego Garcia.”

“By whom?”

Griswald looked at his colleagues before he answered Conner. “Sir, by U.S. Marines.”

“What?”

“Yes, sir; I'm surprised by this too, but what we have heard is that a Lieutenant Colonel Barone with support of his officer corps have taken control of an Amphibious Ready Group. They sailed the ships to Diego Garcia, refueled, resupplied, and then after they left, they attacked the island and seized two MPS ships.”

Conner just sat looking stunned. He shook his head and asked, “Where are they now, where are they headed?”

“Sir, I do not know. Their orders were to head to the East Coast to help support the recovery effort in Washington, D.C. Where they are heading is unknown for now.”

“Do we have any satellite support at all?”

“Yes sir, we do, most of those survived the EMPs due to their Medium Earth Orbit; but it appears that Barone has disabled us from tracking the ships.”

“Okay, let me make sure I understand what has happened. A rogue Marine colonel has taken an entire ARG, then sailed it to Diego Garcia where he stole two MPS ships. He is now sailing for God knows where.”

“Sir, that is correct. It appeared to the U.S. command element on the island that they were just stopping by to get refueled and resupplied before heading east. After the ARG had departed the island, the command on DG had been notified by someone on the ships that Colonel Barone had mutinied and taken the USS
Makin Island
, the USS
New Orleans
, and the USS
Pearl Harbor
and had plans for seizing the MV
Bennett
and USNS
Stockham
. DG command attempted to thwart the seizures but overwhelming force by Barone's men stopped any resistance and both ships were taken. DG command reports forty-two personnel KIA and twenty-three WIA. They also reported that Barone lost six Marines.”

“Where is Barone based out of?” Conner asked.

“Sir, he commands the Second battalion, Fourth Marine Regiment out of Camp Pendleton, California.”

“Then, General, I would guess California is where he's headed. What assets do we have in the area?”

“For what, sir?” Griswald asked, not sure of how to answer the question.

“I'll just cut the bullshit right here, General. We cannot let this stand, we cannot have Marine colonels or anybody just stealing our ships and resources. This man and his men must be dealt with. Find me some planes or a goddamn carrier group to go after this man and his pack of traitors. They must be stopped.”

Griswald looked around the table and then back to the president. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Let me know as soon as you find someone to intercept them—” Conner said, pausing mid-sentence. A new idea came to him. “General, do what you can to contact this colonel; I wish to speak to him.”

Raising his eyebrows curiously Griswald replied, “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, General. Now, if that is all, I will retire back to my room,” Conner said then stood up, turned and left. As he walked back to his room, thoughts of how fast things were falling apart consumed him. He had never thought that military commanders would start to disobey orders and mutiny. It had not been a week since the attacks and things were deteriorating quickly. They still did not know who had attacked them and they still had not responded. He knew that his time to make a decision was running out; he knew in order to show his enemies he was serious he would have to act soon.