Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (5 page)

The District

Brigadier General Tony Erwin had called the District to speak to General Michael Graves regarding the matter of several units under Erwin’s command that were not reporting to their designated rally point. General Graves knew he was not in a safe position to discuss the matters of the heart, which was what he felt this situation was. His deepest desire was to tell the adjutant general to stand down, but the cell phones the generals were using were special government issued and controlled communication devices. They were strictly monitored and tracked. There could be nothing said in private and no place where they couldn’t be tracked. Graves had no choice but to submit to the will of his commander-in-chief. When his phone rang, duty demanded he answer.

“This is General Michael Graves.”

General Graves, this is Brigadier General Tony Erwin of the Illinois Army National Guard.”

“How can I help you, Tony?”

Sir, regarding Operation Acts of Defiance, several units under my command have not reported to their designated CP. I need authorization to locate and assess for potential dissidents and patriot movement sympathizers.”

General Graves wanted to reach through the phone and choke the life out of Erwin for his lack of patriotism. Graves felt it was Erwin who was the dissident. His call was being monitored. He felt he had no choice but to authorize the recovery of MIA soldiers.

“Permission granted, Tony. Contact me with updates.”

Springfield, Illinois

Capitol Building

“Thank you, General.”

Erwin hung up the phone and called a meeting with his top officers.

Tony Erwin’s commitment was to his government. He was a man that took orders without question. There was no internal reasoning nor a need to find logic. When he was given orders, he followed them explicitly.

“Gentlemen, we have several Illinois units that have not reported in to their respective command point. Here is a list of MIA units.” Erwin laid out a map and ran his hands across the surface. He then pointed to one of the locations and said, “Your orders are simple, contact the OICs nearest to these locations, circled in red, and locate these units. Once they have been located, report back to me. I want up-to-date information, gentlemen. Dismissed.”

Rend Lake Community College

Carbondale, Illinois

Stephen’s platoon size had been divided into two groups: those with ammunition and those without. Those who had not volunteered their name had closed the ranks of the platoon, as instructed. Stephen looked about at the other platoons and they had done similarly. The biggest question in his mind was
“Now what?”

Stephen watched as those men and women who had received their ammunition huddled around the command sergeant.

“This isn’t looking good, fellas,” Stephen said just under his breath, but loud enough for the men to his flanks to hear his concern.

“What are they doing?” Specialist Waters asked.

“We need to go, now,” Private First Class Johnson said, taking off in a fast sprint. This caught the attention of several of the men in Damm’s group, who gave chase. Of those who remained behind, they each quickly loaded a round into the chamber of the service rifle and pointed them at the group Stephen was in.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stephen said, putting his hands into the air.

“Get down, get down.” The commands came as the armed soldiers pointed their weapons at their bewildered teammates.

Every soldier not having the necessary ammunition to defend himself had no choice but to follow the directives of their captors. The entire situation was more than some of them could handle. Some panicked and ran away on foot, but could find no other cover than the vehicles they had brought. It wasn’t until a couple of the runners captured a Hummer that the bullets began to fly. Stephen was one of a few that remained helplessly still on the ground with his fingers interlocked behind his head. It wasn’t until the first bullets were fired that he realized that the situation had escalated into a full-blown crisis. Perhaps out of confusion or denial, either way, he now saw where the lines were drawn. He could no longer discern friend from foe, ally from enemy, or patriot from dissident.

“Cease fire!” Stephen heard Command Sergeant Damm yell. Looking up at Damm, he couldn’t get a read from his expressionless face.

“Those men are your brethren!” he continued. “What difference are we going to make if we shoot at fellow Americans? This is what we’re fighting against. If you’re confused about the mission, then ask for clarification.”

When Damm stopped the shooting, the only thing he had to add was a simple command, “Let them go. They’re likely to do one of two things, either go AWOL or report our activities. Either way, we’re no longer safe here. Take these guys and cuff ’em up. Put them over there in that building and load up the convoy.” Damm was pointing to one of the buildings adjacent their present location. The cuffs the soldiers were using weren’t metal handcuffs like law enforcement would normally be equipped with, but were large plastic zip-ties.

Stephen remained still and waited his turn to be cuffed. The soldier walked up to him and said, “Put your hands behind your back, Gill.”

The soldier’s name was Smith, and he had a good working relationship with Stephen. In fact, he and Stephen had gone to boot camp together, selected the same military occupation, and eventually went to the same schools for their military education.

“C’mon, Smitty, you don’t have to do this, bro.”

“Just play along, Gill. You know these things always blow over.”

“
These things
? C’mon, man. You know this ain’t one of those
things
. None of this is right. Damm should be cutting us loose to rejoin our families. I’m not against Damm’s intentions. I want to join, but I have this situation at home with my wife and daughter. Some unresolved issues to address.”

“I get it, I really do…”

“Just cuff him, Smitty,” another soldier said.

When Smith was positive he wasn’t being observed, he whispered to Stephen, “Just do what you’re told and keep your hands clasped tightly together.”

Stephen could feel that Smith was mimicking the motions of cuffing Stephen, but was actually placing the zip-ties in his hands.

“Hold on to these tightly and do whatever you’re told. You’ll get out of this and go home,” Smith whispered.

The men were stood up off the ground and escorted to the adjacent building, where they were sat down in a long interior hallway against the walls. There were no windows and nowhere to escape to without being seen.

Command Sergeant Damm walked into the hallway and cleared his throat, as if to catch everyone’s attention.

It worked.

“Gentlemen, this is where you’re going to stay until we’re long gone. It saddens me to have to resort to this, but it’s for the mission. Because you refused to participate, I’m not sure which side of the fence you’re on. It’s a gray area, I know, but it won’t matter when we’re gone. Here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to leave a couple soldiers in a discreet location outside of these walls. When twenty-four hours has passed, you’ll be free to exit this building and return to your families. If you leave before the twenty-four hours has expired, we’ll take that as an act of aggression. I’m about the mission, soldiers. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

Damm turned and walked away.

The hallway fell silent and the men stared at one another. In the silence, Stephen couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to be with his wife and daughter. He attempted to balance the oath he swore to uphold the constitution against his current situation, the condition of America, and the overall confusion of everything. Hours passed by and his anger was kindled against his captors. He was no longer sure if he was one of the good guys or one of the bad guys. Most problems seemed irrelevant when weighed against the unknown and a lack of control. Not having liberty might have been the final straw. It was that thought that pushed him beyond the brink of his coping skills.

Stephen stood up. His hands dangling in front of him, uncuffed, shocked those in the hallway.

“Sit down, you’re going to get shot,” one of the captive soldiers said.

“Shut up, Brown,” Stephen responded. “I’m not about to take another second of this.”

Entering one of the classrooms, he could see that there was a soldier posted on top of one of the buildings catty-cornered from their position. Stephen exited the classroom and went back into the hallway.

“Where are you going, Gill?”

“The science lab, janitor’s closet, anywhere, really; I know this school. Hopefully it hasn’t been completely looted.”

Stephen shuffled through the empty halls and made his way to a broom closet. He spotted a mop and snatched it from the bucket it was resting in. The mop head was stiff and dry rotted from years of sitting in an empty closet. He stood it up in the corner at a steep angle and smashed the long wooden handle with his right foot. The force separated the mop head from the handle, and Stephen eagerly grabbed the wooden stick, which now had a long splintered shank for its tip. Looking up on the shelf, he saw a gallon bottle of bleach, which he took down and poured its contents into an empty spray bottle, which was labeled
WINDOW CLEANER.
After placing the bottle of bleach into his cargo pocket, he ran to another classroom and carefully looked outside, desperate to find the second spotter.

He couldn’t find him.

As Stephen was coming out of the classroom, he heard humming sounds coming from one of the men’s restrooms. The humming sound grew louder and louder as Stephen moved closer to the restroom. The closer he moved toward the sound, the more familiar the sound became. It was an old nineteen eighties song, titled “Rooster,” by Alice In Chains. The lyrics were being hummed until the chorus came alive as he hummed the words.

Stephen moved against the wall and pointed his spear toward the door. His right arm was tightly grasping the rear of the shank and resting against the wall. His palms became sweaty as a multitude of emotions began to flood his mind.

Am I about to kill an American? Can I live with myself after I do this?

Time was running out for Stephen. He had no time to prepare, either emotionally or physically, for what was about to happen.

How far is he from the door?

There was no running water, no flushing sounds, and no sink or handwashing capability. There was nothing Stephen could use to indicate how far from the door his captor was.

At the last moment, Stephen removed the spray bottle of bleach from his pocket and quietly laid his spear onto the floor.

The door opened.

The tall male soldier walked out and turned right. He was oblivious to Stephen’s presence.

Stephen crept up close, but the quiet hall could not conceal his footsteps, no matter how softly he tread.

“Hey!” Stephen shouted, his voice echoing down the long hall.

The man grasped his rifle and turned toward Stephen, who pointed the spray bottle into the man’s face. The spray nozzle was twisted into the
closed
position. Stephen, realizing he had fumbled, charged at his captor and struck him with his shoulder in the midsection, taking them both to the floor. Stephen grabbed for the soldier’s rifle, but he had a tight grip on the handguard.

The rifle was now the center of attention for both of the ground fighters. Stephen recognized the man’s face, but did not know who he was. The fact that they did not know one another heightened the threat level. Neither man felt comfortable about the other having possession of the combat weapon. Survival of the fittest was now the only theory regarding life and death. Natural selection had its place in the animal kingdom, but as primal as the fight was, only the strongest man would come out on top.

Stephen was on top of the man, with the rifle firmly planted between the two of them. Stephen latched his wrist into the sling and gripped it tightly.

The soldier found an opportunity to overcome his prisoner when he latched his wrist into the sling. He used his left leg as leverage against the wall to trade positions with Stephen. All it took was a grunt and a little core strength. With that, Stephen had the rifle, but it was still sandwiched between the two of them. The soldier closed the gap by hugging him tightly and locking his legs into Stephen’s legs. Stephen used his upper-body strength to push the soldier back, but the soldier retaliated by grabbing him around the throat with his hands.

Stephen had made his decision. It was his life or the soldier’s. One of them would be dead soon. This was the very fear that had haunted him for the past several months. That one day, American would be pitted against American once again. The great battle of our time that always seemed to repeat itself; the blessings of liberty overshadowed by the threat of tyranny.

The soldier had a tight grip around Stephen’s throat. He couldn’t breathe and his brain was short of blood supply. Soon his vision would white out and he would die from asphyxiation. Before this could happen, Stephen used his legs to push them both up the hallway. Just a few scoots and he could reach his makeshift spear. The soldier was so engaged in choking Stephen out that he missed Stephen’s intention. With his right hand, he released the soldier’s wrist and reached out for the splintered mop stick. It was already pointed in a forward direction, so he used his left hand to grab the soldier by the back of his head, and used his right hand to thrust the pointed mop handle deep into the soldier’s throat.

The soldier released Stephen and stood up, groping helplessly at his throat.

Two shots rang out. Stephen now had possession of the M4 service rifle. He put the soldier down with a double tap to the head.

Killing his first American wasn’t what he thought it would be. He had been preparing mentally for these eventualities for some time. Now that it had happened, Stephen just scooted closer to the wall and leaned up against it. His mind was numb and void of thought. Maybe it was his own near-death experience. Perhaps psychologically, he had been affected, or maybe it was all too much to take in at once. Whatever caused the numbing sensation must have begun abating, because the ringing that was already in his ears from shooting the rifle in an enclosed hallway was slowly becoming more and more noticeable. And with it, the radio in the soldier’s pocket was calling out to him.