Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (56 page)

Camp Parks Army Reserve Forces, Dublin, California, 14:31 Hours

Soldiers of the Army Reserves Forces, Camp Parks, had just secured the Dublin federal penitentiary when the lights went out. They rescued several hundred men and women from the FEMA compound and managed to secure the radios, transponders, frequencies, and virtually every manner of electronic communication that was available.

“Sergeant Briggs, the radios stopped working the exact same time the power went out,” Corporal Tina Wheeler said.

Sergeant Briggs was a five-year serviceman and sergeant from Asco, California. His father was a lifetime soldier and raised him on the Army base. There was no soldier more dedicated to the virtues of the Constitution than Sergeant James Briggs.

“Can’t be a coincidence. The District probably found out about our little raid and thought it would be easier to EMP us than to suffer more casualties. We saved them, that’s what matters most, Corporal. Let’s gather up whatever intel we can find and get out of Dodge before they send something worse.”

The District, White House Situation Room, 14:36 Hours

Payam Vahidi was working frantically to bring life back to the computers that had mysteriously shut down at the Utah Data Center. None of the FEMA employees or UN commanders assigned to that area were answering their phones. The live feeds had stopped coming into the White House Situation Room and there was no explanation why or what was happening.

Vahidi was understandably afraid of bearing bad news to the executive commander. It wasn’t until he had exhausted all possible efforts that he finally dialed Muhaimin’s number.

The District, White House Oval Office

Muhaimin was meeting with his top commanders and going over final preparations for the assault on the RFID-chipped veterans and active-duty personnel, primarily the group located in South Dakota, when his cell phone rang. Muhaimin reached into his coat and pulled out his cell phone.

Looking at the call, he said, “Excuse me, gentlemen, I have an urgent phone call that I must attend to.”

“Mr. Vahidi, this had better be good news. I was not expecting a phone call.”

The commanders were overhearing his end of the conversation.

“I see. Thank you for the update, Mr. Vahidi.”

Muhaimin pressed the button that disconnected his call from Vahidi, and looked at the commanders.

“Gentlemen, I’m afraid there’s been a stall in our plan of action. I will be in touch with further updates. Continue to stand down until you hear from me.”

The commanders saluted him and he walked away without returning the salute.

A few moments later, he joined Vahidi in the White House Situation Room.

“Tell me again how you failed me.”

“Sir, I have been unable to make any connection to our contacts on the West Coast. Our systems are still running, but it’s like their systems crashed. We are no longer receiving feeds from the FLIES drones or the RFID program. Nobody west of South Dakota has contacted us. It’s like they vanished.”

Muhaimin looked around the room and saw several operators answering phone calls.

“Who’s calling them?”

“They are receiving phone calls from our units east of Wyoming. They are technical support employees, but all of our forces on the ground have no further access to the RFID-location protocols that we have recently upgraded.”

“This is obviously a retaliatory attack from the Chinese.”

“Sir?”

“Mr. Vahidi, you’ve outstayed your welcome. It’s time to move on.”

Muhaimin pulled his pistol from the holster and pointed it at Vahidi.

Vahidi said, “Sir,” but was shot in the chest three times before he could beg for his life.

“You were a good friend, Mr. Vahidi, but I can no longer tolerate the embarrassment you’ve given me.”

Muhaimin turned and walked out while Vahidi fell to the floor and slowly died, unassisted.

Benton, Illinois

Captain Siroosi was pursuing the Recon Marines, utilizing the RFID protocol, when the signal dropped at 16:23 hours. He sent several work orders to the UDC and to the District, but never received anything but a dead tone from the UDC, and the requests to the District went unanswered. Having been stricken with the sudden lack of actionable intelligence, Siroosi stopped firing off the TITAN 1, which was the official name for the direct energy weapon. Frustrated, he selected twelve UN ground troops and geared them up in Biocontrol uniforms, charging them specifically with killing any American that looked active military or capable of effective resistance.

To the UN soldiers, this was like a blank check. Each of them were feeling power hungry from watching the TITAN 1 being shot towards the Americans. From where they were standing, behind the TITAN 1, their chests were vibrating vigorously each time the TITAN 1 would charge for the next shot. It filled them with adrenaline and psyched them up for a fight, like school kids listening to their favorite speed metal song before they ran off to do something juvenile and brazen.

The twelve soldiers were being led by Sergeant Feliks Paparov (or Papa as his men called him), a bloodthirsty Russian combat veteran. He was smart and adapted well to any combat environment, whether it be desert, urban, jungle, or woodland.

Papa saluted the captain he was detailed to work with, and rounded up his men for a duty gear check. In his Russian language, he told his men, “I want each of you to pair off and double-check each other for operational readiness. Make sure your weapons are loaded and your breathing apparatuses are properly fastened. Don and clear to make sure you have a good seal.”

After each of the men had stopped searching one another and he saw they were finished moving about, he called them to attention.

“Fall in,” he yelled at them, and followed that command by, “Straighten up,” which was a Russian command prompting them for the next command.

“Attention,” he yelled, snapping the men into a tight standing position. Their rifles were in their right hands with the buttstock of each resting on the ground next to their right foot.

“Men, we are going into combat. The area we have been chosen to clear out has previously been isolated and cleared by Biocontrol units. There is an unidentified sickness in those buildings and it would do you well to keep your masks on. These Americans are trained well, but are hungry and desperate. They will make mistakes that you will not. Prepare yourself for glory.”

The men began shouting from their position of attention.

“Kill, kill, kill.”

Their yells were uniform and echoed through the quiet storefront buildings, reaching the ears of Nathan and the Recon Marines, who were just nesting down after a rapid deployment from the area that was being directly affected by the direct energy attack.

Jess was now waking up after her encounter with the weapon. “How long was I out?”

“Maybe an hour. I’m not sure,” Nathan replied.

“What happened?”

“These guys said it was some kind of an energy weapon. The group was scattered when it went off. I couldn’t see Denny, but I saw you, after I came to my senses.”

“Where are we?”

“Not far from the shoot-out.”

A Recon Marine, Lance Corporal Henderson, was looking out of one of the windows towards the direct energy weapon.

“We are going to have to set up an evac route. There’s not enough of us to secure a decent perimeter.”

Jess looked around the dimly lit room and counted four. “There’s only four of us?”

“Yeah, those two,” Nathan said, pointing at the two Marines that saved him, “and us.”

“Not very good odds,” she said.

“We may be better off than we suspect,” Corporal Anders said.

“How’s that?” Henderson asked.

“I’m sure there’s more of us than four. We’re just split up, right?”

“Right,” Nathan clued in. “And if there’s gunfire, backup might just stop by.”

As if on cue, a massive firefight began outside.

Nathan, Jess, Henderson, and Anders listened for a moment. They could hear the distinct sounds of AK-47s being shot against America’s preferred Colt-style rifles. The sounds were mixed with a variety of other distinct rifles.

“That’s our crew,” Nathan said.

“How do you know?” Henderson asked.

“Who else could pack a ragtag group of American firepower together in one location?”

No sooner than Nathan had figured out who the attack was coming from, they heard the distinct sound of the direct energy weapon being fired off. The gunshots ceased and their joy seemed to melt away at the thought of what might have just happened. The anticipation in the room was high and they all feared the worst-case scenario.

Nathan jumped to his feet.

“No way,” Anders said. “We can’t go back out there.”

Nathan did a quick assessment of what he had. Jess still had shaky motor skills, and that left three. It wasn’t enough help to run out into the unknown environment against an enemy of unknown size with superweapons.

Nathan plopped back down onto the floor and waited for darkness.

Denny and Morgan weren’t far from Nathan’s position. Each of them had no idea where the other members of the group were. They would often hear the sounds of gunfire, reminiscent of the old West movies, except these weapons were more sophisticated and came in much higher calibers.

When Denny had awakened from his sleep, he didn’t say a word to Morgan. He knew that Morgan had rendered him unconscious, and he was holding a grudge. It wasn’t that he was angry with Morgan, he understood why he did what he did, but the frustration of being suckered in the back got under his skin.

It was now dark outside, but the sounds of shootings in the streets were still hyperactive.

Morgan, sensing that Denny was about to make his move, said, “Look, it’s dark out there. It’s what you’ve been waiting for, but you hear the sounds of gun fighting. What if they have night vision?”

“If they have night-vision capability, then I guess they have the advantage. Either way, I’m not going to die cowering in some lame building on my knees. If I die, it’s going to be on my feet. Resisting!”

“Well, I hope you have a plan.”

“Thanks for caring, Morg, but my plan is to survive. Aim small, miss small.”

“Huh? Is that some kind of military lingo?”

Denny just looked at Morgan and wondered how any civilian could survive in hostile territory.

When Morgan saw that Denny was staring blankly at him, he said, “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just missing my veteran friends.”

“You know, I get the feeling from you
veterans
that you think you’re better than us
civilians.
In fact, when I hear you guys talking, you call us
civilians
as if it’s a derogatory thing. Why is that?”

Denny knew that Morgan was picking a fight. The hook was baited and he was still frustrated with Morgan for knocking him out, so he took the bait.

“Morgan, you would probably be dead if not for the veterans with combat experience or even training, for that matter.”

“So it’s true, you think you’re better than us.”

“It’s not that we’re better than you, we’re just better equipped, all the way around.”

“Better equipped? You can’t even watch your back. I had to knock you out from behind because you’re so gung ho that you can’t think straight.”

“Yeah, about that. I gave you my back because I trusted you. A weakness I won’t demonstrate anymore.”

Denny grabbed his pack from the corner and put it on his back.

“Thanks for watching over me, but if I can’t trust you with my back, then I’m going to be heading out, alone.”

“Fine. You
veterans
can get by just fine without us
civilians
. Good luck!” Morgan shouted.

“That’s what I’m talking about. There’s UN soldiers outside of these walls. They’re looking for us, and you want to raise your voice. That’s ignorant
civilian
stuff.”

“Just go,” Morgan said, trying to get the last word.

Denny was tired of all the talking. He wasn’t a good debater and even worse at holding conversations. He was more of a thinker than anything. What he knew to be true was that Morgan had raised his voice one too many times, and that made him nervous that their position had been given away. When he had his backpack securely fastened on his shoulders, he double-checked his pocket to make sure his Karambit was still there.

He walked up to the door, pulled it open, and pulled his Karambit from his pocket.

Morgan walked up to him and Denny spotted him.

“What are you doing, Morg?”

“I’m not going to let a veteran die alone. You’re taking a knife to a gunfight. Not so smart for a veteran.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that. Death comes to us all.”

“Now you’re sounding like a veteran. We may be rubbing off on you.”

Denny turned back to the door.

Morgan’s view was obstructed by Denny, who was standing in the doorway.

When Denny was fully facing outward, six UN soldiers in Biocontrol suits stepped into view. The lead soldier pointed a Russian PK machine gun at him.

It all happened so fast that there was only reflex time. Denny ducked out of the way, exposing Morgan to the shooter. It wasn’t a lack of care or even a lack of knowledge, it was a lack of time to coordinate the necessary motor skills to verbalize what Denny said too late.

“Incoming!” he yelled as he ducked to the side.

Morgan heard the call, but it was too late. A firestorm of 7.62 mm belt-fed projectiles went sailing through Morgan. Denny kicked the door closed and took cover in a darkened cubbyhole.

Morgan was now groping at his chest and trying to find Denny in the dark.

Denny was calling to Morgan, but the bullets were still being shot through the door. Denny could barely see Morgan, because of the light that was coming through the door. One of the UN soldiers had some kind of a back-mounted lighting system. To Denny, it was both a blessing and a curse. It gave away the soldier’s position, but it also blinded and gave away his position. At the moment, the light was shining through the bullet holes in the door and putting light on Morgan, who was trying to take cover.