Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (83 page)

Tori walked out behind Denny.

“Sir,” Banks said, stepping out of the MCU, “by your leave, I’d like to join them. We can’t let them go alone. This is our objective, isn’t it? To secure liberty? This Konat guy doesn’t share our values, and from what I read in his file, he’s not here to make peace with the infidel.”

Buchanan turned and looked at the general. “Can I have a word with you, in private?”

James and Buchanan walked away from their position. Buchanan said, “I think it would be wise to take out every remnant of anything un-American and every unauthorized alien between here and the death of this Muhaimin guy in the District. To leave behind anything that doesn’t fit into our agenda will cause problems down the road. Look at what happened with Operation Actions of Defiance. Our own government used the violent acts of these intruders against its own citizens. Let’s give Nathan what he’s asking for; it serves the mission, and in doing so will sound a loud and clear signal that the liberty bell still rings.”

“Make it happen,” James said.

Buchanan didn’t miss a beat. He spun around and started barking orders at the Marines. “Get ready for a fight, Marines.”

Gunnery Sergeant Franks joined in. “You heard him, Marines. Get me a CAAT team, Recon squad, and a platoon of 0311s, on the double.”

With a Combined Anti-Armor Team, Recons, and a platoon of riflemen, they could hit hard. Although Banks was no longer the ranking Marine, he still held a lot of clout with those who had served under him. The introduction of the 21
^st
Marine Regiment meant that there were dozens of senior enlisted Marines over him. Franks was one of them. He had stayed with Buchanan in his travels and was a loyal confidant to him.

“Banks,” Franks called out.

“Yes, Gunny?” he answered.

“You’re in charge of this one. If things go south, call for reinforcements. We’re not backing down from any enemy.”

“You got it, Gunny.”

Banks turned to his men and called out to them. “The posse rides again, Marines. Load up.”

Banks pulled his HMMWV out of the convoy and was followed by multiple members of the old posse group. He ordered his Hummer to pull up next to Nathan, Denny, and Tori, who were walking backwards, watching the posse’s convoy of Marines. The lead vehicle stopped next to them, and Bank yelled out of the window.

“Get in, guys. There’s some kill’n’ to be had.”

The Fist and his men were wearing combat fatigues with a digital urban camo. In all, he had fifty men at his beck and call besides those he affiliated himself with. The Iranian mobs that frequented this area were an especially brutal sect otherwise known as the Jackals.

Fame of the Fist’s assignment to the area had spread like a wildfire. Whispers in dark alleyways and tales of his arrival allured Iranian defectors from UN services and called out to Muslim extremists that had aforetime flooded into the US through the southern US-Mexican border. Political correctness was a cancer that swept through the nation and brought about enough unconstitutional policy and executive fiat to collapse a superpower.

Now, with Lady Liberty on her knees and taking her last breaths, these vermin were crawling from the shadows to reveal themselves and to declare their jihad on the remnant of American survivors. The Fist was proud to be a part of it. With an arrogant smirk, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

“Executive Commander Muhaimin, this is Staff Sergeant Rasoul Konat.”

“How can I help you, Staff Sergeant? I’m hoping you are calling me with good news.”

“The American resistance is here, in full force.”

“My reports were that they were a regiment-sized unit. Is this accurate?”

“Yes, Executive Commander, several thousand and growing.”

The Iranian Ministry of Intelligence had filled Muhaimin’s ego with a false hope that they could defeat the American patriots without the Russians. Perhaps it was a feeling of doubt, or maybe even a small inkling that he had been lied to, whatever the scenario, Muhaimin put the question to the test with Konat by asking a similar question.

“Staff Sergeant, do you believe we can defeat the remnants with our army?”

Konat had but a moment to answer a question that took an hour of deep forethought to accurately reply. “I believe that if Allah is by our side, then we can defeat them.”

It was not the answer Muhaimin was looking for. He was too egotistical to concern himself with religious naivety. He wanted to do this by his own hand and, in so doing, impress the people to grovel at his feet.

When Konat heard nothing but silence, he continued his response. “We have fifty loyal spec ops men under your command with a group of a thousand Islamic dissidents that call themselves the Jackals. They are here, awaiting your orders, Executive Commander.”

What Konat didn’t know was that most of the Jackals were in fact AWOL members of Muhaimin’s UN army. Their size and strength in numbers were being counted twice—once for the size of Muhaimin’s UN force and again as members of the Jackals.

Even if the numbers were accurate, Muhaimin would have to call on the French to assist in the efforts. After the Russian farce, the French were reluctant to assist in any way. What little remained of France’s contributions to the UN effort were posted on the East Coast, serving in and around the District and most of the national monuments. France’s objective was to preserve the historical sights and artifacts of colonial America. Although they were neck deep in globalization, their interests were not geared towards the downfall of Western civilization, as were the Iranians and other Middle Eastern jihadists.

“Do you trust this group?”
Muhaimin asked.

For the Fist to throw the name of the Jackals out there and then to say that he wasn’t sure if he could trust them would be suicide. As barbaric as the Fist was, he didn’t have the backstabbing capability of his old friend Abdul Muhaimin. It would seem Muhaimin’s only weakness was his god complex. The Fist had walked into a question with no right answer. If he were to answer yes, then if they failed, it would seal his fate. If he were to answer no
,
it could end his career and possibly his life.

“This group can accomplish many things under your leadership and guidance, Executive Commander.”

The answer would suffice.

“Then prepare them for their jihad. They are not capable of winning a direct conflict against the Americans. We must break the Americans’ will to fight. Then, and only then, will they defeat the Americans. There’s one more thing I want you to do, Staff Sergeant; shut down Goose Island before the Americans do.”

The Fist put his phone away and called out, “Sergeant Kateli.”

Sergeant Kateli had been serving with Staff Sergeant Konat for the past three years. He was familiar with his passion for punishing Westerners, and the Fist could rely on him to accomplish difficult tasks.

“Here, Staff Sergeant?”

“I need you to make sure the Jackals are properly fixed with the necessary explosives to break the will of the Americans. Sacrifice them all for the cause if you must. Our top priority is to break their will. After that, I want you to make sure Goose Island is shut down.”

“Shut down? Meaning …?”

Kateli asked his question to allow Konat to explain exactly what he meant by shut down.

“Sergeant, do you remember reading about the My Lai Massacre?”

“Understood, Staff Sergeant.”

Babak Kateli turned to his men and called them into formation. While he was assembling the men together, the Fist stepped away and walked into a building he and his men had been based out of for the past several hours.

The posse was maneuvering into a position not far from where Nathan and Denny had seen the Fist. They geared up and stood in a line on the opposite side of the HMMWVs, where they could be shielded from sniper fire. The buildings were tall and numerous. Any one of them could be hosting a potential sniper.

“This ain’t good, boss,” Denny said to Nathan. “This is like a replay of the night Aaron got sniped.”

Nathan knew he was right.

“We’re going to move in tight to those buildings, gents,” Banks called out. “That’s going to give a poor angle for any potential snipers. We’ll still have a good ground view should this Konat guy show his ugly mug.”

When Banks had finished his briefing, he led them over against the nearest building, maintaining a visual on everything on the street level. He assigned a squad of riflemen to maintain security over any potential threats above street level.

Banks was about to give the call to move out when radio traffic came in from Eagle’s Nest.

“This is Echo Five Bravo. Go with your traffic. Over.”

“Echo Five Bravo, be advised we have men here that claim to be with Roeh. Verify. Over.”

Banks turned around to Nathan, who was right behind him, tucked against the wall of the building. He had heard the radio traffic and wanted to denounce Markus and the Syndicate and have them put down right there, but the moment didn’t feel right to Nathan.

“Ask them if it’s Markus,” Nathan said.

“Eagle’s Nest from Echo Five Bravo, is the person in question Markus? Over.”

“Affirmative, Echo Five Bravo. And he claims the territory you’re in is controlled by a terrorist organization known as the Jackals; they are an affiliation of Iranian and UN dissidents. Eagle’s Nest is scrubbing this op. Return to RP. Over.”

“No way am I scrubbing this,” Nathan said, looking back at Banks for a reaction.

“We’re going to need some kind of justification to go against our orders,” Banks said.

“Maybe you do,” Tori added. “I’m a volunteer in this thing. Me, Nathan, and Denny EASed a long time ago.”

EAS was military jargon for end of active service; it was used as an abbreviation to determine an enlisted member’s last day of active-duty service. Tori’s comment rang true for all of them. Banks and his Marines never officially EASed, but they all had been given at least one speech by Buchanan or James that they were now in voluntary service.

Banks jumped back on the radio and said, “Negative, Eagle’s Nest. The posse will stay on mission and looks forward to rejoining you at RP in one day. Over.”

“A day’s better than nothing,” Nathan said.

“I’ll take it,” Tori said.

Denny nodded to Banks, who was waiting to hear back from Eagle’s Nest. There was nothing but silence. Banks gave the Recons the go-ahead to move out and find what they could on the Fist and his group. It wasn’t but a few minutes until they were calling Banks on the radio with the location of a large group of Iranian soldiers in digital urban camouflage fatigues. Banks called all the Marines together and assigned them various tasks ranging from a street sweep towards their intended targets to locating an observation post and sniping positions.

Inside the bunker-like building, the Fist was playing an Iranian card game called Hokm with his teammates, who were letting him win nearly every hand. In the cache that lay before their staff sergeant, there were cigarettes, coins, watches, and other valuables. The group was laughing and poking fun at one another, but each one, under their breath, was cursing his life. On the outside, there was a man posted on a security detail. The Fist was running them in one-hour rotations, and his relief had not shown up; he was fifteen minutes late. When he opened the door and walked in, his presence caught the group’s attention.

“Where have you been, Aslani? You’re missing the fun,” the Fist said.

Aslani was a corporal in the Iranian army; most of Konat’s spec ops men were. His nose and ears were a bright red color, no doubt brought on by the cool winter air.

“Where’s my relief, Staff Sergeant?” he asked.

The Fist looked at his roster and ran his large fingers down the security watch list.

“Majra should have relieved you fifteen minutes ago,” he said, looking around the room for Corporal Majra. When he didn’t see him, he threw his hand of cards onto the table and commanded his men, “Spread out and find him; he can’t be far.”

Each of the men grabbed their rifles and poured out of the building in search of their comrade.

A block away, the Recon Marines were watching from a covered position. They remained motionless and took a tally of each Iranian soldier that ran out of the concrete structure. There were no windows in the building, so the only way to get an exact count was to lure them out. Unfortunately for Majra, he’d roamed too far from his base.

The posse was waiting to hear back from Recon with some kind of actionable intelligence. When an hour or two had passed without hearing from them, they decided to call Eagle’s Nest.

Three Recon Marines had Majra in custody and had taken him back to the RP. Instinctually, they did not make radio contact with Banks, under the assumption they were under radio silence. They had already questioned Majra a great deal and learned quite a bit from him. Although he was a member of the Iranian special operations group, he wasn’t that well trained in SERE. Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape was a required course for most American spec ops forces. These Iranians, though well trained in tactical movements, were not well trained in several other categories. Majra spilled the beans on the Jackals, the Fist’s connection to Muhaimin, and a few nonessential but useful tidbits of information.

They had Majra tied to a chair when the call came in from Banks.

“Eagle’s Nest from Echo Five Bravo. Over.”

Sergeant Hammel picked up the radio. “Go for Eagle’s Nest. Over.”

“Requesting intel on tangos. Over.”

“Give them the grid coordinates,” Buchanan ordered.

When the coordinates came over the radio, Banks was jotting down the numbers while the others were looking for a map of the area.

“It’s no good,” Nathan said. “How can we pinpoint them with a ten-digit coordinate if we don’t have a map?”

About that time, several Marines returned to Banks from their search for an overlook. One of them knelt beside Banks and said, “We found an overwatch position just on the other side of this block; from there, we saw a group of tangos running out of a building. They’re searching for something or someone.”