Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (86 page)

“I have already sent out Reconnaissance Marines to take up sniping positions from across the Chicago River. They will be watching the towers and will take them out if they choose not to retreat at our approach. Weapons Company 1
^st
Battalion is with Colonel Cox, so I will need Weapons Company 3
^rd
Battalion 25
^th
Marines to take up positions at the southeast entrance of the island. Weapons Company 2
^nd
Battalion will take up positions at the northeast entrance. Weapons Company 3
^rd
Battalion will take up positions at the north entrance. Gentlemen, it is your job to destroy any armor that exits that compound.

“The Stryker Brigade Combat Team will enter the compound at the west entrance and engage the enemy while Colonel Howard’s men provide aerial support with his Super Stallions. 3/25 India, Kilo, and Lima will enter on foot and provide ground fire with the Strykers. I want the 21
^st
o-three eleven Marines Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, and India to split up and join the weapons companies at the entrances. Your job is to kill anybody that tries to stop you. Captain Roeh, your objective is to clean sweep the interior of the compound after the o-three elevens finish clearing it. Only one ROE, gentlemen—do not shoot civies! Do you understand?”

The whole crowd shouted a mixture of oorahs, hooahs, and yeahs. Marines, Army, and civilians had their different traditions, but the answer was a uniform yes.

“Then find your units. We deploy in fifteen minutes.”

O’Hare International Airport, Chicago, Illinois

A rusty blue flatbed truck was pulling into the airport. Its engine was sputtering as it came to a stop at the security checkpoint. Two aggressive UN soldiers stopped the vehicle until they saw Staff Sergeant Konat in the passenger seat; they gave them permission to enter. The driver took the truck as far as it would go, until it stalled just a few yards from a private jet. Eight of his soldiers were riding in the back of his truck. They each jumped out and followed their leader to the jet, where they boarded without incident.

Konat approached the cockpit area and commanded the pilot to fly him and his companions to the District. He secured the cockpit door and walked to the back of the plane, where he joined his teammates. They were engaged in conversation about their conflict with the Americans. Konat never talked about his combat engagements. His men did most of the talking. A couple of Konat’s men were talking about him and his conflict with the man they were calling Shaytaan; the man that they had once made an example of. Konat bore the scars of their confrontation on the left side of his face; there were some third-degree burns from the fire, but he pulled his cell phone out and touched it to his face like there was no sense of concern over the injuries.

The District

Power had been restored to most parts of the Midwest and East Coast regions. However, it had not yet been restored on the West Coast, so the Utah Data Center was still inoperable. Satellite images and streaming options were available to Muhaimin in key locations within the District. His favorite place to view live streams was in the Situation Room. He had spent the last several hours watching satellite streams of locations of significant importance.

Muhaimin knew his area of control was shrinking around him. In his mind, Russia had betrayed him, his men were incompetent, the North Koreans were reckless, the UN was too bureaucratic and weak on insurgency, the Chinese were uncommitted, the French could no longer be trusted, and nowhere, in his equation, was any of it a fault of his own.

Muhaimin’s phone rang. He would have answered it after the first ring or two if not for the satellite streams. He was captivated by the growing heat signatures that couldn’t be seen the previous week. Large droves of people were congregating in various locations across the Midwest portions of America and on the East Coast. Looking at the heat signatures on the map only revealed to him that people were massing together. Without the assistance of the UDC, there was no way of knowing if these heat signatures were military forces, civilian survivors, or belonged to a third and less likely option, UN forces. The lack of central intelligence and information networking facilities brought about a sense of discomfort for the executive commander. He was beginning to realize that the inevitability of a successful campaign was falling from his fingertips. Every day revealed another stroke of bad luck.

Muhaimin’s phone was still ringing when he looked carefully at the map on the computer screen and saw that the District was completely surrounded by these large red clusters. A quick tally in his head concluded that he didn’t have enough men to equal this many heat signatures. Even if he did, they were not organized correctly, nor in their assigned areas of responsibility.

“Ready me a plane, Agent,” Muhaimin ordered the man at the controls. He had made his decision. An evacuation was the only remaining option.

“Where would you like it to take you, Executive Commander?”

“To the land of the Aryans.”

“That’s not going to be possible, Executive Commander.”

Muhaimin walked over to the agent and examined the computer screen in front of him. There, in plain sight, more than 180 ships with more than 1,200 aircraft were taking up offensive postures just off the coast of Virginia.

“What is this?” Muhaimin yelled.

“Sir, it appears to be the United States Fleet Forces Command.”

USFLTFORCOM was an ace up the sleeve of Admiral William S. Dixon. He had secretly pulled the Atlantic fleet out into international waters to buy enough time and intelligence so he could utilize them. With the recent knowledge of the survival of General John James and his command, the time to reveal surprises and long-awaited disclosures had finally come. The fleet consisted of more than one hundred thousand Navy and Marine Corps personnel.

Also among the admiral’s surprises was the USPACFLT, or United States Pacific Fleet. It was neutralized by the North Korean EMP attack and consisted of two hundred ships, two thousand aircraft, and two hundred fifty thousand Navy and Marine Corps personnel. Admiral Dixon had lost communication with them and could not risk revealing the location of the USFLTFORCOM for the purpose of bringing USPACFLT personnel to dry land. For the time being, he had to leave them alone.

Muhaimin’s phone had finally stopped ringing. He was aghast at the new turn of events. He could only assume that both coastlines of the United States were secured by fleets of this size. There was no way home for the executive commander, giving him two possible options—fight or hide. His pride was too great to support the latter, so he commanded the agent to call every remaining UN soldier and to order them into defensive positions in and around the District. He gave the agent explicit instructions to hide the knowledge he was privy to from any and all remaining troops.

O’Hare International Airport, Chicago, Illinois

Staff Sergeant Konat gave up on trying to contact Muhaimin. He had let the phone ring a couple dozen times before cancelling the call and commanding the pilot to stand down.

Sergeant Kateli looked at Konat and asked, “What now, Staff Sergeant?”

Konat knew that once he and his men left the airport, it would be up for grabs. Konat had a firm grip on the security of the airport, but recent events caused him to pull down some of the security, and that had compromised its security significantly.

“Stand down until I can get in touch with the executive commander. He must be away from his phone.”

The pilot, a Russian captain named Lovzansky Vyacheslavovich, was at the controls of the luxury 2020 model Bombardier Global jet. He was well aware of the assassinations of his comrades conducted at Muhiamin’s order and was relaying information, via radio, to fragmented Russian UN units now in hiding. In turn, they were using mobile command units to communicate that information back to Russia. The comings and goings at O’Hare might have seemed inconsequential on a grand scale, but Russia was paying close attention to what was happening in the former United States, and there was enough smaller activity to amount to a larger influence over the outcome of UN operations. The Russians were aware of Muhaimin’s sedition and were considering all available options to assist the Americans in their fight against him.

Goose Island, Chicago, Illinois

The snipers were in place, but there was no activity in the guard towers. It was as if nobody was home. When the information was relayed back to the general, he contacted Admiral Dixon for an update on the interior activity of the compound. The admiral’s intel was limited to the most recent aerial photographs. The MCUs were not designed to receive live satellite feeds unless it was streamed in from the District, and they were not about to petition for that. All the admiral could do was communicate back to the general that the current intel on the compound was less than a week old.

Not having much to work with, General John James gave the order to breach the compound.

Nathan had the militia taking cover behind the armored vehicles, waiting for the 0311 Marines to make entry and to clear the area of hostiles. 0311 was the Marines’ numerical classification for riflemen, or foot infantry. His job was to come in after the initial gunfight and to neutralize any remaining threats.

Nathan watched as the large gates of the compound were breached by explosives and the debris was pulled away, off the road, from obstructing the entrance. The compound was flooded with Marines, and they filled the air with the sounds of their famous war cries, the same terrifying barking sounds that the Germans heard in 1918, at the Battle of Belleau Wood, and later called
dogs from hell
.

He and his men patiently waited for the command to enter the island, but he never heard a shot fired. The sounds of motivated Marine shouts faded away and then came an eerie silence. He stood up from his position and walked up to the bridge that led to the island’s large entrance. He stood there, looking in and trying to catch a glimpse of anything, anything at all, but there was nothing. Over his shoulder, to his rear, several hundred armed veterans and civilians were standing. All of them were gazing toward the island, waiting to hear a command.

Nathan began walking toward the island, with the militia in tow. Once he reached the entrance, he paused to listen again. He could hear the Marines talking in low tones and knew they were all safe. The same couldn’t be said about the previous inhabitants. The scene would have been horrifying to the basest of humanity. Dead Americans were strewn about in the streets. Many of them had been dismembered, others disemboweled, beheaded, shot, flayed, and hanged—there were none left alive.

Nathan ordered his men to conduct a clean sweep of the compound. The 0311s walked around the compound and searched bodies for identification cards. Most of them had picture IDs attached to lanyards that were hanging from their necks. For those who were beheaded, their ID cards were not far from the body.

Nathan had seen some gruesome scenes in life, but this topped all of them. There were no children in the compound, but still he had a sinking feeling that he was going to stumble onto a scene involving children, and that, he thought, would be too much to bear.

As he was sweeping from room to room, he was taking note of the IDs. He ordered a dozen of his men to backtrack and collect the IDs from every corpse they encountered. They contained important data that might come in handy later. The IDs contained a photo, name, specialty, and place of employment. The island was large enough to contain several structures where the inhabitants could employ their services. The factories, workshops, and other labor-related facilities were inconsequential at this point, but it was clear they could have been self-sufficient for some time to come.

“Island of the dead,” a familiar voice said to Nathan. It was Markus, from the Syndicate group. Approaching him, to his rear, was Troy. Nathan pushed Markus away and embraced Troy.

“What happened to you, man?” Troy asked.

“We were separated when Markus’s men chased us down and cornered us on a rooftop.”

“They caught us, too. Good thing, huh?”

“Good thing?” Nathan asked with a tinge of confusion and disgust, looking back at Markus.

“Yeah, he took us in and here we are.”

“Is that right?”

Nathan was still looking at Markus. The discussion he and Markus had over the tour of one of their buildings was one that still needed to be addressed.

“Tell me, Troy,” Nathan said, “were you sheltered on the tenth floor?”

“What about it?”

Markus was becoming uncomfortable and began repositioning himself. Nathan already had his rifle pulled up and pointed at him. To Markus’s left, Denny was moving into position, with his rifle trained on Markus.

“Improvise, adapt, and overcome, Nathan,” Markus said. “Don’t you remember our talk?”

Rory Price found the gathering of militia members and walked into the midst of it. He first saw Nathan and that he was pointing his weapon at a man. He moved around the crowd until he could see the target. He was dismayed to see that Markus was in their company.

“Nathan, this man is no good for us,” Rory said.

Troy didn’t know what was going on, so he watched and listened.

“I took you in,” Markus said, pointing to Rory, “and I took you in,” pointing to Troy, “and I took you in,” pointing to Nathan. “All of you are alive because I played a part in your survival.”

Nathan would have shot him dead right there on the spot if it were not for all the witnesses. The only thing that kept him from doing so was that he wasn’t sure what the others would think or do, especially in light of the fact that Markus was clearly American and they were attempting to reestablish a constitutional republic.

“Markus here has been cannibalizing Americans. He’s been detaining them under the guise of housing assistance, then escorting them like lambs to the slaughter when his Syndicate gets hungry,” Nathan accused. “What do you know, preacher?” he then asked Rory.