Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (90 page)

The north and south lawns were now secured. Defensive positions were established all around the house to cover the dozens of windows that posed a potential threat of enemy fire. If there were any UN soldiers left in the building, they could use the windows as an angle of attack. The Marines and soldiers had a tight perimeter on the area, so they recuperated as they waited for word from Buchanan.

Rory was in the south yard, leaning against a wall of sandbags, daydreaming about home. One of the Marines next to him was lighting up a cigarette. Rory, who was looking forward, rolled the back of his head across the sandbag to make eye contact with the young Marine. At first, he noticed his youthfulness and then thought about how awful the situation was that such a young man, who had never enjoyed the type of freedom he was fighting for, could have died for an ideal he had only heard of.

Then he remembered his history books and how the colonialists believed in an ideal that all men were created equal. Those men who fought and died in the American Revolution had dreams that their children could live free. This man next to Rory was a modern-day revolutionary; all of them were. They were fighting for an ideal that the rest of the world didn’t share. In the days of the colonials, there was no global community, no satellites in the sky, and no United Nations.

In the end, will it even matter?
Rory thought.
Even if we win back our freedom, we are impotent and vulnerable.
Rory had a deep heart-sinking feeling in his chest that the fight for American liberty was just a small blot of ink in a grander picture.

“We’ve got movement,” somebody shouted. Rory looked towards the voice and saw a couple of Marines pointing towards the White House.

Rory whipped around to see what they were talking about. Nathan and a group of about twenty men were running up along the front of the house toward the front door.

“Hold your fire. They’re with us,” somebody said.

“What’s he doing?” Rory asked. “Have we been given the go-ahead to enter?”

“No, we haven’t,” somebody answered.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Rory said as he attempted to stand up. A Marine grabbed him by his coat and pulled him back down.

“If you go in there with him, you will too.”

Nathan only briefly looked at the group he had in tow, figuring they were Militia Company fighters, together with the mysterious redhead’s group; either way, he knew they had his back. He maintained a tight posture against the wall of the White House. He was being driven by sheer willpower to find and kill the Fist. He couldn’t shake his last memory of Jessica and what he had done to her. She’d begged for her life as he gutted her and separated her head from her body. Nathan would never be the same after that event; it was probably best that he find the Fist and put a bullet between his eyes. It might not bring Jess back from the dead, but Nathan felt it would be a good first step to recovery.

Entering the foyer area, he could see holes blown through the architecture of the antique building. To his left, he recognized the Oval Office and took that turn with his rifle at the high ready position. Bullet holes littered the walls, and large picture frames lay across the floor. Exercising extreme vigilance, he briskly checked the oval-shaped room and then entered the next room. He continued this strategy until the floor level was cleared and then continued on to the grand staircase that led to the second level.

The Pentagon, the District

Muhaimin was at a loss for words. His narcissistic view of all things together with his antisocial personality disorder hindered him from seeing the truth of his handling of things. In his mind, he had not failed, so why had he lost? Why had things advanced this far? Why weren’t the remaining Americans dead? These were just a few of the questions that plagued his mind.

While he was receiving reports that the capital’s radio jammer had been destroyed, reports were also streaming in to the Pentagon that he had lost control of Arlington Memorial Bridge. Soon a flood of Americans would be breaching the doors of the Pentagon itself. Only a few UN soldiers were left in it, not enough to pose any kind of serious threat to the Americans.

Muhaimin pulled his pistol out of its holster and inspected the magazine to make sure it was full. Knowing that he had a full magazine, he pulled the upper receiver back to check the chamber, making sure he had a round securely in place. He was now set to make his final stand. With a sneer and a cocky inspection of his uniform in a reflection on the glass command technology in front of him, he knew that, despite all the ground the Americans were gaining, he still had an ace up his sleeve and would outsmart all of them.

Muhaimin was alone. Every able-bodied fighter was on ground level, engaging the resistance.

Just East of the District

The USFLTFORCOM had sent ninety thousand of its hundred thousand Marines and sailors to Patuxent River Naval Base, where they were flown to Andrews Air Force Base and made their grand entrance onto the streets of the District. They began the long tedious process of clearing the streets of residual jihadists and fleeing UN soldiers. Iranian combatants were shot dead on sight, and the French were detained for questioning. Little to no Russian UN soldiers were found. Muhaimin’s genocide was over.

The Executive Building

Denny and the mysterious redhead had fought side by side all the way through the executive building. Militia Company had lost ten members in the fight, but they had gained invaluable information from the various personnel the UN fighters were protecting. They were making their approach to the last floor, and it was believed to be the floor that contained the highest security clearances. They didn’t know what they would find, but so far they had unraveled the plot that brought about the Flip. It was a US government operation called Acts of Defiance. It had been in the works for several previous years and was a buildup toward the primary goal of globalization and the new world order.

The entire operation culminated in two separate phases. Phase one was to socialize everything: medical, education, economy, and so on. Once the greater majority of the populace was dependent upon the government, phase two was initiated. Phase two was to bring about social unrest through religious, social, and economic divisions. Once there was enough civil disobedience, those who were not dependent upon the government would be controlled by executive fiat; Executive Order 13603 signed by President Barrack Obama in the year 2012 made that possible. The order called for emergency police powers, a federalized civilian police force, a federalized civilian labor force, federal housing, and federal control over every natural and manufactured resource.

Separate from these things that Denny had learned was the fact that there was a global initiative titled Agenda 21 that he had heard about years prior at the Southern Illinois Home Guard meetings with Nathan. Agenda 21 was an unreferenced part of the big picture, being population control of the earth, a primary mission of the Agenda 21 protocol.

“Blake,” the woman said.

Denny just looked at her. He didn’t know what the redhead was talking about.

She could see the confusion on his face. To her it was lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“My name is Blake,” she elaborated.

“Well, Blake, are you ready to finish this?”

“Let’s do it.”

Denny looked back at the men and women that were stacked against the walls in preparation for one last advance upward.

The previous fights in the stairwell areas were fierce. They were the areas where they had sustained the most casualties. Denny readied his rifle and began his advance up the stairs. To their surprise, there wasn’t a single enemy to be seen. Once they had reached the top floor, Denny stopped the team and he peeked around the corner. A storm of bullets were shot down the hall in his direction. He had only peeked and quickly pulled his head back in. They had narrowly missed his skull.

“There’s four men in the hallway, two on each wall,” he said to his team. “Do we have any more nades?” he asked.
Nades
being slang for grenades.

“We’re out, boss,” somebody said.

The comment made him think of Nathan. His best friend had run out toward the White House in hopes of killing his mortal enemy, a stranger called the Fist. This was the first time he had decided not to tag along with Nathan. He felt committed to the mission of securing the executive building, but Nathan’s heart wasn’t in it. Under calm conditions, he might have been able to talk him out of going. He and Nathan were an anchor to one another, always being able to talk sense into the other when they were about to do something irrational. This time, it happened too quickly, under different circumstances. He had a deep sinking feeling in his gut about Nathan’s safety.

“Do we have a smoke grenade?” he asked.

The men searched themselves and called backwards down the staircase, asking for a smoker. Denny felt a tap on his knee and looked back to see Blake was handing him a smoker.

“Thanks,” he said, pulling the pin. “Gentlemen, we’re going live,” he said as he tossed the smoke grenade. The smoke filled the air, and bullets started firing down the hallway again. The enemy couldn’t see their targets, so that simplified things a little, but the dangers of being shot were only marginally reduced. The militia ran into the hallway and started firing in the direction of the enemy’s position. They advanced towards them as they went. Denny felt a burning sting in his side and knew he had been hit.

He was now engaged in a point-blank gunfight with four men. By the time Denny had advanced on them, one of them was already dead. Three were still shooting into the approaching militia members. Denny kicked the rifle of one of the men out of his hands and struck him in the face with the buttstock of his rifle. When the man’s head jerked back from the force of the impact, Denny shot the man three times in the chest. Each of the UN soldiers were carrying M4 rifles. This had been the case for every encounter they had with them. It worked out because the militia seemed to have a never-ending supply of ammunition, at least for those carrying Colt-style rifles.

A set of double doors stood before Denny and Blake. She noticed he was leaning against the wall, holding his side. She looked at him and saw he was bleeding.

“You’ve been shot,” she said.

“I’m good. They’re not,” he said, pointing down at the dead UN soldiers.

Blake looked back down the hall and saw several others lying on the floor. “You fared good compared to them,” she said, pointing at their dead allies. Denny looked back and was upset that he had lost so many in the final push. The dead in that hallway were greater than the total they had lost in every stairwell combined.

“You didn’t get hit?” he asked her.

“No, I’m good.”

“Must be your thin physique?”

“Maybe. You ready to clear these rooms?”

“Yeah, let’s finish this. Nathan needs me.”

Nathan and his men had advanced to the third floor of the White House before they were met with heavy resistance from the west offices. Amidst the sounds of gunfire, Nathan heard a distinct sound of music coming from the east end of the central hall. He was drawn to it like a moth would be drawn to a flame.

There was almost no cover from incoming fire in the hallway. Modest-sized furniture adorned the hallway and that was all he had to use. Moving from wall to wall, he advanced eastward toward the sound of music. Eventually, he turned a corner and the music was very distinctly coming from the music room. The Blue Danube Waltz by Johann Strauss II was playing loudly. The sound of the famous waltz drowned all the gunfire and seemingly shrouded everything that was happening in the District. Nathan was trying to ignore the sound, but there was one in the music room that was not drowning it out. The Fist loved classical music, and when he found this room, he couldn’t help but play the oldies as an ode of good-bye to the world.

Nathan saw the Fist and was captured by the moment. He wasn’t armed with a rifle or pistol, so Nathan wanted to relish this moment. It was the moment he had been waiting for, a moment alone with the Fist where Nathan was clearly in charge.

The Fist saw Nathan and smirked. He turned down the music and said, “I love Johann Strauss. They don’t make musicians like him anymore.”

Nathan didn’t say anything. He just studied the Fist and moved deeper into the room, taking in the moment as if he didn’t want it to go away.

“That won’t help you here, boy,” the Fist said, referring to Nathan’s rifle.

The Fist had one hand in his pocket, so Nathan was being careful to keep his back against the wall as he moved around, always keeping his rifle trained on the Fist.

The Fist slowly moved around the room at the same rotation speed as Nathan. When Nathan caught this was happening, he realized that while he was moving deeper into the room, the Fist was approaching the doorway.

Nathan stopped and shot the Fist in the kneecap. The Fist immediately fell to the floor and grimaced in pain. Nathan lavished in the Fist’s pain and moved in closer to him. The Fist’s grimace turned into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Nathan asked. In all seriousness, he didn’t care what the Fist was laughing about. All Nathan could see was images of Jess dying in front of him. The Fist’s laughter seemed to get louder, and that made Nathan all the angrier. In Nathan’s mind, he was laughing at Jessica’s death. That fueled his rage.

“I said what’s so funny?” Nathan yelled.

“You Americans think you’re so smart with your technology and your democracy. You’re like ants in a field of anteaters. You build your cities up and you strengthen your military, but we will always stomp out your progress and devour your lives.”

“Not this life. This time you’ve failed,” Nathan countered as he pointed his rifle at the Fist’s head.

“Have I?” the Fist said, pulling his right hand into Nathan’s line of sight. “I win; you lose.”

To Nathan’s shock, the Fist had a remote detonator in his hand. Nathan attempted to squeeze a round off into the Fist’s head, but the Fist pulled the trigger first. The White House exploded from the middle floor outward and rocked everything within a hundred yards of it. The glass in the windows of the executive building were blown out as the fire from the explosion burst onto its exterior walls. Denny, Blake, and everybody that was in the executive building ducked in shock and awe.