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Posted: 2/22/2009 3:38:00 PM EDT
[Last Edit: rangermonroe]
I am trying my hand here. I have this posted at the squirrel site. I will update it periodically, and if I forget, feel free to remind me via IM.
I normally write it in spurts, not every day, but every three or four days. enjoy The cell phone ________________________________________ Carl lay next to Jennifer in the early morning darkness, spooning next to her warm body. The smell of his wife's hair filled his nostrils, and brought a smile to his sleep sodden eyes. The night had been wonderful. Both kids had gone to his mothers for a sleep over, while Carl and Jen went out on a date. After dinner, a soak in the hot tub with a bottle of champagne had the predictable results, and they fell asleep in each others arms. Carl rolled over and looked at the bedroom clock. "0330," he murmured, "Odd, I don't normally awaken for the call of nature for another 2 hours. I wonder what's the matter?" He lay there for a moment. Suddenly, he realized that all was not well as he heard the growl of his 25 pound snarling 'monster' of a beagle. "She never does that," Carl mused. "Better check it out." He started out the bedroom door, not bothering to dress as he assumed that there was another raccoon on the porch. Halfway through across the bedroom, he heard voices at the back door. Immediately, he went into full alert. He grabbed his AR 15 from beside his bed, along will the cell phone from his night stand, and went to investigate. As he entered the living room, he was just pressing a 'speed dial' function on his phone as a thunderous explosion rocked the house. Carl dropped his phone and attempted to clear his head as the entry team stormed through the doors. Confused and deafened, Carl attempted to defend his home and family. Two rounds from an HK MP5 struck his naked torso and left him piled on the floor. Carl faded in and out of consciousness for the next 22 minutes. He was roused several times by his wife's cries as she was repeatedly interrogated. After some time, he heard a muffled gun shot, and then smelled rapidly thickening smoke. No one ever noticed the cell phone on the floor, active and transmitting until the flames consumed it. In the early morning hours of 12 June, Agents from the BATFE, assisted with metro officers executed a warrant at 223 Remington Way. They were acting on an anonymous tip that the residents were manufacturing Methamphetamine, in possession of machine guns, and distributing child pornography. As agents entered the home, they were met with gunfire and forced to retreat. Shortly thereafter, the home exploded in flames. Unnamed sources within the department have stated that the residents may have tried to destroy evidence while in a drugged stupor and caused the fire. BATFE is still investigating. > ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- 2 years earlier: The boys had crawled into their sleeping bags, exhausted. It had been a full day of hiking and fishing and outdoor fun for all of them, men and boys alike. Now, as the camp fire crackled and the three former Army buddies sat with cocktails in hand, the mood suddenly turned somber. An hour past as Johnny, Carl, and Brian "Twitch" discussed the direction that the country they had sworn to defend was heading. More and more often there were stories of warrant less searches, road side fishing trips, night time raids that were based on shaky evidence. The political tide had made a relentless pressure against the three friends and their way of life and hobby. All three were shooters. They had met 20 odd years ago in the military, and remained fast friends. The annual camping trip was just one manifestation of this friendship. Johnny was a builder of custom houses and commercial buildings alike. He was well off, but far from rich. He had recently paid of his home on 10 acres, and was 'fortifying it' for lack of a better term. Johnny's wife had died during child birth of his son Jake, now 10. Carl had bounced from job to job for 10 years before settling down and getting his RN. He met his wife at the hospital, and she provided him with 2 sons, one 9 and the other 6. Twitch never married. He discovered that his love of video games, and hacking the programming was a natural pathway into the internet and computers in general. After 'fixing the computer' for his friends for years, he borrowed some money from Johnny and launched his own traveling 'ComPuFix Crew". This business lead to him having a 6 figure salary, while allowing him the time to pursue his true love... programming, code writing, and ... hacking. Three years before, the friends had decided to form a Mutual Assistance Group. They didn't call it that, but it was just understood. Men who have seen combat together, suffered broken hearts and cried their eyes out together, been best men at each other's weddings and such have a bond that is deeper than blood. This farm where they camped was a part of it. "Let me see your phones guys," Twitch simply stated, as he unrolled a data cable from a non-descript box. Both men automatically handed over their phones without question. Twitch was the techno-geek who had set them up with the 'best that there is' phone, that now had several functions that the manufacturer never imagined. "I am programming a new function. If you press and hold these two keys, it will automatically connect you to a server. The server has automatic dialing capability, and some pretty complex software that can help you." "Oh great!" chided Johnny, "Just what I need... more crap on my phone!" "No listen, this is cool. If you just press them, the phone listens and records, and stores the info off site on a server in Brussels, another in Luxembourg...." "Why would I want something like that?" Carl interjected. "Let me finish, jerk, it will record whatever it hears over seas in places where it will be difficult for the data to be grabbed. It will also cross into several other locations, and be accessible by the passwords I gave you." "So, my question still remains," said Carl. "Well, remember that traffic stop? Remember how mad you were a the cop... wishing you could record his cussing you out? But that is small stuff. "With this, you can access the function, speak a message and it will e-mail and text it to the recipient in a secure format. " You can also just say "help! and describe your emergency... like fire, or doctor... and it will call the nearest 911 call center and give it your GPS coordinates. It is not quite legal, but it will jump ahead of all other callers." The pride was evident in Twitch's voice, and his friends were quite impressed. "Wow... my phone is pretty cool." opined Johnny, "What else does it do now?" "Well, now that you asked, I am working on some other facets of the AI.." Twitch gushed as both men refreshed their drinks, knowing it would be a while before he came up for air. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– <Press Release> The fire that consumed the home of Carl and Jennifer Johnson, of 223 Remington way last Tuesday has been ruled as Arson by investigators of the BATFE. Wednesday morning, crews removed two bodies from the burned out residence, identification will be made by the county coroner's office, following an autopsy. Crews sifted the rubble for the past two days, removing computer hardware, and arsenal of weapons and several containers of chemicals from both the garage and beneath the kitchen sink. An officer, speaking on condition of anonymity said "The computer hard drives will be swept to confirm the tip that there were illicit photographs stored there on, and the cache of weapons will be tested at our facility to rule out their involvement in other crimes. These guys got one the other night! Our streets and children are safer because of their actions. These folks weren't even on our radar, they were clearly a threat." ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Twitch and Johnny stared at the television. Two grizzled men, bleary and teary eyed, leaning against each other's strength as neither could bear this burden alone. The shock of the past few days began to wear off, and the hurt was beginning. And the rage. Both knew that without a doubt, their friends were innocent of all of the charges that the media was reporting as 'fact'. Although Carl was a shooter, and had a few weapons, he collection was small compared to many. His center piece was the LaRue Tactical AR 15 that Twitch had bought for all of them 4 Christmas' ago. The drug manufacturing charge was as worthless as the child porn. Carl was the most straight laced of all three, a God fearing man, and a father and husband. Carl did however, like to write his blogs. "Why... why? Dammit!" moaned Johnny. "Who would target him?" "I don't know,' replied an equally despondent Twitch. "But I intend to find out". The bottle emptied, and the next one, but the whiskey simply postponed the pain. The friends dozed off amid heart wrenching pain and alcohol induced fog, but the part of Twitch's brain that never shut down trudged on. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- The next few weeks were a haze. Johnny and Twitch carried the caskets at a surprisingly empty funeral for two. The media covered it, painting the two as villains of the highest order. The boys were immediately whisked to their maternal grandparents home in Boca Raton while the dust was settling. The coroner's report was finalized, released and amended before anyone could study it. The version that was released to the media listed cause of death of the two as 'smoke inhalation' and both were under the influence of PCP and Meth. The investigation by the Batfe was concluded with a News Conference. The lead investigator pulled a sheet from the table to reveal two burnt and melted M-60 machine guns and a Barrett M82. He pontificated on the misdeeds of the deceased, and the unfortunately destroyed hard drives that "most certainly contained evidence" of further heinous crimes. Twitch was numb by this time, but something had a bug in his ear. He wandered around and found himself in front of his computer. Seeking solace in cyberspace for the first time in weeks, he left the real world behind. Booting up a program from a thumb drive, his fingers flew across the keys in a blur as he accessed the coroner's desktop computer. Years before, he had developed a back door program that installed itself while he was doing some work at a fire station. His program had 'infected' every work station on the network, and allowed him unfettered access as 'admin01'. What he saw shocked him. There was another version of the report, dated the day before the one that was released. He opened it and began to read. When his sobbing subsided, Johnny was there. somewhere in the midst of his break down, he had keyed his cell phone. The AI program didn't know what to do with the anguish that came through, so it defaulted and put the call through to Johnny... and Carl. "Alright, big guy." sobbed Johnny, "We have got to knock this out. We knew that this was dirty from the first day. " "They raped her... repeatedly... and they are covering it up!" stammered Twitch. "And now they are going to get medals for bravery and what not!" The back and forth went on for 20 minutes before Twitch's brain finally engaged, and he bluntly stated "Why are you here? How did you know to come?" "Your phone called me." Johnny watched his friends eyes go from confused, to the far away look that he got when an idea was working it's way to the front. Had he not been miserable, he would have laughed at the obvious 'brain strain' as he and Carl had affectionaltely called it. Twitch immediately plucked a thumb drive from a chain around his neck and stuck it in an open port. He keyed in an impossibly long string of characters, removed the drive and inserted another. "Message on System " The two friends stared at each other for a moment, horrified shock on their faces. Johnny reached over Twitch and hit <PLAY> ________________________________________ The chairs in the briefing room creaked as the bodies of heavy men rocked back. There was little conversation, as they were a little apprehensive as they waited for the debriefing. The men were an elite team that had been assembled by Randall "Bull" Creech. They were gathered and recruited from the ranks of various police agencies over the years, and half of them had worked as 'operators' of a now defunct 'security consulting service' and all had trigger time in the Middle East. They were used to operating on the razor's edge, in the gray zone between legal and that which was not. As men who spend too much time in the gray, they found themselves operating more outside the law than in, and their morals often times had to be stowed for the duration of the mission. As long as they got results, they were seldom questioned. They had become thugs. Their badges had become tarnished, and chipped. With each mission, their moral compass became more dysfunctional and they began to follow orders without question. Bull was their leader, as over the years he had covered up a mess here, payed a bad debt there, made an arrest go away... the kind of things a boss does that causes his men to give him undying loyalty. "Alright, you clowns. Listen up. We have been over this, I will do the talking." "Sure thing, Bull. You know we have your back," said a tall black man, named Smith. He could have passed for a linebacker. Bull smiled, but grew somber as the Director walked in. The 'debriefing' went as scripted. Their answers were stock, and rehearsed. The debriefing team was satisfied, and left. "Gentlemen, I have made the recommendation that you all be awarded commendations for bravery. You are the thin line that keeps the rest of this agency, as well as the civilians we work for secure. You are the Hammer. Good job." The director turned, and said "Bull, a word." " ‘The Hammer’. I like it," smirked Smith. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- "Bull, what the hell happened out there? I read the coroner's report before you squashed it. Your men are out of control, and if something happens like this again, I don't know if I can keep it under wraps. The Senator would hang you out to dry in a second if she caught wind of this..." "Listen here, Bob, " Bull growled,” You... hell, she.. sent us in there to kill him and plant evidence. You gave me the briefing. Don’t forget for a second who you are dealing with here. ”Don't you ever threaten me or my team again. I will continue to do your dirty work for you as long as the pay is good, but the minute that you forget that this is a marriage of convenience, I can make sure that the last thing you hear is your wife..." "Enough, Bull!" came a stern female voice. "We don't need to go there." "Senator, I'm sorry Ma'am," he stammered, uncharacteristically sheepish. "Boys, we need to clear the air right now. Bull, you are all muscle and no brains. If it weren't for me, you would have been doing time along with your team. The evidence that was removed from the Senate Inquiry is missing, but not gone. Don't forget it. "Bob will continue to direct you, and if I here any more of this nonsense, I will pull the plug. You two play nice, and we will all continue to get rich, and I will launch my campaign. "Screw it up, and I will see all of you hang!" –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– The two friends listened to the recording long into the night. "T, can you give me a transcript of this? Preferably broken down by voices?" wondered Johnny. "Sure, no sweat." and he went to work. "Twitch, listen to me. I am giving you a direct order... put on your black hat." The room grew quiet, even the cooling fans seemed to hold their breath. Twitch turned with a somewhat frightened look on his face. "Roger that... Sergeant." While Carl was the one who walked the straight and narrow, dragging his reluctant friends to church with him, his influence was now departed. In its place was a burning rage and a thirst for vengeance to be brought to the guilty. Johnny was not a nice man, and he had quite a few friends. He also had a mission. Johnny made a pair of Hot Pockets and grabbed a can of Red Bull from the refrigerator in Twitch's kitchen. He carried them into the computer room and placed them on the stand by his friend, who barely noticed them... but reached for the can automatically. Johnny laughed to himself. Twitch was in his fuge state, and would be oblivious to the outside world for quite some time. He went back to the kitchen and grabbed two more Triple Cheese Hot Pockets and set them frozen behind the plate, knowing they would be thawed by the time Twitch felt like eating them. "I wonder what is in those things? That is all he and his employee's eat when they get going on one of these projects," he thought as he went out the door. Arriving at home, he dismissed his nanny/housekeeper. She retired to her quarters, attached to the main house, as he beamed at his sleeping boys. Johnny poured a glass of Famous Grouse and stepped into the shower. He was weary, and broken, but filled with a terrible resolve. "God, I am tired, confused, and angry." It was the most he had prayed in a while, "But, you have to start somewhere." he thought to himself. The steaming spray revitalized him enough to set the next part of his budding plan in motion. With a freshened glass, he logged into a website that he frequented. He sent an instant message to a fellow named 'The Green Man", with a fairly straighforward message: Hey TGM! Haven't heard from you in a while, and I just wanted to check your pulse. The boys are fine, looking forward to our next camping trip to the farm. I hope to see you and your boys there this year. White line Alpha. He then sent an e-mail to his mother and father, telling them that the boys would be spending the summer with them, starting next week. He closed that message with the same strange phrase, White line Alpha. Johnny then collapsed into bed, thoroughly exhaused in body, mind and soul. The last thought that passed through his mind as his heavy eyes closed in slumber was " I can't un-ring this bell." He slept with a predatory grin. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Electrons move with the speed of light, and as Johnny's eyes were still closing, the message had been read and forwarded through a network of hard men, men who owed a debt of blood to Johnny. The simple phrase was calling in that debt, and amongst honorable men, that debt must be paid. Over the next few days, cell phones rang all over the country. Men who had done awful things, seen awful things, and done the Reaper's bidding in the past heard the siren song of a life left behind. A welder, an accountant, two doctors, and 4 firearms instructors called into work with sudden illness. Wives were concerned as their husbands answered the call. Their demeanor changed. Backs bent from a life of domestic behavior suddenly straightened, shoulders went back as the warrior awakened. More than one wife succumbed to the man she married, but hadn't seen quite like this in a while. The men dusted off the foot locker seldom seen, and removed the tools of their trade. Equipment was checked, and travel plans were made. The 'farm' was about to have a camp out. The 'boys' would be coming in full battle rattle. The MAG had been activated. Kathy McMillan was a lifetime politician with ambition. She had won her first election to Congress while in her thirties and strikingly beautiful, and single. The aura of self assurance that she emitted had men eating from her hand, and women who at first bristled against her, soon found themselves nodding in agreement. Her opponent in the first election was a 6 term Republican who would retire directly to a nursing home that specialized in Alzheimer's care. It was an easy victory, as was each subsequent election. Her move the US Senate was an expected progression, and soon she was as familiar in the Senate as was the Lectern. Her power grew to the point that she was nearly as powerful a voice as the President of the United States, but her lust for power became stronger as the years went by. When the subject of a consulting firm working for the US in the Middle East and Africa became a front page issue, the Senator formed a committee to investigate. Dark River employed roughly 1500 personnel who operated throughout the world. They were a mercenary firm, for lack of a better term, but were allowed to operate and base out of the US due to their allegiance to the US, and that they often did the dirty work that was 'uncomfortable' for the US to do. When a bad guy slipped across the border into Pakistan from Afghanistan, the US couldn't send in the troops, but Dark River could do a target snatch and return him to 'friendly territory' to collect the reward. Often times, the target had been interrogated, thoroughly, and critical intelligence was also rewarded. Some times, the Dark River troops were a little too thorough and the subject didn't quite arrive alive. Mohammed al Tabiki was one such "person of interest". Rumored to have coordinated the successful attacks against American and British patrols in Tora Bora, intelligence located him in the tribal region of Pakistan. This region was out of reach of the Pakistani government and ruled by local warlords. He had also killed a number of Dark River operators. When an internal memo was intercepted placing al Tabiki at the wedding of his nephew in Hangu, Pakistan, the US's hands were tied. Dark River's hands were not. Imagery was supplied, as were arms, fuel and extraction teams. Dark River's operators stormed the village in the predawn stillness, an hour before call to prayer. The mission was to 'let them speak to Allah in person today'. A mortar position had been set up on the hill overlooking the village, and security teams were set out to the North and South along the only highway that serviced the village. On command, the North team triggered a rockslide that covered the highway at a steep drop off, and the South team blew the bridge over a wadi. The mortar teams began the deadly deed of drop, adjust, fire for effect... adjust, drop, adjust, fire for effect. The snipers around the perimeter killed anyone fleeing the chaos. When the mortars were exhausted, the assault teams swept in from the east. Anyone who was alive was shortly dead. As buildings were cleared, they were set afire if they weren't already. So thorough were the operators that no one survived at all. Men, women, children, and even two suckling infants were killed with equal enthusiasm. The mission was a success in that al Tabiki was discovered wounded, but was killed before positive ID was made. His severed head and right hand were stuffed in a rucksack and exfiltrated. Before they left, the operators booby trapped several of the children with hand grenades. They simply pulled the pin and left a child’s body weight to hold down the pin. The men chuckled that this would be 'the kids first bomb belt', and 'Huggies for Hadji's'. They also made an impromptu flag pole and flew the Dark River banner. Two of the operators were injured badly enough to require medevac, and the US obliged. Through an odd twist of fate, one of the door gunners on the UH 60 had come down with a stomach bug and was in his cot suffering from diarrhea. His friend offered to fly the mission in his place. The helicopter flared and the wounded men were placed on board. The young replacement door gunner relaxed as the bird lifted off, and as there was not a shot fired at them he began shooting film from his prohibited video camera. The pilots overflew the objective as PFC Mike Lopez filmed. The microphone on his camera also recorded the conversations of the wounded operators. Upon return to the States and before turning the original over to the Senate, Mike Lopez gave a copy of the film to his best friend from high school. The tape was never made public, and the atrocities committed were never punished. The tape had disappeared, as had Mike Lopez. The story was nothing more than the subject of internet speculation, and the American public didn't have much interest in the fate of known terrorists nor the cause of their deaths. Those who 'were there' were dismissed as crack pots, and most of them clearly were. At the end of the investigation, Senator Kathy McMillan had troops. <Beep> Johnny’s phone rang. There was no caller ID displayed in the screen, and he thought twice about answering it. It rang several more time before he pressed the key to answer. “Yes.” “Johnny? You know who this is. What the hell is going on!” the caller demanded in a voice that was not used to foolishness. "Why am I getting a phone call in the middle of the night from some *%#@!!& computer with a running password from a night that still wakes me... and a message to call you... on this *!)@#$(@ godforsaken hodgepodge of a phone number? I say again... WTF, over?" “Sir? Colonel Sadlon?” Johnny questioned with a smile quickly spreading across his face. “ I wasn’t sure that you would call...” "Damn right I'm gonna call... you have me on my second glass of Famous Grouse right now, as rattled as a rooster in a rail car, and if you don't cut all the chit chat, I'm going to have a swarm of AH 64's with Spectre Gunships on your ass within 15 minutes!" "Yes, sir! Colonel Sadlon, I..." “Johnny, we go far enough back… and hell, I owe you, son… call me Andy. And, for the record, it’s General Sadlon now. Brigadier General Sadlon. What can I do for the guy who let me live to see my grand kids?” “Well, sir, it’s complicated. and I am not sure what is going on at this point. I needed to touch base with you. I may need assets, and as the intelligence unfolds, I will need your wisdom." "Son, I have been keeping tabs on you since we met. I know a good bit about you, and I know that you are not some kook. Hell, I have sent work your way when you needed it. I was in the bleachers that day your son hit the home run. His first, wasn't it? Reminded me of the day my boy hit his first. I still have the picture of it on my desk. "At any rate, Johnny, you call me if you need help... I will do what I can for you, Hero. " Johnny blushed and quietly replied, "Thanks, Andy." And hung up. Twitch realized that he was typing gibberish. His eyes and throat burned as the afternoon sun overpowered the fluorescent lighting in his ‘computer room’. It was uncomfortably hot, he smelled of unwashed sweat, and needed to pee. “Ahhh! “ he thought, “ Another night in paradise!” before the despondency snuffed the brief flame of accomplishment. Jerry stared at the walls. It wasn’t the first time that he had seen the inside. It wasn’t the second time either. Jerry had grown up in the projects of Miami. He watched his cousins and friends go off to serve time in ‘Club Fed’. Jerry learned from others’ mistakes. At 22 years old, he was running guns, drugs, and women, and was making more money than some Wall Street investment bankers. He also learned that the RICO act applied to him at an early age. “ Twitch awoke with his bladder demanding attention. He lifted his bearded face from his desk and blinked his bloodshot and scratchy eyes. “I guess I have over done it. Again.” He grinned at himself as he staggered off the the bathroom, grabbing a Red Bull from the ‘fridge on his way past. He relieved himself and turned on the shower, stripping from his filthy cloths and kicking them into the heap where he heaped his dirty cloths. “ I’m gonna have to clean up pretty soon… must be near the end of the month,” he chuckled as he grabbed a tooth brush and stepped into the shower. He stood and let the spray from the multiple shower heads blast away the grime and weariness of the past few days, and drained the contents of the can. As he stepped out of the shower, he heard a voice, distinctly female, clucking with disapproval in between pleasant humming. He quickly grabbed a revolver from the drawer of the vanity and leaned out the bathroom door. He then caught sight of a matronly lady in an apron carrying a laundry basket “Maria? What are you doing here?” “Meester Johnny said you needed Maria to clean your house… es sucio!... so I come. Los Ninos are gone so I have nothing to do for Meester Johnny. I have mucho to do here!” her eyes then squinted in delight at his embarrassed attempt to cover himself with the revolver, as he blushed a bright as a beet. She turned her back and continued picking up laundry. Suddenly the progress he made over the past “what was it… 2 days now?” came back on line and he was quickly dressing. Maria was good people, and had been a faithful employee of Johnny’s for what seemed a lifetime. Twitch, despite his initial embarrassment was completely at ease around her. “Maria, I need to get back to the computer room, and I will need to shut the door.” “I know, Meester Tweech, you and Meester Johnny have got to get those bad men. I made you breakfast and coffee in the kitchen. Eat first.” Twitch devoured the ham and eggs, and grabbed him a cup of coffee as ordered the went back to the room that had been his home for the past 32 hours. He contacted Johnny and began telling him of the information that he had gleaned. The two 5 Ton trucks rolled to a stop on a long stretch of road that was as straight as a run way for ¾ of a mile in each direction. “What is wrong, Private?” demanded the TC, an overbearing SPC4 who thought entirely too much of himself, “why are we stopping?” “I thought I heard a knocking come from the engine, and want to take a look, Specalist.” The 19 year old climbed down from the cab of the truck and lifted the hood. As he walked around to the T/C’s side, a civilian vehicle came into sight. He poked around under the hood for a moment, and said..”hmm, I don’t see anything out of order ,Specialist!” and slammed the hood. Just as he turned to climb into the cab, the civilian vehicle slowed and pulled directly in front of the truck. Following the “one vehicle” was two others with no lights on. One, a non descript van, stopped along side the two trucks with the sliding door open. Four armed and very serios men hopped out as the last vehicle closed the trap by blocking the rear. “Gentlemen, keep your hand on top of your head, and this will go quickly.” The four soldier were bound and gagged and loaded into the van. Their captor were decidedly gentle, double checking the flex cuffs to make sure that they weren’t injuring their captives. One set had to be removed and replaced when the captive showed discomfort. The trucks were driven off by the bandits, who were dressed exactly as the former drivers were. The captives were taken to a hotel, and each offered a Gatorade by the masked captor. Halfway through a bottle the drug took effect and all four men passed out. The masked man removed the flex cuffs from the captives, and made them comfortable. He had no beef with these boys, and he had promised that they would be unharmed. “Come In here, Specialist Shinseki!” thundered General Sadlon. “Sir… Specialist Shinseki reporting as…” “Shut the Hell up!” Sadlon roared “and shut the door!” The General chewed the forlorn enlisted man for a solid three minutes before he shifted gears. “Now, what are we gonna do about this, Son.?” “Sir?” “Oh, don’t give me that crap boy. I know who your father is, and it will be both our heads on a pike, so like it or not, I have got to try to make this go away. Give me that manifest. “Here is the deal. Nothing happened last night… all of that ammunition and ordinance will have been “fired during training” and you will provide me with the proper documentation. I will accept it at face value, and as long as it isn’t used in a bank robbery tomorrow, we should be fine. “I have talked to the FBI. They seem to think that you guys were hit by a drug cartel, or MS 13 and that ordinance is probably halfway between Brownsville and Monterey by now. This isn’t the first time that this has happened this year. “They have asked for my cooperation, and my discretion. I am inclined to give it to them. What do you think?” “Sir,” he stammered, “whatever you say!” “OK. I need you to sign this report, and this secrecy document” The general suppressed a smile. The basement began life as the under structure of a factory that went out of business in the forties. The factory itself has long since burned and the cavernous basement was overgrown and full of debris when Johnny purchased it. Over the years, he had covered the hole, and built a work shop over the top. No one, not even his friends knew of it’s existence as it was long finished by the time the boy’s were out of diapers. Johnny looked around at the men in the “Basement” beneath the barn and his chest swelled with pride. He had chosen these men wisely, as their actions over the past week testified. They stood looking at the contents of the trucks with mouths agape. There was enough ammunition to equip each one of them several times over, as well as fragmentation grenades, Claymore mines, AT4s, C-4 and detonation cord. “Holy Crap, Johnny! What a score!” Doc was an Army buddy of Johnny’s dad, and had been like an uncle to him his whole life. “You are as sneaky as your old man, but I can’t imagine how you knew to take these two trucks. I don’t believe that I want to know either,” he said with his characteristic chuckle. “You haven’t seen anything yet, Doc.” Johnny walked to the corner where a blue tarp was covering an odd pile. “Allow me some theatrics…Ta Da!” He flamboyantly uncovered the pair of menacing Mark 19 grenade launchers, and their accoutrements, along with several cases of ammunition. The collective gasp let him know that he had all of their attention. “Now, down to business, I need to introduce you all to Twitch. He will be giving you the briefing on the situation at hand. “It is every bit as bad as I could have imagined.” Over an hour later, Twitch told his audience: “To recap, we have these eight agents involved in at least eleven dubious raids against ‘pedophiles, meth-heads , and illegal machine gun owners’, which invariably involve the deaths of the accused. “Furthermore, all of the accused either are outspoken critics certain factions in the Federal Government, or close associates of those who dare speak. “These agents are connected to someone high up, and I don’t know who they are at this point. I don’t know who they answer to, or get their orders from, but I will continue to work on it.” The set of the men’s jaw spoke volumes of their state of mind. The presentation that had been delivered was complete and airtight. Photographs of the agents from local newspapers’ archives, coroners ‘original’ reports, and altered copies thereof all painted a picture of a runaway agency or worse. The men turned as one toward Johnny as he stood up to address them. “Men, as much as it pains me to admit… we have no actionable intelligence at this point. Nonetheless, it is crystal clear to me that the oath we swore ‘against all enemies’ has come to call. Today, I am calling you to arms to defend the Constitution, Freedom and Liberty, and these United States against domestic enemies. “For the time being, you will be operating as shadow teams, just like we did over there. I will give you OP orders through secure channels, time of execution and secure drop points for mission essential equipment will be provided.” Johnny smiled at two of the men who had hardly been able to wrench their greedy, lustful eyes from the MK19s. “Yeah, you two, I am one step ahead of you. You are part of the rapid reaction force. I know that you two have been working on those ‘up armored Suburbans’ and whining that they have no teeth. Well, now they do!” The men scurried over and began flitting around their new toys like 42 year old little boys on Christmas morning. Maria slipped quietly in pushing a cart with a steaming pot and a stack of bowls. A pitcher of sweet tea and glasses was stowed down below the pot. After a while the men settled, and gathered around the ‘chuck wagon’ and had a bite. Despite the fact that some had served together, yet others had met during the intervening years and were for the first time meeting the original ‘crew’, they were cohesive and at ease with one another. “What I want you to do, is drop your gear here. Go back home and back to work. Make nice with your boss, your wife, and perhaps most importantly… your Maker. “When we all meet again, things will not be ending as peacefully,” he said with a certainty. “But before you go, I have one piece of equipment I need for y’all to keep on you at all times” Twitch started handing out cell phones, and instructing the men on their use, and Johnny stared quizzically at Maria as she left. The van rolled to a stop at the end of the drive, just short of the cattle guard. “Alright man, 256degrees for 800 meters to the hide. Mac is up there with eyes on the target.” “Good deal. It has been too long,” the sniper said, pulling his HS Precision tuned rifle from its case. “Has he got the evidence?” “All you have to worry about is the shot,” growled the driver. “Shoot, and get your but to the RP, I’ll be there to get you. I know you have wanted to see that A@#$!* in your sights for years now. Consider this a gift from me to you, well handle everything else.” “Thanks, Bull.” “Don’t mention it,” he smirked “And Lon… don’t miss!” Lon cracked a wry grin. “I haven’t screwed up a shot yet!” Chapter: The limmo rolled to a stop on a quiet street in front of a park bench. An elderly, distinguished man stood up and folded the news paper that he was holding as he walked over to the open door. “Senator, Good to see you,” the man exclaimed as he kissed the cheek of the woman in the seat opposite him. “Likewise, Senator Metzenbaum.” Kathy McMillan turned her face away from the man, barely able to cloak her disgust at feeling the lips of a man on her cheek. “I hope that you have good news for me!” he stated. She simply smiled and handed him a manila envelope that he snatched greedily from her. His eyes glistened as he loostened that catch and shook the contents into his shaking hands. His eyes glistened as he fanned through the 8 ½” x 11” glossy photos taken at long range. “Where are the others?” he demanded. “Oh, I have them right here.” She replied cattily, “but first, quid pro quo.” “Fine, he said, dialing his cell phone. “Chris, I am giving my endorsement to Senator McMillan’s election bid… that’s right… yes… draft it for my signature, and send a copy to her office as well… good night.” He grinned like an evil reptile, “Now show me the rest!” “Oh, I can do better than that! I will let you watch.” The Senators both watched the screen of the laptop computer that McMillan produced. She dialed a number on the phone and said “You are cleared”. Time delay of a few seconds registered as the spotting scope focused in on an bald, elderly man standing with his back to the camera. The man was tossing a ball to a springer spaniel, who was gleefully retrieving it. The old man and dog had obviously been together a while, as the two seemed almost rehearsed. After a few minutes, the man threw the ball over his shoulder and the dog, having played this game before, shot between his splayed legs in pursuit. The bald man turned laughing to watch the dog run. His large mustache hid the corners of his smile. Just as the dog captured the ball in her mouth, she stumbled and fell. The man was perplexed for a moment, until the sound of the shot registered with him. His mind comprehended what was happening, and he had just enough time to steel his gaze at the hillside and square his shoulders before the 187 grain hollow point entered his head, right below his nose. “Wow! Right in the face!” exclaimed Senator Metzenbaum, “I never watched a man die before! I am glad that that SOB is dead, and I only wish I could have pulled the trigger myself.” “Oh, it gets better, Senator. It seems that our favorite radio talk show host died at the hands of a meth-head, who… get this… used an SKS assault rifle. Oh, and the wife loudmouth’s wife is gonna be dead too.” “OOOOOH! I love when the bad guys use assault rifles. I will get some sound bites out of my nemesis death to go along with my AWB. I bet I will look grand as I bemoan his death and call for the ban of the evil gun that killed him.” The senator was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes as he exited the limo. The skiff dropped out of plane as the driver released the throttle on the 35hp Evinrude outboard motor. The boat glided up to the other three who had arrived shortly before. “Follow me!” waved one of the men as he gunned the motor toward a small island a quarter mile off. The other three looked at one another. “Friggin’ “Iron Mike” in the lead… as always.” one of the men chuckled as he fell in line. The generals beached their craft and set about making camp. This was a regular outing for the men, who escaped their wives, duty, country, children, and obligations for a week every few years. Along with fishing and drinking, they discussed various subjects such as wives, duty, country, children, and obligations. Then they fished and drank some more. Seldom had they all managed to make it at one time, not once in 15 years. This time was different. The fire was lit and chairs produced, but the fishing poles and tents stayed in the boats. A watertight package was opened and multimedia was opened. The men walked apart, each on his cellular phone, gesturing wildly, as generals do. They rejoined, waved hands at one another for a minute… and one walked off by himself. He made a phone call, and rejoined his comrades. As the chairs were being stowed, a bottle of Famous Grouse was uncorked and Dixie cups were passed. A helicopter flared 200 yards south of their position and shut down. The men finished their drink, and chuckled as the ‘pretty boy Marines’ came running up. “Hell, Andy! You are going to bust my balls over my Marines uniform? They flew right here from the beach party, where that MH53 picked them up. Just so that raggedy Chris Craft can make it to it’s berth! “With what that is costing the taxpayer, I am not sure who the real criminal is.” All three men chuckled, but then realized how close to the truth the Marine commander was. As the old friends walked down the beach toward the helicopter, General Sadlon proffered each of them a cell phone and a brief description of it’s capabilities. “XO, I need you to take some notes” barked the irritated Colonel into the phone. “Sir?” “I have just gotten this crap over the wire… we are to provide air support… here, in the US….live fire… “Some form of Joint Readiness Exercise for Border Security… “At any rate, we are to have two AC 130’s on the apron, along with two A-10s, and two F-16s. Round the clock. “No, all outfitted for ground attack, actually for Forward Air Support. Yep, you heard me right… “No. We probably won’t do a thing… but hey, we have to show them what they want to see… make sure the guys stay on their toes…. Tell them that al Quieda is massing in Mexico, and they might be the tip of the spear… yeah, tell them that. Make it happen. Oh.. there might be some civilian operators that need some jump time… see to that as well. ” The colonel rolled over, and went back to sleep. The smell of English muffins and eggs and bacon overwhelmed him. “Mmmmm” he thought. “Meester Twitch…. Meester Twitch! Abre su ohos,AHORA!” Twitch jolted awake in his chair, his screens alive in front of him, and Maria animatedly pointing at the center most display. “They keeled heem! Your friend… DD Libby!” Twitch came groggily to life. “Maria? What the…” “Here!” she shoved a cup of Porto Rican coffee in his hand, dark and thick as devils blood. “Read it!” Twitch read the story, and was saddened. He hung his head, as he saw the same MO again, but was no closer to finding the guilty. “Meester Twitch, my cousin was there, and has sent me some peekchures. On the Eee mail.” Twitch grinned, he had the perps. <Senator Metzenbaum> it is with great sadness that I stand before this august body today. Part of the fourth estate… part of the fourth estate that has been a thorn in my side… has passed from this great plane yesterday. DD Libby and I had many differences of opinion, but one opinion that we shared, was the safety of our country. His death should not be in vain! I am today, in front of God and country, calling for the immediate enactment of the New, New AWB, and I would like a voice vote” Maria Washington stopped her rounds, and pulled a pen from her blouse. She produced a pad of paper from her apron and began writing down names that said ‘Aye’. Johnny stared into the fireplace, lost in his thoughts and nearly overwhelmed by the enormity of the step he was about to take. The past few weeks had passed in a nightmare like blur and the rumblings from both sides were becoming deafening. Johnny had thrown the first punch when he had Twitch hack the networks feed and replace the “crawl”, the words across the bottom of the screen, with Johnny’s ultimatum. It was pretty blunt. “The tree is getting thirsty! Traitors Resign, or face the consequences!” It was only up for a matter of moments, but as he suspected, it quickly became viral and spread like a wildfire. The internet was soon buzzing with hundreds of ‘blogs’ advocating everything from outright revolt to the assassination of most public officials. Several self proclaimed patriots took it upon themselves to get right to the wet work. A retired diesel mechanic took his shotgun down to the town board meeting and shot three council members before deputies shot him dead. Two outspoken liberal Democrats had their offices fire bombed. Several other small events were front page articles and played right into the hands of the power hungry elite. The knee jerk politicians were proposing ridiculous laws one after another. One fellow proposed that the internet be shut down. No thought was given to the possibility, practicality, nor the wide ranging economic maelstrom that would surely follow. But, nevertheless, the same crew of Congressmen were lined up to support it, despite the dubious constitutionality of such a law. Johnny had taken notes and assigned the names to the teams he had created from ‘his men’. The men were in position for days, planning, watching and waiting. He picked up his cell phone, and hesitated. “Lord, I pray that this is your will.” He accessed one of the ‘special functions’, paused a moment and then said simply: “Execute.” He lowered his head and wept. The sniper team lay in the hide that had been home for them for the past five days. They had parachuted into the area from a C-130 and marched 4.5 miles to this trout stream where Senator Silverman was known to fish. According to their intelligence source, he was to be here later today. They had spent the time in between scouting the area, preparing the hide, and making a withdrawal plan. After the order to carryout the mission had come down, they had both stayed in the hide, alternating watch duty. They had little to do as the hours crept by except talk. After a while, the younger man turned to the other and asked , “Did you serve with Johnny?” “Yep” “What is the story with him? What did he do that keeps you all following him to this day?” The man hesitated and pondered this question for a moment. He then let out his breath and told his tale. Aco, 1/75th Ranger Regiment, 2002, October 2002, somewhere in the mountains west of Farkhar, Afghanistan Captain Sadlon looked around at the beleaguered men whose frightened but determined faces looked at him for guidance. They were half the strength that they were two days ago, and 3 out of four were wounded. And on top of that, they were nearly out of ammunition. Things were grim indeed. After eleven days of relative quiet, the men were growing restless. The camp pranks were increasing in intensity, and when the pranksters have hand grenades and det cord, that restless energy must be channeled or it becomes self destructive. The captain put together this mission, a ‘walk in the hills’, as a recon mission and a show of force. It was mostly to give the men something to do. They were lightly armed and outfitted as they patrolled the mountains, further and further away from ‘home’, but growing more relaxed as the locals seemed quite glad to see them. The narrow road exploded both in front of them as well as to the rear, triggering rockslides that effectively penned the vehicles in the ‘kill zone’. As soon as the blasts occurred, the ambushers opened fire with a seemingly endless supply of RPGs and crew served machine guns. The rangers dismounted, and to the shock and horror of the ambushers, quickly truned the tide as the assaulted directly into the attackers ranks. What started off as a slaughter of American soldiers quickly became a mop up operation as the ambush was broken, and all but a few of the enemy were killed. The rangers didn’t pursue the two attackers who dropped their AKs as they fled. The decision would haunt them. Captain Sadlon had the men regroup, and re-distribute the ammunition from the dead. It was then that he realized the depth of his trouble. Twelve rangers were KIA, and 4 were walking wounded. The bodies of the men were secured in a ravine, and their equipment was redistributed. Cap. Sadlon had 32 men remaining. Both radio operators had been killed in the initial firefight, and the back up radio that was carried had taken a bullet, and was out of service. The only communication was a line of sight radio, that was scrounged from the dead forward observer. It was used to coordinate air assets and close air support. It didn’t have the power to reach HQ and call for extraction. He made the decision to move overland to a ridge in the distance, where he hoped to contact a passing aircraft. The 18 mile movement to the ridge had been a running firefight, as the once smiling locals quickly turned into enemy fighters at the sign of American vulnerability. Every Taliban, goat herder, and wanna be martyr came with an AK, RPK or RPG as fast as they come. The rangers sent them to Allah as quickly as they arrived, but the casualties continued to mount as the ammunition dwindled. The last round of tracers had caused them to take cover in a group of boulders at the bottom of a bowl with no cover with which to approach. Andy ordered the men to fix bayonets as it looked like this would be ‘Sadlon’s last Stand” He tried the radio one more time. Johnny, just a Spec 4 with a brand new Ranger tab was on his first mission after ‘Hooah School”. He still had the fat face that men seem to develop in the month that follows graduation, and was anxious to return to base to relax after the intense patrol. He chuckled to himself, “I never would have thought I would be homesick for a dusty GP medium. But a hot meal and a shower sounds too good right now”. “We have a Frag Op!” SFC O’Conner shouted above the roar of the MH 53’s thundering rotors, “Lock and load… it may be a hot LZ!” Johnny immediately put on his game face, and checked his M4, as the ranger version of ‘telephone’ passed the information around the helicopter. He knew that the men in the lead bird were going through the same drill. Thirteen minutes later, after circling Captain Sadlon’s hemmed in troops, where both door gunners and the tail gunner were able to engage the enemy, the pilots found a suitable LZ 5 klicks away. They didn’t see the six men hiding in the rocks. As the lead bird touched down, three RPG 7s were fired. All three flew like precision guided missles, two impacting the lead bird. The lead bird was immediately engulfed in flames as one of the rockets struck the fuel tank and the other detonated in the crew compartment, killing all of the men on board. Johnny’s bird was struck in the tail boom as it was flaring. The sudden loss of control caused it to heel over. The rotors then impacted the unforgiving rocks of a lonely Afghan mountain, and the stricken aircraft rolled down the hill. Johnny lost consciousness as he was ejected through the open ramp, and piled up in a some scrub brush. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- His eyes snapped open, staring up through the tangle of brush that has most likely saved his life both by cushioning his fall, and by concealing him from the six men who were attempting to kill the survivors. He was aware of the ammunition and ordinance ‘cooking off’ from both birds as he rolled to his stomach. He quickly checked himself for injuries. He noticed that his ribs ached, but that he was able to stand on his right leg, despite the shooting pain from the lower part. He low crawled through the brush, toward the sounds of the gun battle that was heating up by the second MH 53 wreckage. Several wounded rangers were engaging the 6 fighters who had shot down both birds. Johnny found himself behind some rocks where he could see the action, and a rifle that had fallen from the cart wheeling helicopter. He crawled over to it and began to engage the Afghani fighters from the rear. The sounds of his shots blended in with the explosions of the bird at the top of the hill for a moment, but after killing two the remaining men spotted him and turned to engage. A long raking burst from the AK caused Johnny to duck as the 122 grain bullets peppered the rocks around him. He flinched as one flattened out slug cut a ragged gash through his left bicep. One of the men raised up with an RPG and was in the process of firing when a 62 grain 5.56mm round entered his skull. As he collapsed, he fired the rocket , but not at his intended target. His fellow fighter took the full force of the rocket in his spine, and as it hadn’t gone far enough to arm, it just slammed into him like a 3” shotgun slug. The pair of Afghans suddenly realized that they were in the afterlife, and that the 72 virgins promised them were indeed real. Unfortunately, for the bearded men, the virgins were not quite what they expected. They were fallen angels, very big, scary fallen angels, and they were in the mood for lovin’. They were also very male. The remaining four Taliban were dispatched as the six men around the helo were able to regroup during the interruption caused by Johnny’s unexpected interruption. They came running up the hill toward them and reported to him. He was now the ranking man, as all had been killed except for these six men. Only five were ambulatory, as one had a severely broken leg and required morphine as the adrenaline began to ebb. He quickly lost consciousness. The other ranger had been burned on his lower body, and was able to stand, but walking far was out of the question. Johnny quickly secured a defensible location and had the men scrounge the wreckage and debris field for everything that could be used. The medic bandaged his bleeding arm and secured it to his body as he formulated a plan. One of the rangers recovered a working radio, and Johnny was able to contact HQ with a sitrep. He was stunned as he learned that there were no other assets to available to support the rescue mission. He and ‘his’ men were ordered to stand by and await a rescue team. He stared into space as the enormity of his situation became clear. The smoke that was rising into the air was sure to bring the enemy like blood in the water will draw sharks. To stay for any length of time was to court certain death. Equally clear was the fate of those men they were coming to rescue. Without ammunition, they would fall to the siege within hours. “Stay, and we all die, or go join forces and probably die,” Johnny muttered to himself, “I guess I would rather die honorably that cowering in a some rocks.” And just like that, he made the most important decision in his whole life. He called the men to him and laid out his plan. They quickly found a hide for the two wounded men and laid out a defensive ring of claymore mines. Both men were given a stack of hand grenades, and M-240 machine guns, with 5 belts linked together for each gun. A flare gun was also recovered to allow the rescue mission to locate them. Johnny cautioned the men to stay hidden, as their chances of survival were practically nil if discovered. He also left the burned man his suppressed .45 that he carried in a specially constructed drop holster. “Take care of Winnona, I expect her back warm and freshly oiled,” he smiled and then grew grim, “If that isn’t an option, save the last round….” He left the sentence unfinished as the young private knew what he meant. Johnny and the other four men divided the equipment and explosives amongst themselves and headed toward the objective and the sounds of battle, carrying as much ammo as they could fit inside their rucksacks and still stand. Something was tickling the back of his brain, a thought dancing like a moth in the moonlight that he couldn’t identify. As the sun sank out of sight, Johnny stopped and stumbled back to the pile of debris that he had just noticed. A box of chemical light sticks had beconned him for some reason. Johnny had learned long ago to listen to that still, small voice that sometimes spoke to him. He grabbed the fifty or so light sticks and tucked divided them up among the men despite the odd looks given to him. The five injured men then trugged onward toward the battle. Topping the ridge two hours later, Johnny surveyed the scene below him. He was unable to see any activity below him through his NVGs and had just ordered Twitch to contact the besieged rangers to let them know that reinforcements had arrived. As he rose to his feet, he saw a dozen pairs of headlights creeping toward them some 12 miles away. “Uh, oh! Looks like we’ll have company in about an hour or so.” There was no way that his few men could hope to engage a force more than ten times their size. The idea that had been fluttering on the edge of consciousness suddenly became clear. “Guys, gather round. Break out the blasting caps, and that roll of timed fuse.” He explained his thoughts as the men listened and began to understand that his outrageous plan was as good as anything they had going for them. Johnny raised the commander of the rangers in the rocks. He identified himself as ‘Rescue 5, actual” and didn’t see any reason to correct Captain Sadlon’s misconception that he was much higher ranking and many more in number than five. He needed the men to fight. “Alpha Sierra one, we have 12, to 15 inbound vehicles. We are setting up to hit them, but will need your men to give them every thing you have once we open up” “We have nearly nothing left”, Captain Sadlon admitted. “Have one of your men meet one of my men by the tall tree to the south, and I will give him a ruck full of ammo… that is all I can spare.” Johnny sent the four men their separate ways, each carrying the specially prepared devices that he prayed would work. He then rolled under the unbelievably heavy rucksack full of ammo and struggled to his feet. He was nearly delirious with pain and loss of blood, “But I just have to put one foot in front of another for a little while longer”. He chuckled to himself, “this is just like Ranger School, only a lot harder.” The men met under the tree, and the man groaned as he hefted the ruck. “Wow, I hope I can carry this... how much is in here?” “Everything you need is in the bag”, Johnny said as he stumbled back up the hill. The man returned to the rocks and dropped the rucksack and Captain Sadlons feet. “How many of them are there?” Andy inquired as he divided the ammo into 19 piles. “I couldn’t see but there were a lot.” The man had a strange look on his face as he was still confused, “50 or 60 guys were with him, but just out of sight.” The defeat in Captain Sadlon’s heart was suddenly replaced with blazing courage, and his chest puffed out with pride. “Rescue us, Hell!” he shouted to his men, “They are going to be watching from the side lines as we assault!” The men murmured their approval as they prepared for the upcoming battle, every one filled to the brim with the contagious courage that came in one rucksack. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Achmed’s eyes snapped open behind the night vision scope that he was supposed to be monitoring. He quickly glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief when everything as exactly as it had been before he nodded off. Moments later, a bearded man crept up behind him, and demanded a report. “Nothing, Sahib. No movement at all.” “Excellent,” said the man with an evil smile, “We will sever the heads of the infidel, and show the world the might of Allah!” He decided that he would drive the vehicles right into the bowl, using the lights of the truck to illuminate the rocks where the Americans were holed up. “Allah, Akbar!” he shouted, as he motioned the trucks to follow him. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Johnny was amazed as he watched the ten trucks pour over the top of the ridge and continue down into the bowl. “What are they thinking?” he puzzled as he pulled the ring on the fuse igniter, as did the 4 other men who had hidden around the rim of the bowl. The flash from the igniter ran down the shock tube to the devices the men had prepared. The first things that detonated were the small charges of C-4 placed under flat rocks. As the rocks were thrown skyward, they broke the glass ampoules in the chemical light sticks. The 50 odd lights were scattered all around, appearing to the men below as flash lights. The next things to ignite were the incendiary grenades which had been attached to a belts of ammo for the machine guns. It was as though several gun crews were firing into the bowl from the ridgeline. Captain Sadlon was stunned for a second as the immense firepower from his rescuers came on line. “RANGERS, Follow Meeeee!” he shouted as he lept to his feet. “Charge!” Seventeen rangers rose up as one, shouting a battle cry that sounded like legions echoing from the walls of the bowl as staggered forward. They began the systematic destruction of their attackers, assault weapons chattering out Death’s message and bayonets bloodied. Johnny listened to the sound of the battle as his rifle spoke again and again, each time sending another enemy on to his just reward. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– The bearded man was in shock as he lay beneath the overturned truck. His legs were pinned, and a gash in an artery was leaking the life out of him. How was it possible? There seemed to be hundreds of fighters, he had been completely surrounded and taken by surprise. As he lay there, a dozen silent troops gathered around him, staring, saying nothing. The troops parted as an American, out of breath came running up between them. “Crap!” the soldier said, noticing the bearded man for the first time. His rifle snapped to his shoulder. “Romans?” was the last thought that went through his mind before the 55 grain full metal jacket did. The firefight ended with a few mop up shots as the rangers executed the survivors. No quarter was given, as the rangers were very nearly dead themselves. Johnny, Carl, Twitch, and the two other rangers came down from their positions, reporting to Captain Sadlon. “Rescue 5, actual reporting sir.” Johnny said as he collapsed at the man’s feet. “Where are the rest?” he demanded, noticing Johnny’s rank. “We are it, sir.” Johnny stated as he lost consciousness, the blood loss and shock finally catching up with him. The last thing he heard was the sound of the approaching helicopters, and the scream of close air support jets circling like guardian angels. Johnny slowly woke in the clean sheets of the hospital bed. A rough hand was checking his pulse as he opened his eyes. The ham sized hand was attached to an older man who was equally large. He struggled to read the name tag sewed to the man's shirt. "Donnovan", he finally was able to make out. "Ah, finally decided to live, eh, Rain-Jah?" smiled the man, with his unmistakable Bronx accent. "Sir, what hap.. where am I?" Johnny stammered. "You's in Kandahar, He-row. And call me 'Doc', everybody does." Just then a commotion in the hall caught their attention as a sergeant in ACUs stormed through the door. The man had an impossibly large head and looked strangely familiar. "Look out, Doc, this man needs some real medical attention." snarled Sgt Benbrooks, producing a flask from his cargo pocket, and three Dixie cups. The two men bantered a bit, and Johnny remembered that he had seen Sgt Bennbrooks, "Benny" as he was known to his friends, in old photos with his dad. The two older men regailed Johnny with tales of his father for a bit until three men in suits came walking in the door. The 'suits' searched the room, and then one spoke into his sleeve. "All clear, secure." The President of the United States came into the room then, and sat on the edge of Johnny's bed after saluting him. He chatted with him for a moment and pinned draped a blue ribbon with a medal around his neck. He saluted again, and left. Johnny was embarrassed for a while and then slept. [/I] "Wow," the younger man said, "Johnny was awarded the Medal of Honor? He never mentioned it." "That doesn't surprise me at all," said the older man, "That is how he is, and you can tell that he has history just standing by him for a while. He doesn't need to tell you, you just know." "I am confused though, how many men were in the 'rescue 5'? The guy on the hill, getting the ammo said he saw 50 or 60, and it sounded as though there were a lot more during the fire fight than 22 guys", pondered the younger man. "I can only tell you this. [I]I saw[/I]50 or 60 soldiers. He claimed that it was only him. Maybe I was tired, scared out of my mind, I don't know, but I never told anyone this. They were there, and they weren't Americans. They were in leather armor, wearing bronze helmets, and had swords." The young man fell silent. As preposterous as the story sounded, he wasn't about to challenge this man. For some odd reason, though, he found himself believing the story. Senator McMillan looked around the room with a growing sense of unease. Seats that were just weeks ago filled with her friends and like minded colleagues were now ominously empty. The remainder of the Congress was very uneasy and had been assigned security around the clock. The 'New, new, Assault Weapons Ban' had stalled on it's way through the legislative process, as the Peoples' Representatives realized that they were signing their own death warrant by supporting it. The assassinations hadn't been limited to elected officials either. Dozens of federal judges were shot and blown up and had mysterious brake failures on their automobiles. She was furious, "How dare they!" she fumed to herself. The thought of the unwashed masses actually revolting against what she and most of the rest of the government thought best was incredulous. She also blamed the unfettered access to the internet to be at the root. Average folks being able to read the musings and 'call to arms' that had been floating around in cyberspace was the unifying factor. The fact that the government had little control over the content of internet postings proved to be the Achilles’ heel, and allowed the rebellion to continue unchecked. Senator Metzenbaum hadn't returned from his fishing trip either, and she felt like alone without her associate. "Oh, well, I am going to have to figure this one out on my own". She decided to see what she could find out about the latest round of killings. She had considerable political weight, and if properly leveraged, she may be able to worm some information from the Department of Homeland Security. She called her driver and decided that there was no time like the present. She and her security detail, Bull and three of his hand picked men, walked out of the Capitol. [i] two weeks earlier The Senator followed behind the Secret Service agent by 50 yards, casually flipping his fly into a promising eddy. He stripped a few feet of line and his rod bent as a heavy trout bent his rod into a beautiful ‘C’. He carefully led the fish to the shallow and cradled the 1 ½ pound Cutthroat and gently lifted it. He stood up with a big smile on his face and turned around to face down stream. “Hal,” he shouted, “you better catch up! This is the third one I am up on you now!” A muffled curse floated on the breeze from around the bend, causing Senator Metzenbaum to laugh, and Bill Foreman to relax his trigger finger. “Let’s see what we have here,” he muttered to the spotter. “It looks like you may have to make a money shot here, kid” “I’m ready,” replied the youth. Bill keyed the cell phone, and sent a data burst requesting clarification on a target of opportunity. His jaw sagged open as he saw the most anti-American Supreme Court Justice stroll into view, carrying a fly rod. “This is too good!” he stuttered, as he shifted to the distant target. “Kid, take the Senator on my mark.” The two men stood on the river bank for a few moments, quietly talking, and then began to fish their way further up the creek. Bill and his spotter had chosen their position well, as the target area was quite long, giving them ample opportunity to strike and escape. A long drop to the river directly in front of them would discourage any pursuit, and the cliffs surrounding the area would confuse the SS agents as to exactly where the shot had originated. Within 5 minutes the phone vibrated. “Smoke them both… no collateral if possible.” Both guns spoke as one a few seconds later, and the trout stream was red with blood. The Secret Service Agents, after their immediate reaction born of training, holstered their weapons, and raised their hands above their heads. The SSAIC walked over to the two fallen politicians with his hands raised. He then drew his side arm with one hand, and fired a round into each of the bodies. He then removed the magazine, cleared his weapon and sat down on a rock. Each of the other three SSA followed suit, and by the time the last one finished, the SSAIC had a white cloth attached to a fallen branch raised over his head. “WE SURRENDER!” Bill hurriedly typed a message into the phone and sent the data burst including the video stream into Cyberspace. “Request instructions” [/i] ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Lauri Ingram walked into the swank restaurant and was escorted to a private booth in the back. She was nearly shaking as she approached the table where Senator McMillan was seated and pleasantly smiling. “Thanks for coming, on such short notice,” Kathy smiled oily, “have a seat.” “It’s not like I have much choice, but thanks… I guess.” replied Lauri shakily, “What is this about my brother?” Mike Ingram, Lauri’s brother, had been arrested a year ago on a weapons charge. He had loaned out an AR 15 that had a worn disconnector, and with certain soft primered commercial ammunition, would malfunction. The malfunction was a pleasant one, as it would fire like a machine gun, until it jammed. Someone at the gun range had called the police, and once the BATFE got involved, Mike was on a roller coaster ride to federal prison. Closing arguments were due this week, and the federal judge who was hearing the case was notoriously ‘hard nosed’. “I need a favor, Lauri,” oozed Senator McMillan, “and I think you will like my terms of repayment for said favor”, as she slid a folder across the table to Lauri. Lauri cautiously opened the folder, and began to read the letter to the judge presiding over her brother’s case. She drew in her breath as the magnitude of the contents struck home. The letter was a set of instructions on how the judge was to rule, and exactly how he was to phrase his judgement. Mike was to be found guilty of ‘possession of an unlawfully manufactured machine gun’ but was to be released immediately with ‘time served’ and his full Constitutional rights restored. Misty eyed, Lauri asked, “What do I need to do?” The Senator smiled again, and slid another folder across the table. “Just so we are clear on the stakes.” Kathy began snapping photos on the table. “This is what we have on you.” [i]snap[/i] “This is the other letter I have prepared for his Honor.” [i]snap[/i] “This is who your brother’s cell mate will be” As Lauri began to sob, Senator McMillan gave her her instructions. She now had an intelligence agent. Johnny sat in his ‘bunker’ as he now thought of it. The ice cubes ringing in his glass as he moved about the nearly empty space. He reached for the almost empty bottle, trying to drown the cries of the men he had ordered to their deaths a week.. or was it two.. before. Try as he might, he couldn’t un-hear the news stories. “ 4 insurgent, terrorist rebels were killed today by …” “Three men, suspected of being terrorists died today…” The news stories went on to explain how the children of the dead were taken from the homes and the wives detained. Johnny’s dead men were portrayed as monsters. He stood on quaking legs, and questioned himself. “What have I done? God? Are you listening?” The ice cubes clattered in his glass as he sat down on one of the few remaining crates. His head hung low, and he reached for the bottle to freshen up his glass. The gnarled hand was familiar as it gripped firmly his shoulder. “Meester Johnny… now is not the time.” “Maria?” “Come with me, you silly man.” Maria said as she rounded Johnny up and started him toward the house. “You leeeeesen to me, Meester. No time to be sooreee.. no time to be comdeeeeer…. Now is time is to leeed.” “Who? Me?” “yes, you! There are more than your friend fighting…. Don’t be selfish man. Lead them all!” “Maria… the minute that they know who I am, they will kill me. “ “Meester Johnny… you are dead already, aren’t you? Why are you worried about how, ahora?” Johnny slid away into a comfortable sleep for the first time in weeks. “rodger, asshole.” Bill was probably the most cantankerous individual to be born on a contintent at one time. He was perpetually angry, miserable, and generally not nice to be around. Three bullets, a broken knee, and a fused spine will make a man mean. Bill had all of those, as well as a ripping case of jungle rot, as he repelled down the cliff to interrogate the Secret Service contingency. “If any of you move, I will kill all of you,” Bill stated as he piled identification on the nearest flat rock. “Now, I will need to address you in a circle around me… 12…3….6…9… that’s it!” |
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"I don't pay taxes. I am on Soc. Sec. Disability (mental illness) and I receive tax money. I couldn't care less what YOU pay in taxes." © Copyright 2/10/09 by Colt_M4
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i'll be the first to say......moooar!!!!
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Great start.
Look forward to more. |
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Made from the finest, heat treated, coat hanger wire there is.
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Very Nice, Thanks.
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Very good, can't wait for more.
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Oh my.....I haven't read anything new lately that is this well written. Thank you!
Mikey |
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Makes me get a little woody to read some good stuff
high tech cell phone and I can NOT wait to find out about the Romans |
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Peace through Superior Firepower
Beta Phi Lamda Fraternity (BFL) NRA Life Member Fortune Favores the Prepared |
Great start. Keep it coming.
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ding!
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"I don't pay taxes. I am on Soc. Sec. Disability (mental illness) and I receive tax money. I couldn't care less what YOU pay in taxes." © Copyright 2/10/09 by Colt_M4
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Thanks.
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Excellent. Need more.
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thank you, I like the plot a LOT...much excellent feasting for the mind.
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Interesting read! I liked it, even rings a bell somewhat given current events...
MOAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! |
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"...experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed."
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I need more. You have me hooked.
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Seems I find myself checking back in daily for updates!!!
Can't wait! |
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"...experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed."
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Johnny opened his eyes after what seemed like days. The refreshing sleep that comes after a long day of satisfying work, and a clean conscience. He felt as though an immense burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and the day was sparkling with promise.
He rolled out of bed, but instead of standing, he put his knees to the floor and his head on his mattress. He spoke with his Creator for the first time in a long time. Johnny rose to his feet and dried his eyes as his phone beeped. “Still holding” was the message from Bill. Johnny knew that he had to deal with an explosive situation before it dealt with him. He felt the seconds ticking by, as he pondered. Twitch stormed into his room a few moments later with Maria cursing him is some tongue that neither had heard before, but both were aware of the meaning. “Seargeant! Sit down and listen to this… I nailed them…Youarentgonnabelieve-howhighthisgoes!” he gushed. Johnny sat back and absorbed as much of the staccato burst of information as he could. When Twitch stopped to breathe, after an impossibly long time, Johnny once again felt the burden of Atlas. “Twitch… downshift!” Johnny commanded. “Tell me of these four Secret Service Agents.” Twitch immediately reached into the Calvin Marvin laptop bag that he was never without and withdrew a sheaf of paper. He fanned the four stapled packages out in front of Johnny. One had a “Post-It” note on it. Johnny looked at Twitch and said, “ Give me the ‘Cliff Notes”. Twitch struggled with the though of what he was asked. It was one thing to assemble data and present it. Data was just data. He never had to interpret it before, even though he and his colleagues always did. They never had to report on their findings/conclusions/suspicions, these men just reported the data. Whatever happened with that data was “shifted upward”. Twitch gave a full report. For the first time since he wore a uniform, he recommended that another man should die. Johnny keyed his phone to a specific frequency and gave his orders. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Bill was a compassionate psychopath. After a few hours of watching his charge freeze in the creek, he allowed them to move to the rocky river bank and start a fire from the driftwood. They brewed some coffee for all five of them. Bill took his sup first, and the men were under no misunderstanding that he would kill them. They knew he was waiting for the word.. Bill had stayed awake through the night. He hadn’t trusted the ‘rookie’ to do his duty, and with the lack of sleep, was more rotten than normal. When the message from Johnny came in, Bill was pissed. “What? Nope. No Sir. .. OK… Deal with it. “ <click-click> <billsays> <Junior… targets standing!> Bill drew the suppressed Browning Buckmark, 22lr pistol in a blinding fashion. He lined his sights on one forehead, squeezes the trigger and moved onto to the next… The whizzz––-craaack of .308 caliber ‘mind changer’ made Bill realize that he wasn’t alone. When it was over… Bill was needing direction. He was standing in the middle of a pile of bodies again. This time, he knew what to do. He called the rookie from the over watch position, and made him do "rookie work'. Bill sat on a rock and was impresed as the rookie hacked the four bodies into 'bear bites'. Bill also reported in to Johnny 'mission accomplished'. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Johnny sat at the edge of the fireplace. Sitting in the chair with his head in his hands. "Johny Robinson... Kenny Rentiers..." both were family men... both dead. His man had killed them. His men had killed dozens of others, but it wasn't the same. Bill had done this without authorization. "What do I do?" ––––––––––––––––––––––- |
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"I don't pay taxes. I am on Soc. Sec. Disability (mental illness) and I receive tax money. I couldn't care less what YOU pay in taxes." © Copyright 2/10/09 by Colt_M4
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Johnny was staring out into space, considering what Bill had done when Twitch came into the room.
“Hey man, what is wrong?” After Johnny finished railing and ranting the story to Twitch, complete with his planned execution of the two men, he paused for breath. Twitch was uncharacteristically silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. “Johnny, table that line of thought for a few minutes. I have known bill for nearly as long as you, and I want to hear his explanation…” “Explanation, hell!” Johnny exclaimed, “Bill is off the reservation! He clearly violated orders, and I will not let this stand!” Twitch shot to his feet, and stretched to his full 5’8” height, his face a dark, stormy visage seldom seen. “You listen here, John Moses,” he growled, “Don’t forget who you are. We are all volunteers… following your orders of our own free will. “Don’t forget for a minute that we all can ‘un-volunteer’, and the quickest way to bring that about is for you to get all full of yourself.” Twitch threw the news paper down on the table, folded to the story he had been coming to show to Johnny, and stormed out of the room. Johnny sat there for a moment with his eyes closed as his friend’s words sunk in. “Pride? Me?” the thought came unbidden, unwelcome, and uncomfortable. Johnny wrestled with the thought, and when he finished, he realized that his friend was right. Johnny wasn’t leading these men, he was coordinating attacks. He was ‘herding cats’ and for the most part he had been successful. For a continued success, he needed a strategy. He still needed to have his confidence restored in Bill. He really couldn’t have a psychopath in the ranks. Johnny knew that there was a certain ‘blood lust ‘ that all warriors shared. The power of ending another life was intoxicating. Most folks, immediately after their first kill vomited, much like a persons reaction to alcohol intoxication. That reaction faded after a few more drinks/kills, until it never happened again. Some drinkers/killers became addicts. Johnny needed to make sure that Bill was not needing to be ‘put down’, but he didn’t have the time for that now. “Where am I going to ‘park’ a ramped up pair of killers until I have time to debrief these guys and have Doc take a peek in their heads?” he pondered as his eyes unwillingly began to read the newspaper article that Twitch had thrown in front of him. Quote: FBI Director affirms commitment to capturing Asmundson Tuesday, May 28 Associated Press Newly appointed FBI Director Terry Lotts, until recently the Deputy Director under Ferris Lee, Johnny’s face would have split in half had he smiled any wider. He laughed as he dialed Bill’s code in his phone. “Bill, prepare to move… get to an LZ and get in contact with me, I have a follow on mission for you. “And, Bill, ASAP we need to have a ‘teleconference’” “Yes, sir!” Bill said, “Give me a synopsis!” Johnny paused, “It is a harassment mission, keep the Feds off balance and shooting at shadows. Sabotage and assassination mostly, with as little collateral damage as possible. I will give you a better ideal later and more intel as it becomes available. Just get yourself to an LZ, It’s in a little town called Culver Falls in Colorado. It seems they have a manhunt going on, and we are going to make it a little more ‘challenging’ for them.” “Rodger that,” Bill said, and read the coordinates for the extraction site that he and the rookie had identified on the way in. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Senator McMillan read the newspaper article again. Quote: SC Justice, US Senator’s death ruled accidental (AP) The coroner’s report released yesterday cited ‘bear attack’ as the cause of death for the six men discovered last week. A US Army helicopter crew happened upon the bodies when Senator Metzenbaum, Justice Rothchild, and four Secret Service agents were days late returning from a fishing trip. Little of the bodies were recovered, and DNA testing was required for positive identification. The commander of the base where the men were stationed, General Andrew Sadlon, refused to allow access to the helicopter crew, and “they are pretty shaken up.” The US Congress will have a day of mourning and the President has ordered all flags flown at half-staff… She shivered as she stared out the window. She knew that this was a cover up… she just knew it. Edit/Delete Message |
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"I don't pay taxes. I am on Soc. Sec. Disability (mental illness) and I receive tax money. I couldn't care less what YOU pay in taxes." © Copyright 2/10/09 by Colt_M4
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Wow! A great read!
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Very good ...can't wait to read more!!
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Damn Good Ranger....
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I'm not always right , but I'm not really wrong either!!!
How do you like me now??? "May God have mercy on my enemy , because I won't" G.S.Patton |
Helluva story ! Keep it coming |
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edit. I am not sure why i had all kinds of extraneous BS (html code?) on this. |
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[NO TEXT]
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Great story! Please keep it coming.
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Sic Semper Tyrannis
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WOW
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كافر
Originally Posted By Zakk_Wylde_470: "Fucking Awesome. I love this song, and i'm a trekkie, so its like donuts with bacon and cheese, all nicely wrapped up in some quality sex and deep fried in beer. For christmas. |
another little taste.
<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator"></meta> [li] [li] <o:smarttagtype name="State" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="stockticker" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="country-region" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="PlaceName" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="PlaceType" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> Johnny stopped and began to read his “speech” aloud. My fellow Americans, It is with deepest regret a heavy heart that I address you today. For many years I have seen this day on the distant horizon, and I have prayed that it was a figment of my imagination and that some great man would forstall it’s arrival. Unfortunately, that great man has never arrived, and the duty has fallen to me… your humble servant. For many years now, our government has forgotten it’s true purpose, and has become much more than it was ever intended to be. Our government was formed to protect these <st1:country-region> <st1:place>United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>, to secure our borders, and providing for the common defense. Today, while our borders are a streaming highway into the country, our government is working night and day to control our every thought and action. Despite our cries to protect us from the enemy without, the enemy within has turned a deaf ear to our demands and continues about it’s business. We are called despicable names for demanding that our government do the job that it was formed to do. But that was yesteryear. Today, we are persecuted for speaking our mind. We are investigated, jailed, tried in court by agents of the state for “crimes against the state”, and imprisoned by the state. We are sentenced by judges who are appointed for life, who are answerable only to the government, and who interpret the law based upon their own agenda. We are told that the United Stated Constitution is a ‘living document’ and doesn’t mean what it says, but often times the opposite. The First Ammendment means that you have the right to speak after paying a fee, and you are allowed to say only that which the government deems appropriate. You are not allowed to campaign for the incumbent’s opposition unless you follow a certain set of rules. The Second Ammendment is to guarantee that the state can have a national guard. The Fourth Amendment: ‘ Surely in “these times” do you expect that the government respect these rights? There are bad people out there, and we need to find them by looking through your things without a warrant.” If you dare bring up the 10th Amendment, you are obviously a kook. Every school child today knows that the Constitution gives you rights, and the Government wrote the constitution. If it isn’t mentioned in the First Ten, then you don’t have that right. Where did they learn these things? Well, from the government agents we employ. We call them school teachers. In the early Nineteen-Eighties, the Federal Government began it’s insidious growth, and began to facilitate the break down of our culture, religion, families and education. The nuclear family was considered archaic, as ‘single motherhood’ was considered a badge of honor. The single mother was so brave that the government would pay to feed, clothe, educate, doctor, and house her ******* offspring. “Alternate lifestyles” were taught to her children, and “tolerance” was the flavor of the day. In the nineties, we say the all out warfare against the traditional father. He was painted as a buffoon, a pathetic excuse of a human, a pushover who was unable to do anything constructive without getting himself into trouble. He invariably needed the help of his wife and kids to lessen the damage that he brought upon himself. A successful white male was invariable evil. Religion was scoffed at, unless it was ‘different’ than Christianity. Today, we face the poisoned fruits of these decades of social engineering done by our servants, against our will. We have children who believe that we are the descendants of apes, and our elected officials give us rights. There is no ‘moral code’ that is larger than all of us, just those morals that we adopt for ourselves. We shouldn’t ‘force our morals upon another’ nor judge them. The only religion that is acceptable is Paganism, cleverly renamed to Environmentalism. In the name of fairness, they believe, the government must make sure that the successful are punished for their success, and the failures are rewarded. They have discovered that they can vote themselves a position at the ‘public trough’. A generation ago, we referred to the federal government as Uncle Sam, now the younger folks refer to it as Uncle Sugar. Our elected officials are not satisfied with that designation, and are now demanding that we refer to it as ‘Sir’, or preferably ‘Master’. In keeping with that desire, individualism is punished by the plethora of new and improved laws which one cannot exist outside of chains without violating. We are no longer represented, we are ruled. Our redress of grievances has traditionally been the vote, but due to the collaboration of the Fourth Estate and both ruling parties, few are represented. For decades, we have been forced to vote for the ‘lesser of two evils’, and that evil has been growing by orders of magnitude. We now have a majority in our government who has never held a ‘real job’ in his life. They are schooled in institutions away from those they will represent, and live in a style reminiscent of the Royalty of the past. Once elected, they become embedded in government for the remainder of their days, or as long as their loyalty remains to the ‘club’. Evidence of that is only as far away as the last result of the past half dozen Presidential elections. Look around you, <st1:country-region> <st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>… tell me how I am wrong! I swore an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution of these <st1:country-region> <st1:place>United States of America</st1:place></st1:country-region>, against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Today, I am coming to you to announce my intention of honoring that sacred Oath. Your servant, Johnny. He pushed back from his desk and thought “A speech writer I am not, but I probably can’t put an ad for one on Craigslist.” He chuckled as he sent his ‘memo to <st1:country-region> <st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>’ to Twitch, who would send it out as a viral e-mail, where hopefully it would captivate the attention of citizens everywhere. Johnny bowed his head and prayed that he would not be forced to act any further Bill steped off the ramp of the MH-53 and had a second thought. “Rookie, follow my lead.” Was all he said as he strolled to the cockpit. “Set it down, shut it down, college boy.” Bill snarled as he screwed the suppressor in the pilot’s ear. As the pilot sat wondering whether the demon would return, Bill and the rookie stripped both 7.62 mini-guns and the M2 from the ramp, and supervised their sequestering in the nearby ravine. “go home, college boy.” The Military helicopter left, and if it were possible, it’s tail was ‘between it’s legs’. Bill and the rookie were in <st1:state> <st1:place>Colorado</st1:place></st1:state>, and they were on the job. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Marcus rolled out of bed at the alarm’s beckon. He smiled ruefully as he stumbled toward the shower, smelling his pre=programmed coffee maker doing it’s thing. Twenty minutes later he toweled off, and strolled to the kitchen. After pouring his cup of Joe, he sat down in his towel to read his mail and the headlines. Marcus burned his privates as he spilled the hot coffee in his lap. "He is saying what I know!" marveled Marcus, as he shook the 'flames' from his lap. <o:p> </o:p> ––––___________________________________________________________________ The man coasted to a stop by the gate. The motorcycle, an aging Kawasaki Ninja 600, had seen better days. He dropped the kickstand and dismounted. Taking off his helmet, he stretched his legs and popped his back, and pulled a faded OG107 “boonie cap” and plopped it on his head, and then he unzipped his fly as he walked to the tree line at the edge of the driveway. As he finished relieving himself, something caused him to start, and quite comically swat at some territorial bees… retreating the whole time. As he ran down the drive toward the bike, he continued flailing with his hat and at some point it left his possession. He slammed the helmet on his head and nearly lost control, twice, as he fled the nest of ground hornet. The FBI agent in the C&C shack chuckled as he watched the scene play out on his monitor. “Boy, “ he thought, “The first thing worth watching in weeks. I am soooo glad that I am not out there in a ghillie suit swatting bugs. I wonder how many stings that guy got.” He was still chuckling as he pressed the <delete> key. He never noticed the hat hanging from the branches of the bushes. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Marcus was sweating like a fiend in church as he slid the flash drive into his work station computer. He looked around, and went over his story for the thousandth time. After reading Johnny’s blog, he spent a sleepless night struggling with himself. He knew that he had a duty to bring this message to the readers, and he had a very large audience. He thought back to his childhood. He smiled as he remembered sitting around the kitchen table, trying to understand concepts of which the men who came to visit his father spoke. He chuckled as he remembered his father taking him to the “John Birch Society” meetings at the Canoe Island Lodge, with it’s GIGANTIC meeting table with the animal shapes inletted into the top. “Oh, how I wish I could just pass this off to you, Dad,” Marcus thought as he copied the contents of the drive. He overwrote the document that had been approved just…yesterday?... it seemed so long ago now. He worked in silence for a few minutes, his eyes clouded with tears. With every key stroke, however, he felt his departed father’s approval. As he finished his task, he knew that one more key stroke would send his future down a path he couldn’t imagine just yesterday. He looked at clock, and knew that he had to run to the deadline if this had any chance of making it past the senior editor’s desk. He opened a game of Solitaire, and played until he heard someone shouting his name some time later. “Marcus! Ten minutes until deadline… Stokes is hollering for everyone to get it in so he can send it to press! Ten Minutes!!!” “Tell him I’m almost done… damn typo’s are messing with the grammar!” he shouted back, as he moved a stack of clubs over two columns. Six minutes later, he hit the <submit> button, and began cleaning out his desk. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Bill wiped the tears from his his face for the second time in five minutes. His sides ached from his wheezing, and he was actually worrying about having heart failure at this point. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this hard, for this long. After the rookie had left his hat at Stretch’s (Bill and Susan’s) driveway, Bill had convinced him that his faking of the bee stings would be less that acceptable unless he had a bee sting. They had found a bee tree in their comings and goings over the past few weeks, and Bill had him stand there until he got stung. As honey bees are pretty docile and will not sting unless provoked, Bill waited a full 3.2 seconds for one to “complete the disguise” before he emptied his .45 into the tree. And then ran like hell. Predictably, the rookie’s aim was poor as he was being stung dozens of times as he tried to take aim at Bill’s fleeing form though the thickening cloud of stinging, pissed off bees. Bill hid for a while, just close enough that he could hear the rookie cursing him and his ancestors, all bovine, canine, and several other species with which he was not familiar. When the tirade had subsided, Bill shouted “are ya still gonna shoot me?” “G#$%!AM right I am!” “Whoops, better stay here and roll a smoke.” he chuckled as he moved a hundred yards to the east, just in case. Twenty minutes later, he shouted “Hey, I forgot to ask… are you allergic to Bees?” When no reply came, Bill felt his heart fall. He really didn’t know if the kid was allergic. Johnny would kill him if he killed the kid. “Damn it!” he thought as he started down the hill. \ As he approached the last spot he had heard curses from he spied an supine form at the edge of the bushes. “Damn it!” he shouted again as he ran to his comrade’s aid. At the same time he realized that the boot and pants were bait he heard the “chuff” of the rookies pistol and the simultaneous smack of the bullet into the tree, two feet from his head. Bill threw himself to the ground, rolling and drawing as he realized that the rookie had intentionally missed him. However, it was too late for him to shut his eyes, and no amount of therapy would ever remove the sight from his eyes. The rookie had taken off his pants and boots and stuffed them with leaves. The rookie believed that commando’s should go “commando”, so he was naked from the waist down. Bill could not unsee. A naked, “aroused” man was shooting at him. “YOU ***!!!! You couldn’t have waited for me to quit peeing?” “Shoot me now…” Bill begged in a falsetto voice…”make me unsee it!” “Don’t tempt me,” was the flat reply as the hammer clicked into the cocked position. Both men stared at each in the ultimate Mexican Standoff. The rookie blinked first, when he told Bill to turn his head while he pulled out one of the more urgent stingers. After the fit had passed, again, he turned back to the glowering, furious, and swelling face of the rookie. “Time to go to town, your disguise is complete”. Bill’s laughter resonated off the hills as he dissolved into fits again. <o:p> </o:p> The four argents stopped at “Rosie’s”, a greasy spoon restaurant in <st1:place> <st1:placename>Culver</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Falls</st1:placetype></st1:place>. There was a quaint atmosphere about the place, reasonable prices, and lately, they pretty much had the place to themselves. The driver parked on the corner, directly in front of the store. The fact that the curb was painted yellow, indicating a ‘no parking zone’ didn’t matter to him, as he thought of himself as ‘THE LAW’ and dared the Podunk Sheriff to question him. He always parked in the same spot. The four strolled into the restaurant and sat at the same table as they had sat for the past few weeks, and ordered glanced at the menu, more out of habit than curiosity. “Hey! Check out that guy!” one of the agents chuckled. “Hey, You! What the hell happened to your face? Did it catch on fire and someone stomp it out with golf shoes?” “No sir,” replied the swollen faced man, “I found a bee nest that I wish that I hadn’t”, as he continued to nurse the cup of coffee that had long grown cold. “Day, is this the guy that Surveillance told us about? Bwahahahaahh!” The rookie tossed a couple dollars on the table and gingerly walked past the group and out the door. His mission was a success, as he had just received the word from Bill that he was through. While the men were busy scoffing at the rookies swollen visage, their attention was distracted from their vehicle. Bill had walked up and placed a transmitter on it without breaking stride. The transmitter was in a box of goodies that had been mailed to a neighboring town. An old farm house there had been recon-ed by the pair and used as a quasi-“dead-drop”. Communication equipment had been included as well as some sophisticated surveillance gear. Range finders, batteries, and some <st1:stockticker>GPS</st1:stockticker> gear were in the mix. Oddly enough, were the military issue laser target designator ( <st1:stockticker>LTD</st1:stockticker>) and batteries. Bill hadn’t asked questions and had stowed the stuff in their ever growing caches, as there were two nearly identical ones. As the rookie tooled toward the rendezvous point outside town, Bill was amazed at the clarity of the video image that he was getting from the diner. The camera had been placed in a fake plant on a shelf, and it and the button microphone transmitted to a repeater that the rookie had hidden in the drop ceiling over the bathroom. “Smile Feebs,” Bill smirked, “You’re on Candid…” He stopped speaking as he heard them describing the incident of the day before to the new comer. “… her head just went ‘ <st1:stockticker>POP</st1:stockticker>’ when I kicked her! Yeah… right about here! I kicked that ***** like she was lined up for a field goal!” Bill felt a slow burning hatred begin to evolve into volcanic proportions for these men as they described the events. Bill had a very specific code, which is not uncommon to men of his moral caliber. Women were off limits. Not that he had any problem with a man ‘smacking a woman up-side the head” when it was warranted, but, intentionally or sadistically harming a woman was at minimum, a trip to the Emergency Room. He continued to listen as the three regaled the newcomer of their ‘feats of bravery’ as he prepared to go and execute the four at the first available opportunity. He felt the fire leave him as the men concluded their story. “Well, I guess the Commander Lotts will be stoked that Bill and Susan are out of the picture.” The burning rage that was inside him turned off as though a switch were thrown. He felt a sudden calm and purpose as the implication of this last statement settled into the dark spot in his heart and watered the festering black mass that resided there. Bill felt a moment’s pang of loss as he acknowledged that the guy who he endured basic training, jump school, and ranger indoctrination program with was dead, along with his wife. That pang was quickly replaced with clarity, as the last remaining shred of human compassion for the Federal Bureau of Investigation and their minions fled like shadows under a search light. He trembled a bit as he shook the cell phone from his pocket, and keyed the rookies number, called him in, and then placed another call. Bill heard the familiar clicks, pops and tones as the secure connection was encrypted and confirmed. “Johnny, Bill. Just giving you a warning order. I am about to really shake things up here, and it really got personal. If you need to cut me loose, I understand, but I will have to see this one through.” “Bill, you are really behind the curve here.” Johnny chuckled, “I was beginning to worry that you had fallen out of a tree and died or something. I have had ops on hold for a couple weeks waiting on you. What do you need?” Bill was stunned. He hadn’t explained his execution of the Secret Service Agents, but knew that Johnny would understand once he did. He certainly hadn’t expected a wholesale, carte blanc approval of an undisclosed mission. Emboldened, Bill laid out his needs and was again stunned as Johnny agreed immediately. “When you get this equipment and men, what exactly are you going to do with it, Bill?”, Johnny had known Bill for long enough to recognize the sound of imminent death in his tone, and knew that the best way to avoid crimes against humanity, trials at the Hague, and history books placing an “and” after Adolph Hitler, was to ask Bill to voice the thoughts in his head. “Well, I am going to kill every man, woman and child in this town. They killed my friends, and the town harbored them. I will stand on a pile of their Smoldering BONES! I will grind their bones into sand with my teeth, and make a giant middle finger from the bone sand and my own waste, and point it toward DC… except for the parts I mix with rocks and form into round balls and lob on DC with the Catapults that I make from the bones I get bored of chewing on.” Johnny maintained his cool for longer than he though possible before he began to guffaw. “Bill, that was awesome!” he proclaimed between bouts of laughter. “That was some original **** there…are you quite finished, or do you need to ‘open the gates of hell with the teeth of babies’, or something?” “Hey, f@%$ you, hero! They killed my buddy. I AM GOING TO KILL THEM <st1:stockticker>ALL</st1:stockticker>, you can believe that. I probably wont be chewing bones to make a ****/sand ‘Bird’, but I imagine a smoking hole in the ground will be just as effective.” “No Bill, the townsfolk are on your side. I want you to read the file I am sending you. It has the past few weeks worth of news clips, and read it with your common sense set to ‘on’. These folks are sheep, and they are outnumbered by coyotes. They may not be offering resistance, but they have little choice. “Bill, free these people. “Bill, you are weapons hot on anyone who wears a badge, and doesn’t reside in that county. “Now, let’s discuss an OPORD that doesn’t involve too many human rights violations.” An hour and a half later, Johnny and Bill had come to the point that Johnny was sending out execution orders that he had laid in weeks ago. He had men and equipment moving toward <st1:place> <st1:placename>Culver</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Falls</st1:placetype></st1:place>. The only interruption to their conversation was when the rookie announced that the Predator B had landed without one of the hellfire missiles that it had left with. Both Bill and Johnny decided that it and it’s command trailer were to be dealt with immediately if possible, and Johnny cautioned Bill to lay low otherwise until they arrived. “Sir, yes Sir!” Bill parroted, “Reaper, out!” and cut the connection. Johnny spent the next few hours cutting orders, interrupted only by Maria, her arrival heralded by ice cubes singing their amber song in a crystal cathedral. He felt a little bit sorry for the men stationed in <st1:place> <st1:placename>Culver</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Falls</st1:placetype></st1:place>, as he knew that death walked amongst them. Terrible death, as his discussion with Bill only had saved the innocent. Despite his acknowledgement, Bill was going to sit on piled bones, of that Johnny was sure. He chuckled as he considered that he had some control over a ‘force of nature’, “I am glad he is on my side.” Maria set the glass of Famous Grouse on the stone coaster to the left of Johnny and stepped back. She reached around the high backed leather chair and began to rub his shoulders with a strength that was surprising for such an aged woman. Johnny took another sip of his favorite drink, and felt the weariness fall on him like a pallet of sandbags. Maria’s knowing hands found all the tight spots in his neck and shoulders as he began to relax, and his mind began to unwind. “I have been living with a masseuse and didn’t even know it,” he chuckled to himself. As he closed his eyes and drifted off he heard her say: “Meester Johnny, do not you be angry with Meester Beeel. He does what he does. He seems evil at times, but heees type of evil is only evil if it used against the just. ” Johnny’s eyes were getting sooo heavy that they closed, but he still listened. Maria continued, “Johnny, I am so very proud of you, and am honored to stand by your side as you cross this river, fear not, as I am by your side, and I will be here for you until the end and beyond.” Johnny smiled to himself as he felt the old woman’s lips crease his forehead, but the whiff of leather and her lack of accent and change of speech left him troubled for a moment before he felt the arms of sleep embrace him. Marcus dimly staggered back to the couch after paying his latest date and showing her out. The last week had been a blur. The next day, he had ‘oiled the irons’ and seldom had one out of arms reach. He had also gone on a bender, complete with ‘companionship’. He broke into his emergency money and lived every day as though it would be his last, as he believed that it would be. After his “stunt” as the chief editor had referred to it, made the wire and had been reprinted nationally, he was trespassed from the building. “At least I had the forethought to clean out my desk!” he smirked as he sloshed a finger or so into the rocks glass on his filthy bar. The incessant ring of the door sent him staggering back across his apartment, grabbing the FN57 that he had begun to think of as another appendage. For some reason, during one of his stupors, he had ordered two boxes of DevastaTOR rounds from Elite Ammunition, a round that was restricted to Law Enforcement and Military. Somehow, he convinced the girl that he was a Cop and now had a loaded pistol with stuff that would defeat a vest. He breathed a sigh, as he peeked through the peep hole and saw the hooker he had just ejected and wondered what she forgot as he opened the door. He saw her eyes widen as the man to the side of her pushed her aside and began to rush him. Marcus began pulling the trigger as his pistol magically appeared in his hand directly in front of his assailants chest. The man grunted and folded at the knees. Stunned, Marcus stood there. He heard the girl… what was her name?... screaming on the ground, but a scared hurt, not an injured hurt. His booze addled brain was trying it’s best to cope, and coming somewhat into focus. Marcus took a knee, and peered around the corner. Bullets drove him back as they sparked from the metal door frame and chewed drywall into dust. Marcus retreated, slamming the door and tipping the bookshelf over in front of it. The 8’ tall piece of solid oak, would at least slow bullets before they found flesh. He then retreated to the balcony, and crouched behind the cement wall. His cell phone vibrated unnoticed in his pocket for several calls before it registered. The men bashing at his door, notwithstanding, Marcus thought, “What the hell” and answered it. “Ahoy, hoy!” “Marcus, listen to me. There is a rope ladder at the edge of your balcony, use it!” “Who is this?” Marcus asked disbelievingly. “This is Johnny, now move! You are in the way!” Marcus slid over the handrail and climbed hand over hand down the knotted, ¾” nylon rope that he had indeed found fastened to the handrail of his balcony. After eight feet he was grabbed around the waist and dragged in to the balcony below. Two men immediately hustled him through the room into the hallway. As they made the turn into the hall from the room, he heard the door slam as one of the men shouted ‘clear!” and the building shook. Marcus followed the men as they led him through the smoke filled building to a waiting Police van in the alley. All three of them dove through the open rear doors as the van sped off. “Sir, yes sir!” Bill ended the conversation. “Rookie, get in here! We’re going hunting!” Bill threw the phone to his pillow as he turned to the smirking young man. “what is so funny?” he growled. “We don’t need to hunt, I have them over bait.” Bill cocked an eyebrow and decided not to kill the rookie, at least for the time being. <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> Bill read the message, transcript actually that Twitch had sent him. The bug that the rookie had planted in Rosie's had hit pay dirt. "Wake up!", he growled, "It's go time!" As the rookie roused himself, Bill explained that Agent Day and the other three agents were plotting to intercept the girl who was overlooked in the back seat of his friends' wrecked truck. "Tying up the loose ends," Bill grumbled, "and Susan is one of them." He took a deep breath and stared off into space for a moment, and it seemed as though a knot came untied in him. "Rookie, you can bail if you want at any time, and I wont blame you,but this is what is going to go down. I have been bothered by this whole thing. I figgered that we could whack a couple of the rotten apples and the rest would behave. This entire operation is rotten to the top. "I took an oath to defend these folks,"Bill waved his hand in an all encompassing gesture, "against all enemies, and in return I was given a set of skills that most folks don't have. Today, I am going to have to get dirty and bloody. "I am going to send them a message, and what they do with that message, and then they can decide whether to live or die." "I am with you Bill, to the end." the rookie said as he stood and grabbed his gear. –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Agent Day and the three men drove carefully up the winding road toward Liz's campsite. One of the men was mapping the route for possible accident locations and the best place to ambush her. "Listen up, knuckleheads, we need to finish the job. After her tumble down the bank, she needs repeated 'head to rock' contact until she has no pulse." "Gotcha boss!" the men said in unison as they grinned to each other. Today was gonna be a Good Day! –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Trailing two hundred yards behind the FBI vehicle, was Bill and the rookie riding tandem on the Ninja. Bill was riding on the back, holding on with one hand as he held the <st1:stockticker>GPS</st1:stockticker> tracking unit in the other. "Hold up here," he ordered "Stash the bike in the bushes right there". He dismounted and began to assemble their weapons, that he had in the pack on his back. He was just finishing twisting the YHM suppressor on the last rifle when the rookie walked up. Tossing the rifle to him, Bill put the nearly empty pack on his back, and started walking down the road toward a group of boulders that they had just passed. "Hurry up, Junior, they are headed this way right now." –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Rounding the bend on the way back to the spot they had identified to ambush Liz, Agent Day was listening to the men discuss the possibilities of the upcoming action when he noticed the tire tracks left by the motorcycle. "Crap!" he thought, "witnesses could get complicated". "Stop!" he shouted jerking open the door before the SUV could come to a stop. He hopped out of the still moving vehicle and the three men followed him seconds later as he followed the trie tracks to the bushes. "What is is, boss?" on of the men asked. Day turned to point to the tracks out to him and saw a spray of blood erupt from the man. The sound of a .22lr round registered a second or so later along with the 55gr Nosler Balistic tip intended for him. Agent Day felt something cold pressing against the side of his head, some time later, and looked over to see the ground. "I'm so cold," he thought, and then shivered as he realized what must have happened. Looking up, he saw the grim visage of Bill standing over him. "Who are you?" "Well, sunshine, glad to see you back. I gut shot you so I could kill you while looking in your eyes. Betcha didn't know that guy you killed had friends like me, did ya?" Agent Day looked around in a panic at the three men lying on the ground at Bill's feet and in horror realized what his fate was to be. "Please... Please! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" Bills knife ended the man's screams in a gurgle. "That was pretty gruesome Bill," said the rookie as he stood at the SUV trying not to watch. "Well, I guess he should have thought of that before he killed somebody I liked. Make sure you get their badges, and help me load the corpses in the back." Twenty minutes later, Bill watched as the Suburban flipped end over end into the ravine. "Sure was nice of them fellas to draw a map of a good spot to ditch a car," he grimly mused. Mounting the back of the Ninja, he grumbled at the extra fifty pounds of weight in the back. "One more stop, Rookie, one more stop." –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– |
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Was hoping this story would be coming back sometime But, it looks like we have formatting issues from hell
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"If someone has a gun and is trying to kill you, it would be reasonable to shoot back with your own gun." -- The Dalai Lama
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GOOD STUFF :-)
whats next? |
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bout fuckin time Ranger
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كافر
Originally Posted By Zakk_Wylde_470: "Fucking Awesome. I love this song, and i'm a trekkie, so its like donuts with bacon and cheese, all nicely wrapped up in some quality sex and deep fried in beer. For christmas. |
I am really missing this story.
More action please |
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somebody should prod the OP into a new chapter ... he asked to be PM'd after all!
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MOΛΩN ΛABÉ
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Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was reading it.
I have a couple more chapters at home on my computer there. I will post them tomorrow. |
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Originally Posted By rangermonroe:
Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was reading it. I have a couple more chapters at home on my computer there. I will post them tomorrow. Well thank you very much ... it's a good read! Posted Via AR15.Com Mobile |
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MOΛΩN ΛABÉ
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Good story, Ranger!
Looking forward to the rest.... Michael |
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It's no longer a question of "if".... it's a question of "when"!
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Hell yes! I'm reading it.
Great story. More please! ..........Mounger |
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YAY!
Bring it |
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Well, here ya go.
<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator"></meta> [li] <o:smarttagtype name="City" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="PlaceType" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="PlaceName" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> <o:smarttagtype name="stockticker" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype> Agent Mark Gibson and Agent Cris Dodd were coming back from a night on the town to the FBI compound where they had been baracked. Both men were quite intoxicated, and were quite full of themselves. The 'inspirational' speech that Agent Day had given them that morning had the predictable effect on morale. The two had quite a good time that evening acting like fools, and threatening the local men who had objected to the agents' unwelcome advances on their girlfriends. Still laughing about the events, Cris was barely able to stop in time as the old bum staggered in front of his car. Cursing both men brazenly jumped from the car. "Hey old man..." The quiet pop from the Browning Buckmark outfitted with a <st1:stockticker>TAC</st1:stockticker> 65 silenced the agent. "Hands up, sunshine!" the old man said. Agent Gibson immediately complied, and was disarmed by the 'Bum'. "Play nice, and you get to live to see the sun rise. If not, I'll get someone else to play mailman." Bill outlined what the man was to do, and put the body of Agent Dodd in the trunk, and sent him on his way. "Oh, one other thing, I want you to understand how serious I am", Bill leaned in the window and sliced off Agent Gibsons ear. "Hurry home now, I don't want you to bleed out before you get to the aid station. " and tossed the ear into the lap of the horrified agent. With shreiking tires, Agent Gibson raced back to the FBI compound, hoping that there was someone at the medic tent who could help him, or a pilot who could fly him to <st1:city> <st1:place>Denver</st1:place></st1:city> to a hospital there. He careened into the compound and began frantically honking his horn to rouse everyone. He was successful and men began pouring out of tents and buildings to investigate the din. As his car came to rest facing the medic tent, the nightmare of the evening grew deeper. There illuminated by the headlights were the severed heads of Agent Day and his three accomplises proudly displayed on new replacement rake handles used as pikes. Their badges had been pinned through thier lips to, as the coroner discovered later, hold the men's hearts in their mouth. Agent Gibson lost his mind at that point. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––- Two hundred yards away, the rookie watched the circus unfold as the men ran around, all of them with a cell phone pressed to his head. No one even looked to the perimeter. ––___________________________________________________________________ <o:p> </o:p> The old man snarled awake and sleepily felt around for his slippers in the dark. Finding them with his toes, he murmured his way across his bedroom. His heart twanged, as it did every time he walked past his wife’s side of the bed. How he missed her. That was the only reason that he hadn’t shot the ***** years ago. “Damned yelping dog!” He was still muttering to himself, as he walked out on the porch to relieve himself. Just as he unzipped, he felt the age old tingle that a warrior feels when he knows he is being watched. He unconsciously stepped to the shadow of the maple tree that he and Martha had argued about cutting for a decade or so. Every now and again when he gets angry with her ghost he fires up his Stihl and stands with the old workhorse staring at the tree as the tears moisten his rheumy eyes. Tonight he was glad for the concealment. His eyes darted from one shadow to another as the feeling strengthened. “Big cat, maybe,” he muttered. “Nope,” Bill chuckled, “Friendly… in the wire… but I don’t know the ‘running password’, old timer. Could have killed ya a couple dozen times by now if I had a mind to, but I don’t.” “What in the hell do you want?” the old man snarled. The Ruger Super Blackhawk that hung by the back door whenever he was in the house, was on his hip whenever he was outside the house, including now. Bill knew exactly what the ‘walnut cracking’ sound was, as he had heard it many times in his youth as he fled through a darkened bedroom window. “Easy, now… I owe you some money, and I intend to pay it. I’d come your hardware store in town to pay you in the morning, like a man would, but I can’t. There is a $20 bill under your welcome mat, out front. It will cover the four pikes I stole from you today.” “Pikes? I don’t sell…” “Rake handles, dammit!” “You said ‘pikes’! What’d you do put some heads on display?” the old chuckled. “Hope they were those damned FBIs” “Yes sir I did, and yes sir they were. I would appreciate discretion in this matter, and I will be going now.” Bill turned and walked off. The old man wasn’t sure for a moment whether the man was joking, or going to kill him for a moment. The sick feeling in his stomach quickly left him, as he recognized a younger version of himself. A version that had never been allowed to grow, and had withered on the vine. “Hey… Piker… come back here! I ain’t gonna shoot ya. ‘Least not yet.” Bill paused, and after a moment’s discussion, the two discussed the day’s events. Bill left out the details, and the old man filled them in for himself. The old man filled bill in on the happenings in <st1:place> <st1:placename>Culver</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Falls</st1:placetype></st1:place> over the past few months. Both warriors muttered “Hmmmmf” at about the same time, and the old man agreed with Bill that it was time for him to go. They departed friends, and untested allies. Bill decided to stay in <st1:place> <st1:placename>Culver</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Falls</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Bill paced around the back yard of the abandoned farm house as he spoke to Johnny. Never one to sit still, he became more animated as he ‘debriefed’. After an eternity of questions, Johnny had only one more thing for him to answer for, and it wasn’t just a bomb… this was measured in kilotons. “Bill, I have a lack of confidence. You killed those Secret Service Agents after I had told you to let them live. “Frankly, Bill, I have my doubts.” Bill was stunned. Marinating his composure, he paused to roll a cigarette. Johnny was used to this, as the men weren’t unaccustomed to each other’s mannerisms. The Zippo lighter made it’s characteristic chatter as Bill finished, and took a long draw. Johnny pulled the phone from his ear, and checked his e-mail while waiting for the stream of curses and protestations and calls for impeachment and threats of mutiny that he had expected. When Bill drew breath, he demanded an explanation of his actions. “Alright! All you had to do was !#@$%Q ask! “ That damn kid you saddled me with , earned his salt. He was watching as I interrogated them. At a distance, like you told me was to happen. “I put them at SOP interrogation points, and I knew they were passing hand signals around. They were playing us, and your boy was the first to pick up on it. “He shot first, and I put the bullets in the rest of them. When I heard his bullet hit, I knew… well I just did. The kid told me why later. They were hand signaling each other while my back was turned. That’s we do this with observers in Group. The only observer I had was that damn kid of yours. I went with it. It is what it is. Those #@$%! Were talking to each other under interrogation, I am sure of it.” “I had no intention of killing those men until the first one died… I followed the lead. “That kid of yours was the lead, and I cleaned up. He was right then, in my humble opinion, and whatever you Monday morning Quarterbacks think… It is what happened. Trust me or don’t, you Fuc#$&!* douche#bag @$$hole*! Johnny expected the outburst, and was pleased. “Bill, carry on. “You have support” |
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just found this...thanks and moar
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LOL
what a great answer to the question of Bill's break from orders. More please |
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Great Stuff!
Thank you for more! More please? ........Mounger |
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Well written! Thanks for the great story!
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I am really enjoying this story!
I re read the story and I think I am missing some things. I tried to go to the original forum your posting to but don't have the authorization to get to your story there yet so I am not sure if the sequence is intentional, the story here is missing installments, or I'm just dumb. Who is Bill, Susan and Liz? I know that the FBI hit them but that is all I can find. Also, it seems that Bill shot first and the Kid followed suit which is different than his explanation to Johnny. Could it be the errant http codes getting in the way? Please keep it up. This is really good stuff! ........Mounger |
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Originally Posted By Mounger: I am really enjoying this story! I re read the story and I think I am missing some things. I tried to go to the original forum your posting to but don't have the authorization to get to your story there yet so I am not sure if the sequence is intentional, the story here is missing installments, or I'm just dumb. Who is Bill, Susan and Liz? I know that the FBI hit them but that is all I can find. Also, it seems that Bill shot first and the Kid followed suit which is different than his explanation to Johnny. Could it be the errant http codes getting in the way? Please keep it up. This is really good stuff! ........Mounger Bill, Susan and Liz are characters from another story that crossed paths as the author and I collaborated. I have been trying to get the story done and in MS Word, but when I started this, I wasnt' expecting much, so I just posted online. Cutting it from websites causes the coding to appear, even though I can't see it until it is posted. I have a bunch of editing to do. Sorry for the clutter. I have a bunch of stuff that I havnt posted. |
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You can paste it into notepad to strip the markup code ... easy and fast.
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MOΛΩN ΛABÉ
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Please dont take the questions as criticism. I am really enjoying the story and anxiously waiting for more~
........Mounger |
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MOAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Originally Posted By highstepper: seeing as how you put it that way...MOAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!! three months later: <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 10" name="Originator"></meta> [li] Bill rolled over, The sweaty sheet sliding off his naked body on the filthy couch. A week without a shower caused his eyes to involuntarily shudder. The last four months were a blur. As he rolled to his feet, somewhat unsteadily as the mixture of tequilla and bourbon reminded him of his nocturnal transgressions, he coughed and spat on the filthy floor as he took stock of his surroundings. "Hmmm, you worthless SOB, alive again!" he muttered like a morning prayer, somewhat wondering how or why, "gonna do something today?" Bill knew the answer, NOTHING. The same as yesterday, and the day before. Addled, he made a cup of coffee, hoping to hold his demons at bay for a little while longer. Unfortunately, as by looking in the mirror, you cannot help but see yourself; Bill called up his demons by wondering about his torment. they were hanging just out of view |
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كافر
Originally Posted By Zakk_Wylde_470: "Fucking Awesome. I love this song, and i'm a trekkie, so its like donuts with bacon and cheese, all nicely wrapped up in some quality sex and deep fried in beer. For christmas. |
more!
(please) |
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I am checking every day to see if we have MOAR. Are you posting on another website? If so, let me know and I will go there.
I am really enjoying this story! ...........Mounger |
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I guess everyone has taken off for the Holidays. Can't say as I blame y'all, but I too am out of reading material!
.......Mounger |
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I really love this story. Wish it would develop some more.
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