Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (31 page)

“What the
hell is all
this
shit?” asked George, stepping out of the passenger side
of the truck and sweeping his rifle left and right, looking for targets.  He
winced in pain at the movement but never blinked.  “I smell a trap, man…”

“Looks like
someone was running away from home…” noticed Ed, covering the driver side of
the Suburban.  “No one’s home,” he called out.  “Abandoned.”  He lowered his
weapon and peered about.  “Don’t see—“

“Blood!”
said George, pointing to the ground a few feet away from the passenger side
door.  “Shotgun shells…someone bought the farm here, man.”

“Oh
that ain’t good
…” Ed
noticed a spray of blood and chunks of pink-grey stuff splashed out in an arc
from the driver’s side door.  He could see a booted foot sticking out of the
shrub in the ditch.  Stepping down gingerly, he moved some branches away and
saw a man dressed like a ranch hand.  On his hip was a still holstered .45
semi-auto.  There was a patch on the chest pocket of the leather work jacket. 
It was the Regulator emblem, a large red R filling the outline of the state of
Arizona.

“Jed!  Oh,
God!”

George
hobbled around to his brother and nearly threw up at what he saw.  Their
friend’s face was only slightly distorted, but the back of his head and parts
of the side were gone.  The bushes and brush around him were coated pink and
red.  He had a look of utter peace on his face, his eyes closed as if in sleep.

Ed doubled
over, forcing his hasty breakfast back down.  He didn’t need this kind of
wake-up call.

A groan
drifted out of the sagebrush behind the SUV.  The two brothers looked at each
other and both jogged back around the Suburban to the passenger side where
George had found the blood and spent shotgun shells.

“Bill?”
asked Ed, tentatively.

“Over…unh….over
here…” came the weak reply.

The two
brothers quickly found their wounded comrade through the blood stained
underbrush in the ditch.  He lay on his back, where he had been tossed by the
blast from the terrorists shotgun.  His face and upper torso were riddled with
black marks and blood. 

“Oh hell…
bird
shot!”
said George through gritted teeth and looked away. 

There was a
significant pool of blood under Bill’s limp form. The shotgun had done its work
nicely, eviscerating the Regulator.  It was obvious to the two stunned brothers
that Bill would depart this world soon.  They worked to make him as comfortable
as possible.

“Bill…can
you hear me?”  Ed asked, taking a knee in the dirt by his friend.

“It’s
George and Ed, Bill…we’re here to help you…”

Bill
groaned in pain and his breath gurgled.  His lung had been punctured.  His face
looked like a swollen, bloody hunk of Swiss cheese.  “I ain’t gonna…make it…”
he whispered.

“No, don’t
talk like that, you’re gonna be fine.  We’ll have you patched up in no
time…George, run get the first aid kit and get on the horn to the Ranch.”

Bill shook
his shot up head with considerable effort.  He reached out with a bloodied hand
and gripped Ed’s denim jacket.  “Don’t bother…Jus’ tell…tell Gunn…”

“What? 
Tell Rob what?” asked George, leaning over his dying friend.

Bill’s eyes
suddenly went wide.  Ed winced in sympathy—he could see in the pre-dawn
twilight that one eye had been destroyed by the shotgun, a bloody oozing hole
left in its place.  The other eye was taking on a glazed look. 

“Arabs, I
think…
terrorists
…Hakim…
Hakim
…”

Ed looked
at George.  “Terrorists?  Hakim?”  He turned back to Bill.  “Hakim?  Is that a
name?  Bill,
what happened?
”

Bill
grunted with the effort of taking a short breath.  “Found the car…
ambush
…they
got me, left.  Jed!” he groaned.  “Wanted Jed to beg…for his life…”            Bill
gripped Ed’s sleeve with white knuckles.

George
gripped his rifle and fought back tears.  He looked around, hoping to find
someone to shoot and vent his rage.

“Tell
Gunn…they went…”

“Where…Bill,
where did they go?” asked George, gently shaking his friend’s head.

Bill seemed
to slip away into unconsciousness.

“Jesus…”
muttered Ed, crossing himself.  He looked at the broken and bleeding form of
his friend, saw the image of Jed laying in the brush on the other side of the
Suburban.  “Who…why would they
do
this…terrorists,
here
?  What the
fuck are terrorists doing…”  His mind was thinking quickly, out loud.

Bill
suddenly spoke through the blood that was filling his mouth, welling up from
deep down inside his tortured body.  He had to get the word out before he
died.  Something was compelling him to speak when all he wanted was to sleep. 
“They went to Mexico…took Jed’s Jeep….
Mexico
.  Tell Gunn…” he said,
fading.

“We will,
Bill, don’t worry, we’ll tell Rob,” said Ed, trying to sooth his dying friend. 
Tears began welling up in his eyes.  He tried to hide them from his brother,
who was doing the same thing. 

Goddammit
,
this is
too much!

One last
word escaped Bill’s lips like a ghost slipping into the shadows.  “
Remember
….”
his last breath expelled.  Bill lapsed into silence and ceased to move.

I AGREE, GENERAL, that
this has always been an interesting proposal, but I believe we should take this
matter before the President
immediately
.  I do not think we should delay
any longer,” offered Shin Ho, Minister of the Interior and ranking Party Member
of China’s Communist Government.

“I think it
would be foolish to rush on this…after all, it has only been what, a week since
the Americans were attacked?  However…You may be right, Shin,” considered Po
Sin, Minister of the People’s Army.  Most people called him ‘Minister’, as he
was hardly an active General any more in the People’s Army.  It had been years
since he’d worn a uniform and he had come to rather enjoy wearing his dark
suits.

“This old
plan needs to be updated quickly.  The timing has to be
perfect
.” Shin
Ho said, examining the document in his hands.

“I agree. 
And if we move soon, we may have a better than even chance of catching them by
surprise.”  Po Sin pursed his lips and thought for a second.  “I have contacts,
you know…with the Arabs,” hinted the wily head of the Army.

The Interior Minister
put down the report and smiled, intrigued.  “Oh?  And what do
these…contacts…tell you?”

“They say
that they are working on getting us a way in.”

Shin Ho
laughed out loud, causing a few of the aides to bow and hide.  Few people had
ever dared to laugh at the Minister of the Army, no matter how high in the
Party one was.

“Oh come
now, my friend.  What do these uncultured
Arabs
think they can do for
us
?”

“I am told,
in exchange for certain, shall we say, ‘
privileges’
, they will ‘open the
door’ to America,” Po Sin said, face as neutral as he could manage.  He lit
another of his foul smelling cigarettes and puffed.  He knew perfectly well
Shin Ho hated people smoking in his office.  The aides look at each other,
everyone knew never to smoke in this office…the two high ranking ministers
looked to be facing off in an undeclared duel.

The
Interior Minister thought about that.  “Hmmm…how are they planning to open the
door for us?  We will need much space.  An army, even a small one will take
many ships and planes to transport,” he coughed slightly. 
Touché
.

Po Sin
smiled, cigarette clinched delicately in his hand.  The smoke wafted around his
head like some mythological dragon biding its time. 

“Mexico,”
he said simply.  “Our U.N. ambassador has worked a deal with the Mexicans…they
turn a blind eye to a fleet of ours making emergency stopover in Mexico, we
give them an economic boost by promoting them to most favored nation status.”

Shin Ho
frowned.  “Impossible.  The Americans will be furious.  Plus, what good will
Mexican trade do for our economy?  They are worthless!”

“Watch our
efforts for yourself then, General.”  Po Sin picked up a remote and pointed it
at a TV/DVR combo unit cleverly hidden in the ornate cabinetry near the door to
the office.  The flatscreen came to life, displaying a generic menu.  Po Sin
found the recording he needed and pressed play, then turned up the volume. 
Shin Ho turned in his seat and raised his eyebrows, pulling a drag on his
cigarette and waiting patiently for this unexpected surprise.

“This
occurred late last night.  I recorded it to amuse myself over breakfast this
morning.”  The recording started, a taping off of the satellite feed from The
Hague.  Arrayed before the camera the U.N. General Assembly came to session in
its home away from home.  It was late into the morning on this opening session
in the new U.N. Headquarters.  About a third of the delegates were missing,
still in transit or unable to attend this first re-opened session. The cramped
quarters had the attending delegates sitting shoulder to shoulder for the most
part. 

“The
Hague?”

“Yes. 
Riots in New York.”  Po Sin laughed aloud.  “Riots!  The rabble in the streets
closed down the United Nations.  I love it.”  Po Sin hit the fast forward
button for a few seconds then muttered, “Ah, here we are…”  A man on the right
side of the screen, dressed in that silly Middle Eastern style of robe, stood
and waited for silence.

“Mr.
Secretary General, I think we should consider some kind of resolution,” said
the Syrian Representative.

“What kind
of resolution?” asked the American Representative raising his hand.  He was
obviously suspicious of any move by the Syrians.

“Israel
must be condemned for this unprecedented, unprovoked, barbaric strike—“

The Western
dressed Israeli Representative leapt to his feet, full of righteous
indignation.  “How dare
you
accuse
Israel
of this horrific act!” 
He thrust a bony finger at the Syrian.  “You have no proof that we did
anything!  Likely this is a terrorist plot to—“

The
Secretary General’s soft voice cut through the erupting shouting match. 
“Gentlemen!  The Syrian delegate has the floor—Israel shall have its turn,
following correct parliamentary procedure.”

The aging
Israeli ambassador plopped back in his seat, face red.  The Syrian bowed and
sent a wry smile towards his Israeli counterpart.  “I propose a resolution
condemning the nuclear attack on Jordan and insist this body level sanctions—“

“The United
States will not tolerate any action against Israel without hard evidence—“
interrupted the U.S. Delegate calmly.  He sounded bored.  A tired game.  Only a
few delegates nodded in agreement.

“Mister
Ryan, you are out of order,” chided the Secretary General in his lilting
accent.  “Need I remind you that the Syrian Delegate
has the floor
?” 
The American feigned regret and motioned for the Syrian to continue with a
mocking bow. 

“Arrogant
prick,” muttered Shin Ho.

“Yes, but,
he got his message out: America votes no, so America’s allies will vote no. 
Ssssh, this is the part I want you to see,” whispered the old general.

The French
Delegate stood up, shouting over the rest.  “I propose a resolution for this
body to investigate whether the United Nations send peace keeping forces to
America.”

The
shocking statement dropped silence on the crowded chamber like a bomb.  Shin Ho
sucked in a breath in surprise.  Po Sin grinned.  The audacity of the Frenchman!
His mind raced with likely military scenarios.

“
What
?”
gasped the American ambassador on the TV screen as the camera zoomed in on his
face for a reaction.  “Are you
mad?
”

All
thoughts of condemning Israel were forgotten—delegates all up and down the
aisles of the make-shift conference chamber screamed and shouted for or against
the action. 

After a few
minutes of pounding a book on the table before him, the Secretary General got
things under control again.  He glared at each of the screaming delegates,
shaming them into silence.  Finally, he turned to the French delegate.  “Why
has France proposed this action?” he asked.  In the shock of the proposal, no
one pointed out that inquiring about the proposal while the Syrian proposal was
active violated the rules of parliamentary procedure.

The French
Delegate bowed mockingly towards his American counterpart in a return for the
American’s treatment of the Syrian ambassador.  He sniffed politely before
replying. 

“France
knows, as the rest of the world also knows, that a nation harboring world’s
greatest military—“ the French delegate grimaced on admitting France was not
the world’s foremost military power.  Nevertheless, he continued, “A nation
like America, with such potential for destruction, in the throes of civil
unrest on such an unprecedented scale seen there for the past week, can have
disastrous consequences for the entire planet.”

“This…is…
outrageous!
”
cried the American delegate, standing again in protest.  The camera swiveled
back and forth, trying to catch all the facial expressions.

“The United
Kingdom agrees, this proposed action is outright lunacy.  This smacks of—” said
another delegate, jumping to the defense of America.

“Gentleman,
wait your turn.  I will not remind you again.”

The French
delegate smiled sweetly at the Secretary General again.  “
Merci
, Mr.
Secretary General.  As I was saying…” he looked pointedly at the American and
British delegates and sniffed delicately again.

“France is
concerned that the civil unrest in the United States will bring instability to
not only America, but to any region in which America once had a military
presence—because, as we all know, those soldiers are going home, leaving
warlords and terrorists to run free again.  The potential that a civil war in
America is brewing is just too great.  This is unacceptable to the people of
France and indeed, the world.”

“And
Germany,” said the dour German delegate, though he appeared more disgusted by
the idea than anyone else in favor of it.

“I speak
for Mother Russia,” said a fireplug of a Russian, standing up from the front
row.  “We cannot agree more.  The situation is too dangerous.  How often have
we as a body stepped into affairs of lesser countries, often at behest of
United States, to ‘stabilize’ region?”  The Russian spoke in rough English to
show he was not
nekulturniy
—some uncultured heathen.

The
American delegate shook his head in disbelief as more and more members stood to
voice their support for the growing proposition.  The lesser nations could
obviously tell which way the tide was turning and rushed to join the bandwagon.

Slamming
his hands down on the table, the aging Yankee stood up, silencing those around
him clamoring for a vote.  The camera angle zoomed in on his figure again.
 
The
man’s face suddenly went slack with understanding.  It was clear for Po Sin and
Shin Ho to read. 

Po Sin
pointed with his cigarette at the TV.  “This one knows what is going on.  You
see?”  The Interior Minister grunted his agreement and watched the TV smiling. 
“He knows the others were waiting for the right moment to spring this on
America.  He realizes only at the end that his country is doomed.”

“America
will
not
tolerate foreign soldiers on her soil,” the delegate said in a
low, dangerous voice.  Those in the chamber had to stay quiet to hear what he
was saying.  Po Sin turned up the volume on the TV.

The Yankee
statesman pointed a finger right at the French and German delegates.  “She
certainly will not tolerate
you
, who have blocked our efforts at
destroying the machinery of terrorism from day one.  Have you forgotten all
that America has done for you?  All of you?” he asked, looking around the
room.  More than one delegate sneered back at him.  Only one or two looked away
in apparent shame.

“Our sons
and daughters have fought and died so that your peoples could live in freedom…”
said the American weakly.  He was in shock.  He couldn’t believe it.  “We have
spent countless billions of our taxpayer’s dollars to…”  He looked around, his
voice trailing off.  Not many faces were sympathetic.

“
Ja
. 
That is so…that is why we are so concerned now about the…
safety
…of
America’s citizens.  That is why we want to…
help
,” said the German
delegate with a wolfish grin.        

The French delegate
smiled, inclining his head in acceptance of the American’s words.  “Perhaps it
is as you say.  How many times have we heard this statement from our other
brother countries, as America led the effort to put Peacekeepers on
their
soil.”  The Frenchman took his time, making sure everyone heard.  This was the
crowning moment of his diplomatic career and he was going to savor every sweet
second.

“Is it not
beyond time for a taste of your own medicine,
mon ami
?  Ah…how you say,
‘what goes around, comes around’, no?”

The chamber
erupted into shouts and curses, arguments and agreements.

Po Sin
clicked off the TV and waited for Shin Ho to absorb what he saw and turn back
around to face the desk.  “My friend, can you not see we are past the point
where we should care what the Americans think?  I just read Xhin’s latest
dispatch from The Hague.  The Europeans are doing everything they can to trap
the American military forces there and around the globe.  Any resistance the
Americans put forth will be easily swept aside by the combined European powers—“

“Whom we
have been cultivating and supporting now for decades in secret…”

“Correct
again, General.”

“If we act
now…” mused Shin Ho.  “Before they can return home…”

The General
puffed his smoke.  “Yes.  To make matters worse, our friends in Mexico plan on
having a little border war.  It seems some rambunctious Americans are trying to
shut down illegal immigration and have slaughtered many innocent Mexicans in
the process.”

“A most
excellent diversion…while they are focused on the border, we march right in—“